As schools reopen and parents grapple with rising tuition fees, a deeper question is emerging: are families paying for quality education—or simply buying grades?
Lawrence Muganga, Vice Chancellor of Victoria University, argues that Uganda’s education system has gradually evolved into a marketplace where academic grades are the primary commodity. And in that marketplace, demand is high.
According to Muganga, the issue of high tuition is not new. It is rooted in the structure of the education system itself. Schools, he says, are selling a product that parents have come to believe is valuable: top grades.
“The system is built in such a way that what is being sold to the parent and the student dictates a higher price,” Muganga explains. “And that higher price is justified as valuable.”
But he questions whether the return on investment is truly there—particularly at primary and secondary levels. While students may graduate with impressive academic scores, he argues that many are not equipped with the practical problem-solving skills needed to address challenges in their communities or in society at large.
“We have people who go through an entire education cycle, but they cannot do much to solve the problems they face,” he says.
At the center of the debate is what Muganga describes as a “conditioning” of parents to equate academic excellence with future success. Grades—whether a Division One, a 4-point score, triple A’s, or aggregates like 8 or 9—have become a status symbol.
“It has become a source of bragging rights,” he notes. “If your child scores highly, you feel you gave birth to an important child.”
This perception fuels demand for schools known for producing top results. And where demand rises, so does price.
Parents, driven by love and ambition for their children, are often willing to make financial sacrifices—selling property or taking loans—to enroll them in institutions that promise stellar academic performance. In response, schools adjust their fees accordingly.
Muganga explains that institutions often justify high fees by pointing to operational costs—expensive learning materials, infrastructure, or enhanced facilities. However, beyond tuition, additional charges accumulate: multiple school uniforms for different days, compulsory purchases of scholastic materials from in-house bookshops, and other school-branded requirements.
“The entire cost is downloaded to the parent,” he says.
Muganga does not entirely fault school proprietors. Many are businesspeople who have invested capital—often borrowed at high interest rates—and must repay loans while turning a profit.
“That’s how business works,” he acknowledges.
In this framework, education functions like any other private enterprise: investment must yield returns. The challenge, however, is that education carries a social mandate beyond profitability. When it becomes heavily commercialized, access and equity can suffer.
For parents, the financial burden can be overwhelming. Yet Muganga argues that families also bear responsibility for sustaining the system.
“We are also to blame as parents,” he suggests, emphasizing that society’s obsession with grades continues to drive the cycle.
The broader concern, Muganga says, is whether the education system is producing graduates capable of innovation, critical thinking, and societal transformation—or simply individuals trained to pass exams.
If academic scores remain the dominant measure of success, schools will continue to package and price grades as premium products. Until the mindset shifts—from glorifying marks to valuing competence and real-world skills—the cost of “top performance” is likely to remain high.