By Fẹ́mi Akínṣọlá
In a country where every institution risks being reduced to tribe, religion, or region, Prof. Is-haq Oloyede did something almost un-Nigerian. As Registrar of the Joint Admissions and Matriculation Board from 2016 to 2025, he ran an examination system that did not know North from South, Muslim from Christian, rich from poor. He made merit the only language JAMB spoke, and in doing so, he gave Nigeria a glimpse of what “One Nigeria” could actually look like when it is not just a slogan.
When he took over, JAMB was a reflection of everything wrong with the country. Miracle centres operated openly in some states, syndicates sold results to the highest bidder, and the board remitted less than fifty million naira a year while billions disappeared. The expectation was that he would play the game—balance appointments by quota, protect connected centres, look away. Instead, he applied one rule to everyone. Biometric verification, centralised printing, and real-time monitoring went into effect nationwide. Over fifty thousand fraudulent admissions were voided, and it did not matter whether the fraud came from Kano, Lagos, or Enugu. For the first time in years, a Nigerian institution treated all citizens as equal before the process.
The financial turnaround told the same story. From under fifty million naira annually, remittances rose to over five billion naira in his first year and passed fifty billion cumulatively before he left. He did not achieve this by raising fees or squeezing candidates. He achieved it by stopping theft. In a political culture where revenue leakage is rationalised by ethnicity and party, Oloyede’s insistence on accountability showed that national unity starts with national honesty. You cannot claim to be one people if some are allowed to steal while others are punished for trying to play by the rules.
His personal conduct reinforced that message. To protect the integrity of the examination, he went to volatile CBT centres himself, sometimes without the full security detail protocol demanded. He knew that challenging racketeers in Nigeria was dangerous, but he did not delegate the risk to junior staff or hide in Abuja. He stood where the danger was because he believed no Nigerian child should have their future decided by a criminal with a laptop. That is what leadership looks like when it is not filtered through sectional interest.
Oloyede also understood that One Nigeria is not built on speeches but on fair systems. He introduced disability-friendly CBT arrangements, expanded the mock UTME to reduce anxiety, and ensured that a student in Sokoto faced the same standard as one in Port Harcourt. For millions of young Nigerians, this meant that their opportunity was no longer tied to where they were born or who they knew. In a country fractured by identity politics, that insistence on a level playing field was a quiet but powerful act of nation-building.
His handling of failure sealed it. When a technical glitch disrupted the 2025 UTME, he did not hide or blame an abstract “system”. He went on live television, took responsibility, and ordered a resit for affected candidates. He treated every candidate as if their future mattered, because in his eyes, it did. In a country where public officials often apologise only when forced, his accountability reminded Nigerians that institutions can serve everyone if they are led by someone who refuses to play favourites.
He was never popular with those who profited from division. They called him rigid, uncompromising, too difficult for the Nigerian context. But students and parents across the six geopolitical zones began to see JAMB differently. For the first time in decades, the board was spoken of with cautious respect rather than cynical resignation. Oloyede proved that effectiveness does not require tribal balancing or political horse-trading. It requires consistency, and consistency is the closest thing Nigeria has to unity.
History will not remember him for ceremonies or speeches about unity. It will remember him for building a system where a child’s surname did not determine their score, where remittances went to the treasury instead of private accounts, and where a registrar was willing to risk his peace for the dignity of the next generation. He risked his reputation and his safety for a principle that should be ordinary but has become revolutionary in Nigeria: that public office is a trust owed to all Nigerians, not a trophy for a few.
If Nigeria wants to move beyond slogans about One Nigeria, it needs more leaders who are willing to pay the personal cost of fairness. Prof. Is-haq Oloyede has shown that it is possible. The question now is whether the country will allow his record to remain an exception, or demand that it becomes the standard.
A gallant soldier does not need a gun to fight for his country. Sometimes, all it takes is a man who refuses to let the system divide the people it is meant to serve.
Copyright © 2026 Fẹ́mi Akínṣọlá. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author.
