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Every child carries within them the potential to succeed, yet the path to unlocking that potential is rarely identical. Children learn in different ways, at different paces, and through different experiences. Despite this, many classrooms continue to rely on a rigid, one-size-fits-all approach that fails to accommodate the rich diversity of learning styles. This model often leaves countless students at a disadvantage, not because they lack ability, but because the system fails to meet them where they are.
A classroom should be more than just a physical space filled with desks and chalkboards. It ought to be a living, breathing community—a place where children with varied ways of understanding come together to grow. I came to appreciate this truth during my undergraduate years at the University of Ilorin, particularly through the tutorial groups I led with my course mates. These sessions, informal and collaborative, became some of the most powerful learning experiences of my academic life.
Initially, I believed I was simply helping others by explaining topics ahead of examinations. But over time, I noticed something profound: the more I taught, the more I understood. Teaching forced me to think more deeply, to search for the right analogies, and to simplify complex ideas until they became clear. In some cases, after engaging with several groups, I found I no longer needed to study alone—my understanding had already been sharpened through the act of teaching. What surprised me even more was that some of my friends, after hearing my explanations, could reframe the same concepts in ways even clearer than mine. And when the results came out, many of those I thought I was “helping” ended up scoring higher grades than I did. That was a humbling realisation: being the most vocal or the quickest to answer does not necessarily mean being the most brilliant. I also came to understand that while I believed I was helping others, I was in fact helping myself—strengthening my own learning through expression.
This experience opened my eyes to the diversity of learners around me. Some of my peers could not fully grasp lectures until someone broke the concepts down in simpler terms. Others struggled to study alone but thrived in group discussions where ideas were shared and debated. Learning, I realised, is not a solitary pursuit—it is a communal effort. And this insight has powerful implications for how we design our classrooms in Nigeria.
When students are given the opportunity to explain what they know, their understanding deepens. This is not just anecdotal—it is supported by Lev Vygotsky’s constructivist theory, which emphasises that knowledge is built through interaction and that learners often need support from others to expand their abilities. Teachers can harness this by creating spaces where children explain concepts to their peers, whether in pairs, small groups, or to the entire class. For instance, after a science lesson on photosynthesis, pupils could be asked to act as “mini-teachers”, using drawings or role play to explain the process. This not only boosts confidence but also allows classmates to hear ideas in a language that feels more accessible.
It is also vital to recognise that children learn in different ways. In my tutorial groups, I saw how some students could not understand a lecture until it was re-explained in simpler terms. Others could not study alone but came alive during group discussions. This mirrors what happens in classrooms every day. Howard Gardner’s theory of multiple intelligences reminds us that some children learn best through visuals, others through music, movement, or social interaction. A teacher who relies solely on lecturing may unintentionally leave many children behind. Instead, lessons should be varied and inclusive. Take a lesson on fractions, for example: a teacher might use pizza slices for hands-on demonstration, show diagrams on the board, ask pupils to explain in their own words, and have them work in groups to solve problems. Such diversity ensures that every child finds a way to connect with the lesson.
Perhaps most importantly, classrooms should be communities of learning, not arenas of competition. In my tutorials, learning was not about proving who was smarter—it was about helping one another grow. My explanations inspired my friends, and their re-explanations often gave me deeper insight. This reflects Lave and Wenger’s idea of communities of practice, where learning happens naturally when people work together toward shared goals. Teachers can foster this by encouraging cooperation over competition. Mixed-ability groups solving real-life problems—such as designing a budget for a class project—allow stronger students to support those who need help, and everyone contributes something. This approach builds not only academic skills but also empathy, teamwork, and resilience.
However, the promise of such classrooms can only be realised if we abandon harmful labels. Too often, children who take longer to respond are labelled as “dull”, while those who speak quickly are dismissed as “talkative” or disruptive. These labels damage confidence and discourage participation. Teachers must recognise that children respond differently—some need more time to think, others learn best by verbalising ideas quickly. Both are valid. A supportive environment allows children to find their own pace without fear of ridicule or punishment.
My experience at the University of Ilorin taught me that learning thrives in expression, diversity, and community. When teachers design classrooms where children are encouraged to explain, where different learning styles are respected, and where collaboration is valued over competition, every learner has the chance to succeed. In such classrooms, children do not merely acquire knowledge – they gain the confidence, empathy, and skills needed to navigate the world beyond school.
