Urgent need to reuse textbooks for sustainability

As schools across Nigeria reopen this September after the long holiday, there is finally some relief for parents in Imo, Benue, Anambra, and Ondo states.

That relief comes in the form of a simple yet far-reaching policy, the ban on non-transferable textbooks. For years, parents have groaned under the financial weight of buying new books every academic session, even when the previous ones could still serve the same purpose. Now, with this new shift, families will once again be able to pass textbooks from one child to another, or even share them with neighbours and friends. It is a welcome reprieve at a time when household incomes are already stretched thin by economic hardship.

The idea behind the policy is straightforward: textbooks should be reusable. In practice, this means that families with more than one child in school will no longer be compelled to purchase new editions of the same book for each child every year. Younger siblings can inherit their elder ones’ books, easing the financial burden that comes with the start of every term. Beyond the economic relief, it also restores a culture of continuity and sustainability in education. Parents can once again focus on their children’s learning outcomes, rather than being trapped in an endless cycle of book purchases.

Benue State was the first to break the cycle when it introduced the ban in early August. Helen Nambativ, the Permanent Secretary of the Ministry of Education and Knowledge Management, explained that the decision was motivated by the government’s desire to reduce the financial stress on families and redirect focus toward academic growth. The policy is set to officially take effect with the first term of the 2025/2026 academic session. Soon after, Anambra State followed suit. Its Commissioner for Education, Ngozi Chuma-Udeh, went a step further by announcing a capacity-building workshop for private school proprietors and teachers to help them adapt to the new approach. With Imo and Ondo now on board as well, momentum is building for a more widespread adoption of this policy.

The timing could not be more crucial. Nigerian families are under enormous strain from rising costs of living. Education has become one of the hardest expenses to manage, with the cost of textbooks climbing so high in some cases that it rivals tuition fees. No parent wants their child to fall behind, yet many are forced to make painful compromises. Some students sit in class without the recommended texts, relying only on teachers’ notes, while others drop out temporarily until their parents can scrape together enough money for the mandated new editions. The ban offers at least a partial solution to these painful realities.

For those who attended Nigerian schools in the 1980s, 1990s, and early 2000s, this new policy brings back fond memories of a long-cherished tradition. Families would carefully wrap textbooks in brown paper or glossy covers to preserve them, ensuring they could be handed down to younger siblings. There was a shared sense of responsibility and pride in passing along books that carried not just knowledge, but also the marks of effort—underlined passages, margin notes, and sometimes even little doodles. That culture began to fade when schools and publishers started producing textbooks designed to be written in directly. By merging the main text with exercises and activities, publishers effectively made the books single-use items, stripping away their reusability.

Over time, schools deepened the problem by constantly switching publishers, even when the content of the new books was nearly identical to the old ones. Parents, therefore, had no choice but to purchase fresh sets each year, regardless of how many children they had passed through the system. This practice made the start of a new session financially daunting, especially for households with multiple children. In earlier decades, publishers solved this balance by producing textbooks alongside separate workbooks or activity sheets. Students could complete exercises in the workbooks, while the main textbooks remained reusable. The disappearance of that model signaled the beginning of today’s wasteful cycle.

It is no secret that publishers played a large role in entrenching this system. For many, the annual demand for new textbooks was a guaranteed source of profit. By partnering directly with school owners, publishers ensured that old editions were quickly rendered obsolete. Some schools even enforced exclusive arrangements, forbidding parents from buying cheaper alternatives elsewhere. They controlled the supply chain tightly, withholding book lists until classes resumed and then insisting that only books purchased from the school’s own store would be accepted. Parents, trapped by these rules, had no option but to comply.

Even more troubling has been the proliferation of textbooks not approved by the Nigerian Educational Research and Development Council (NERDC), the body responsible for maintaining national education standards. This unchecked use of unaccredited texts creates confusion, especially for students who move between schools and find themselves grappling with entirely different material. The NERDC must take a firmer stand by ensuring that textbooks in circulation meet national standards, reflect innovative teaching methods, and incorporate modern technology where possible. A well-regulated publishing ecosystem is essential to align learning outcomes with national education goals.

Of course, the shift to reusable textbooks has raised questions about the future of publishing as a business. Publishers worried about declining revenues can and should explore new avenues for growth. For instance, they could channel resources into creating richer, tech-driven content, developing educational apps, or offering digital learning platforms that complement traditional teaching. In a world where digital learning is becoming more accessible, there are countless ways to innovate while reducing the financial strain on families.

The ban on non-transferable textbooks in Imo, Benue, Anambra, and Ondo represents a small but significant victory for equity in education. It should not stop there. Other states must adopt the policy if Nigeria is to create a fairer system where no child is excluded simply because their parents cannot afford the latest textbook edition. If scaled nationwide, the policy could help rebuild trust between families, schools, and the state, demonstrating that education policy can be responsive to the real struggles of ordinary people.

The broader impact of this reform is not just financial. It reaffirms that education in Nigeria must be about learning, not profiteering. It pushes back against the culture of waste and restores a system of continuity where books are seen as shared resources rather than disposable commodities. It also encourages sustainability, reducing the unnecessary production of textbooks that serve only one child before being discarded.

Parents, educators, and policymakers alike should see this as an opportunity to rethink the foundations of Nigeria’s educational system. Restoring the reusability of textbooks may appear like a minor change, but its ripple effects on affordability, accessibility, and sustainability could be profound. Combined with stronger oversight from regulatory bodies and more innovation from publishers, it could set the stage for a more inclusive educational future.

If Nigeria is truly committed to leaving no child behind, policies like this must move from being isolated experiments in a few states to becoming a national standard. Education should never be a privilege reserved only for those who can keep up with rising costs. By banning non-transferable textbooks, these four states have shown that progress is possible when policy aligns with the needs of the people. It is now up to the rest of the country to follow suit.