In almost every corner of Nigeria, from bustling cities to remote rural communities, one finds a familiar structure rising from the ground: the ubiquitous three-classroom block. At both the federal and state levels, legislators have made this tiny building their favorite constituency project. Wherever you go, whether in the South-South, the North, or the Southwest, you will encounter schools dotted with these modest structures, lined up awkwardly in all directions—north, south, east, and west—as though the only measure of educational development is the sheer number of new classrooms built.

On the surface, one might say this is a good thing. After all, more classrooms should mean more space for children to learn, right? But scratch beneath the surface and you quickly realize that this obsession with the three-classroom block is nothing more than a low-hanging fruit for legislators seeking quick wins and political visibility. A few bags of cement, some sand, iron windows, a roof, and locally made desks from a carpenter are all it takes to erect one of these buildings. They are cheap, easy to put up, and they offer legislators the opportunity to say, “I delivered a project for my constituency.”

Unfortunately, this three-classroom block syndrome does not address the real problems facing Nigeria’s schools. It does not enhance the aesthetics of our learning environments, and it certainly does not improve learning outcomes. What it does, in fact, is perpetuate a cycle of mediocrity in educational infrastructure, while the main blocks of our schools—the ones that house the majority of students—rot away with leaky roofs, broken furniture, and collapsing walls.

It is time to call this for what it is: a menace. The three-classroom block has become the lazy answer to a complex educational crisis, and Nigerians must demand better.

The Reality on the Ground

Visit a typical public school in Nigeria and you will find this pattern. The central blocks, often built decades ago during the early years after independence or in the 1970s and 80s when Nigeria still took pride in public education, are now crumbling. Roofs leak heavily during the rainy season, forcing students to huddle together in dry corners or abandon classes entirely. Furniture is dilapidated—benches and desks creak under the weight of students, many of whom are forced to sit on the floor with notebooks on their laps. Walls are cracked, paint is faded, and ceilings are falling apart.

And yet, standing a few meters away is a freshly constructed three-classroom block, its shiny zinc roof glinting in the sun, its cement still smelling new. Students are quickly packed into the new building while the old, larger blocks continue to decay without renovation. In many cases, the new blocks even stand half empty because the real problem is not always a lack of classrooms—it is a lack of proper planning, maintenance, and foresight.

The rot goes further. In many schools, hostels built decades ago to accommodate students have been abandoned due to lack of maintenance. What once provided safe, supervised living spaces for students—especially in rural areas where commuting is difficult—are now crumbling shells with broken beds, shattered windows, and leaking roofs. Some have even become hideouts for miscreants or left to collapse entirely. Instead of renovating and reviving these hostels to expand access to education, legislators prefer to announce yet another three-classroom block as their “impact.”

Worse still, in many of these schools, the problem is not infrastructure at all but the desperate shortage of teachers. In one secondary school, for example, there were no teachers for senior school physics, chemistry, or mathematics. There was not even a laboratory for students to conduct practicals. And yet, a few months ago, these students sat for their Senior School Certificate Examinations (SSCE). One can only wonder how they fared, having been denied the very foundation of science education. Clearly, the solution to such a crisis is not the construction of yet another three-classroom block. A school without teachers, labs, or functional hostels is not a school—it is a holding center for wasted potential.

Why the Three-Classroom Block Syndrome is Harmful

First, it diverts scarce resources away from the real needs of schools. Instead of repairing and upgrading existing facilities, money is spent on building yet another set of small classrooms that do not address the larger problems.

Second, it reduces educational planning to a cookie-cutter formula. Not all schools need a new building. Some schools desperately need libraries. Others need laboratories, ICT centers, hostels, or modern toilets. Many need perimeter fencing to improve security for children. But because the three-classroom block is the easiest project to execute and justify, it becomes the default option regardless of actual needs.

Third, it kills creativity in constituency projects. Legislators have the opportunity to truly transform education in their constituencies by thinking outside the box. Instead, they fall back on the same tired template. A school in the Niger Delta, for instance, might benefit more from a water project to provide safe drinking water than yet another building. A school in the North might need solar power installations to support evening reading and digital learning. But these ideas require vision, and vision is in short supply.

Finally, the syndrome entrenches a culture of waste. Three-classroom blocks are often poorly constructed with substandard materials. Many of them begin to crumble just a few years after completion. When added to the already dilapidated main school blocks, what you get is a landscape of half-decent structures standing alongside ruins, neither of which supports quality education.

The Way Forward: From Syndrome to Strategy

What Nigeria needs is a fundamental shift in how constituency projects are conceived and executed. Legislators must understand that their role is not simply to spend money but to spend it wisely, in ways that will have lasting impact. The first step is to abandon the three-classroom block as the default constituency project.

Instead, legislators must adopt needs assessment tools before making decisions. A perfect example exists in the Niger Delta DevTrack website, which provides a “needs assessment” segment that captures what communities actually require. Using such a tool, a legislator can easily determine whether a school needs new classrooms, or if it urgently requires renovation of existing structures, provision of learning materials, or installation of sanitation facilities.

This approach has three key benefits:

• Transparency: Communities can see exactly how decisions are made and confirm whether their real needs are being met.
• Efficiency: Money is not wasted on unnecessary projects but channeled into areas with the highest impact.
• Credibility: Legislators build trust with their constituents by showing that they are attentive and responsive, rather than simply chasing photo opportunities.

What Should Replace the Syndrome?

To move away from the three-classroom block obsession, legislators should consider a more diverse portfolio of constituency projects, tailored to the real needs of schools. These could include:

• Renovation of existing school blocks to extend their lifespan.
• Construction of libraries and provision of books to encourage a reading culture.
• Establishment of science and ICT laboratories to prepare students for the future.
• Provision of modern toilets and water facilities to promote hygiene.
• Installation of solar panels to ensure uninterrupted power supply for learning.
• Building perimeter fences to safeguard students and teachers.
• Equipping schools with durable furniture, not temporary stopgaps.

Each of these projects addresses a critical gap in education and would have a far greater impact than yet another three-classroom block.

The three-classroom block syndrome has become a lazy excuse for development, a symbol of political expediency rather than educational progress. While legislators pat themselves on the back for erecting these tiny buildings, Nigeria’s children continue to learn in decaying classrooms, with broken desks, leaking roofs, and little hope of competing in a globalized world. In many schools, the tragedy runs deeper: students sit without teachers in critical subjects like mathematics, physics, and chemistry, with no laboratories to back theory with practice. Yet we expect them to excel in national exams and compete with peers from well-resourced schools across the globe.

It is time for citizens to say enough. We must demand that our representatives rise above tokenism and embrace thoughtful, impactful projects. With tools like the needs assessment segment of the Niger Delta DevTrack website, legislators no longer have an excuse to act blindly. They can—and must—plan based on evidence, not convenience.

If Nigeria is truly serious about transforming education, then the era of the three-classroom block must come to an end. What we need is not another low-hanging fruit, but a deliberate, strategic investment in schools: fixing old structures, hiring and retaining qualified teachers, equipping science labs, and providing the tools children need to learn effectively. Anything less is not just a waste of money—it is a betrayal of the future.