In recent days, Ghana’s digital space has been awash with heated exchanges sparked by a seemingly simple opinion. Richlove Oduro, a student from Nsein Secondary School in the Western Region, described the National Science and Maths Quiz (NSMQ) as a “show-off.”

That remark, interpreted by some as dismissive, ignited responses, most notably from neurosurgeon Isabella, who invoked the story of Francisca, an NSMQ finalist-turned Harvard graduate who excelled academically and rose to global recognition.

What started as an intellectual disagreement quickly spiralled into a social media battlefield of comparison, ridicule, and personal attacks. But beneath the cacophony lies a deeper national issue, one we have normalised over decades: the ranking of human worth based on schools attended, courses studied, and perceived career prestige.

The Hierarchy of Respect: How Institutions Reinforce the Narrative

In Ghana, education has long been viewed as a ladder to success, but not all ladders are considered equal. Attending “Category A” secondary schools, enrolling in programs such as medicine, law, or engineering, or studying abroad often attracts admiration.
Conversely, less “prestigious” schools or creative and technical pathways are frequently undervalued.

This hierarchy has shaped not only how society distributes respect but also how individuals measure their own worth. The reaction to Richlove’s comment reveals this deeply ingrained bias: her views were not debated on their merits alone, but on her perceived “credentials” relative to Francisca’s.

This culture of dishing out respect based on school labels and career paths is not accidental. It is systemic and institutionalised. Teachers and parents reinforce this with statements such as: “Only serious students go to this school or study this course.”

Let me share my  personal experience on this subject

I attended “Harvard.”
Not Harvard University in the United States that many imagine, but Harvard College in Kokomlemle, Accra. Until circumstances led me there, I had never heard of the school. Like many young Ghanaians completing basic education, I had big dreams and a clear path. Accra Academy was my first choice, not only for its reputation but also because my elder brother had walked those same corridors. To me, that path symbolised prestige, success, and validation. However, life had other plans.

The Silent  Pressure of School Choice

During our Basic Education Certificate Examination (BECE)school selection period in 1999, there was an unspoken hierarchy among students. Those who chose “top” schools were seen as more serious and intelligent, while those who selected lesser-known or less-resourced institutions were, unfortunately, perceived as average or, at worst, below standard.

Casual jokes reinforced these stereotypes. A student who chose a less popular school was often ridiculed. Even more troubling was how course selection shaped perception. General Science, Business, and General Arts were considered the preserve of the “serious” students, whereas those who pursued Visual Arts, Home Economics, or Technical courses were often unfairly labelled as weak or incapable. At the time, neither my friends nor I questioned these assumptions. We were young, impressionable, and largely unaware of the complexities of life and success. We followed what society quietly approved of, without understanding the consequences.

When Life Interrupts the Plan

Although I qualified for Accra Academy, I never had the chance to attend. Around the time our BECE results were released, my father, who was to sponsor my education, fell seriously ill. He remained in hospital for over three months and was unable to work during that period. My mother reached out to family and friends, hoping for support, but none came.

As a result, I missed the entire first term. Still, I held on to hope. Perhaps, I thought, we could raise the needed funds and enrol in the second term. But that opportunity also slipped away. By then, I had my place forfeited. Not wanting me to lose an entire academic year, my mother suggested an alternative: enrol in a private secondary school, where admission was more flexible. That suggestion was how Harvard College gained a seat at the discussion table.

Honestly, I strongly resisted the idea. To my young mind, attending a less popular private school felt like admitting failure. I feared what some of my friends, who were by then at prestigious schools, would say. I dreaded the questions. More importantly, I had internalised the belief that such schools were for students who were “not academically smart enough.”However, after persistent persuasion and encouragement from my mother and our family pastor, I reluctantly agreed.

Years later, I had the opportunity to teach Social Studies at a private junior high school in Accra. For nearly a decade, I witnessed the same patterns I had once been part of.Students judged one another based on their choice of schools and courses. Those aiming for prestigious schools or “popular” programmes often looked down on their peers who chose differently. 

One experience in particular permanently changed my understanding of how deeply educational labels shape our perceptions. Following the 2005 BECE results, our school recorded an outstanding performance, especially in Social Studies, where about 97% of students scored Grade 1,with the rest achieving Grade 2. It was a remarkable achievement. "Although I was only a secondary school graduate from Harvard College, Kokomlemle in Accra, I was privileged to contribute meaningfully to the school's outstanding BECE performance."

The school’s proprietor, who was an old student of Mfantsipim School, invited my colleague and me to his office to commend our efforts. During the conversation, he asked a simple question:

“Which secondary school did you attend?”

“Harvard College,” I replied.

He paused, visibly puzzled. “Is that in Ghana?”

