News Commentary: By Abdul Lauya
In recent weeks, the Sokoto State Government’s decision to ban all forms of “signing-out” celebrations by graduating secondary school students has sparked national attention.
The pronouncement, issued by the Commissioner for Basic and Secondary Education, Prof. Ahmad Ladan Ala, comes with strict warnings: schools that permit such activities will face sanctions, and parents of students who flout the ban risk arrest.
But Sokoto’s move is not an isolated crackdown, it is a reflection of a growing concern across Nigeria. The “sign-out” culture, which once began as a harmless farewell gesture among graduating students, has evolved into a chaotic public spectacle, increasingly viewed as a symbol of youth indiscipline and societal decay.
Traditionally, end-of-school celebrations in many parts of the world are structured events, yearbook signings, prom nights, or supervised farewell ceremonies organized within the confines of schools.
In the United States and United Kingdom, for instance, these traditions are tightly regulated, with clear boundaries ensuring that students celebrate responsibly. Even in Australia, where the notorious “Muck-Up Day” and “Schoolies Week” can get rowdy, strict police presence and community involvement keep activities from descending into anarchy.
In Nigeria, however, the “sign-out” phenomenon has taken a life of its own. From its modest beginnings in the late 1990s among university students who scribbled messages on their T-shirts after final exams, it has ballooned into a nationwide youth-driven parade of noise, defiance, and public nuisance.
By the early 2010s, secondary school students, particularly in urban centers, adopted the practice. It wasn’t long before the celebrations spilled onto public roads, complete with water and paint splashing, powder-throwing, loud music, and in some cases, outright vandalism.
The rise of social media platforms like Facebook, Instagram, and TikTok added fuel to the fire, turning what should be private moments of academic reflection into performative spectacles.
Students now engage in a “who can trend the wildest sign-out” contest, including signing on the thighs and the breasts. For many, the act has become less about commemorating academic milestones and more about publicly asserting freedom through rebellious displays.
The disturbing aspect is not merely the rowdiness but the institutional helplessness that has allowed this culture to fester. Many schools, overwhelmed by peer pressure and the fear of backlash, have looked the other way.
Parents, too, have often been complicit, seeing these acts as harmless rites of passage rather than symptoms of a deeper erosion of discipline.
Sokoto’s ban, therefore, is a bold but belated acknowledgment that the situation has spiraled out of control. However, it also raises a critical question: Is banning sign-out celebrations the solution, or merely a band-aid over a festering wound?
Experts argue that outright prohibition might only drive the practice underground, making it even harder to monitor. Instead, what is required is a structured reform of school-leaving celebrations.
Schools, in collaboration with parents, religious institutions, and community leaders, need to provide supervised platforms where students can celebrate responsibly.
Valedictory services, controlled “sign-out” events within school premises, and supervised “graduation festivals” could provide the safe space students crave while maintaining societal decorum.
At its core, the “sign-out” culture isn’t inherently bad. The urge to celebrate academic success is natural. The problem lies in how it has been hijacked by a culture of attention-seeking and lawlessness, amplified by a lack of structured alternatives and weak enforcement of school regulations.
Sokoto’s stance is a necessary jolt, a message that society can no longer afford to ignore this growing cultural crisis. But unless it is followed by a comprehensive rethinking of how Nigeria’s youth celebrate their milestones, bans and threats of arrests will achieve little.
The question remains: will Nigeria choose to reform this culture, or will it allow yet another youthful tradition to descend irreversibly into chaos?