“Yes,” I explained. “It’s a private school in Kokomlemle.”

Curious, he probed further: “Why did you attend Harvard?” This question seemed to imply a mismatch between the school I attended and my performance. ‘You are too smart to have attended that school,’ my proprietor seemed to insinuate. I shared my story: financial hardship, missed opportunities, and the eventual decision to enrol. In that moment, something became clear: the assumptions we make about people’s educational backgrounds often crumble when confronted with reality.

From an early stage, Ghana’s educational system places disproportionate emphasis on high-stakes exams such as the BECE and WASSCE. Entry into elite schools is determined largely by performance and access to resources. Students from well-funded basic schools, with access to private tutoring and stable home environments, enjoy a clear advantage. As a result, some brilliant students from low-income backgrounds end up in under-resourced schools, not because of a lack of ability, but because of circumstance.

 The NSMQ itself, though laudable, often features schools with stronger academic infrastructure (until recently, when the programme covers many more schools, including seemingly less-endowed ones), thereby reinforcing the visibility of already advantaged institutions. Moreover, university admissions trends and scholarship awards frequently prioritise traditional academic excellence over diverse talents. Over time, this creates a loop: “top schools” produce visible success stories that reinforce their prestige, while equally capable but less visible students remain overlooked.

When Talent Is Misguided

This rigid hierarchy does more than create social division. It actively misdirects students.

Young people, influenced by societal expectations, often pursue careers that do not align with their passions or strengths. A student with exceptional creative ability might be pushed into science. Another with entrepreneurial instincts may be steered toward a “safe” profession.

The result?

• A workforce that is qualified on paper but not fulfilled in purpose
• Underdevelopment of critical sectors such as the arts, technical trades, and innovation.

The painful irony is that a system meant to nurture excellence ends up stifling it.

Richlove’s story highlights an often-ignored truth: talent is universal, but opportunity is not.

Many students in Ghana face barriers that hinder their education, including family responsibilities that compete with academic focus.
It is needless to state that a student’s starting point can significantly shape their trajectory. However, society often judges outcomes without acknowledging these unequal beginnings.

 Let us consider this scenario: a student from a rural school who gains admission to the University of Cape Coast despite limited resources may have demonstrated greater resilience than someone from a well-resourced institution. Yet, one is celebrated less simply because of institutional branding.

Reframing the NSMQ Conversation

The NSMQ, as already mentioned, is a brilliant national platform that promotes scientific thinking and academic excellence.
Francisca’s story of rising through the NSMQ platform to global recognition is inspiring and should be celebrated.

But someone’s inspiring story must not be used to dismiss another person’s efforts. Using one success story to dismiss another person’s viewpoint or invalidate their journey misses the point. Francisca’s path is admirable, but Richlove’s perspective deserves engagement rather than silencing. After all, questioning national symbols is part of intellectual growth.

Beyond Comparison

The truth is uncomfortable but necessary: Ghanaians have, over time, internalised this culture of labelling people by their schools and courses, allowing these labels to define intelligence, self-worth, and even future success. The story of Richlove, Francisca, and Isabella is not just about a disagreement; it is a mirror that reflects who we are as a society.
Do we value people because of what they have achieved or because of where they achieved it? Until we answer that question honestly, Ghana will continue to place unnecessary ceilings on its own potential. Because somewhere in a modest classroom at Nsein Senior Secondary School, or in any overlooked corner of the country, sits another Francisca, another innovator, another leader, and they deserve more than comparison. They deserve the possibility and opportunities.

Rethinking Success and Worth

Success does not belong exclusively to those who attended prestigious schools. Nor is it reserved for those who studied Medicine, Law, or Engineering. Life offers many paths, each equally important and equally impactful. A student studying photography or computer science can build a global brand. A technical student can become an innovator. A Home Economics graduate can run a thriving enterprise like McDonald's and KFCs.

Looking back, I have no regrets about attending Harvard College in Kokomlemle. Harvard gave me hope, a platform, and a wife. Yes, a wife, for that is where I met her. What once felt like a compromise became a defining chapter of growth, resilience, and purpose.

Life, as I have learned, does not always follow the script we write at age 15, and more importantly, it does not reward titles and labels; it rewards effort, adaptability, and vision.

So, the next time we are tempted to measure someone’s worth by the school they attended or by their career choices, we must pause and ask ourselves: Are we judging potential or merely clinging to outdated perceptions? Because in the end, greatness is not built in a particular school; it is built in the individual. When Ghana collectively begins to believe this, we will unlock a generation of confident, innovative, and self-aware individuals, ready to succeed, no matter where they started.

The author is a pastor and a public and non-profit management professional. He writes on faith, governance, relationships, and youth advocacy.

Email: emmanuelbohyebaidan@gmail.com