By Adonis Byemelwa
It took just one sentence from Shamsi Vuai Nahodha to ignite a firestorm across Tanzania. Standing tall in Parliament on May 12, 2025, the former Zanzibar Prime Minister and now a nominated MP leaned into the microphone and, with an unsettling calm, told the Speaker, “Madam Speaker, our students are wasting time learning things like the periodic table and quadratic equations that have no use in real life.”
The room didn't shake, but it might as well have. In a nation steadily investing in science, technology, and innovation, the timing and substance of his remarks felt like a slap in the face to educators, engineers, and anyone who has ever tried to make sense of the world through logic and reason. It wasn’t just what he said—it was how casually he said it, like a man tossing a lit match into dry grass without thinking twice about the fire he might start.
The remarks, made during the budget session for the Ministry of Education, Science, and Technology, were not just controversial—they were incendiary. His words echoed across social media platforms within minutes, and what followed was an onslaught of sharp, impassioned criticism from every corner of the country.
The backlash was not manufactured outrage—it was raw, informed, and deeply personal for many. Teachers, engineers, scientists, and parents responded with disbelief. Some were angry, while others were simply stunned. Yet all were united by one thing: a refusal to allow ignorance to masquerade as leadership.
“Does this man even understand what the periodic table is?” asked Mr. Saidi Mlewa, a veteran chemistry teacher from Morogoro. “That single chart is the heartbeat of modern science. If he says it is meaningless, then what exactly does he think chemistry is built on? What do we teach, if not the basic structure of matter?”
The question wasn’t rhetorical—it was the voice of a teacher who had spent over two decades trying to explain to young minds why the properties of elements like oxygen, carbon, or sodium matter in the real world.
The periodic table is not some academic relic locked in textbooks. It tells us why copper conducts electricity and why mercury is liquid at room temperature. It is the map scientists use to combine elements, create new materials, develop medicines, and design technologies we now take for granted—from solar panels to smartphone batteries to medical imaging.
Without it, chemistry becomes guesswork. Without it, there are no painkillers, no fertilizers, no safe drinking water, no industrial breakthroughs. That a Member of Parliament could dismiss this foundational tool so casually raises serious questions about the intellectual standards of our political discourse.
But it didn’t stop there. Nahodha aimed mathematics as well, calling the quadratic equation an outdated topic with no relevance in real life. To those who work in engineering, architecture, finance, and even agriculture, the comment was baffling.
“Quadratic equations are literally how we optimize structures, calculate areas, and predict motion,” said Engineer Khalid Mwakyusa, based in Arusha. “If I don’t understand how to solve a quadratic equation, I can’t design a bridge, period. So how exactly is that not useful?”
Even in sectors that seem unrelated at first glance, the applications are real. One mathematics lecturer from the University of Dodoma explained, “Do people think mobile recharge vouchers are generated by magic?
The security behind those codes is deeply mathematical, involving number theory and algebra. That includes quadratic expressions. Every time you load airtime, you're using a system protected by math.”
If this sounds too technical, consider a tailor trying to calculate the amount of fabric needed for a circular skirt. The equation to determine the area of the circle—a basic mathematical principle often tied to quadratics—becomes a daily tool.
Or think of a builder trying to estimate the dimensions for a curved wall. These aren’t theoretical; they’re real-world applications, and they matter whether one holds a PhD or runs a small business.
What truly ignited the public, though, wasn’t just the ignorance—it was the platform from which it was spoken. Parliament is not a place for wild guesses and shallow takes. It is where policy is made, where the future is shaped.
When an MP rises to speak during a national budget debate, particularly one dealing with education, there is an expectation of substance. That space demands rigor, clarity, and a grasp of the issues. Instead, Nahodha’s remarks came off like those of a man disconnected from the very system he sought to critique.
“It is embarrassing,” said Mr. Joseph Nnko, a mechanical engineer from Mbeya. “We have young people trying to join the Fourth Industrial Revolution, and our leaders are saying chemistry doesn’t matter. We should be ashamed.”
And here’s the real danger—when misguided views come from national leaders, they risk being mistaken for truth. Students start to doubt their education. Teachers feel dismissed. In a country pushing hard to build a science-driven economy, that kind of message is not just off-mark—it’s damaging.
At the very moment Shamsi Vuai Nahodha was questioning the value of foundational science, Education Minister Prof. Adolf Mkenda was laying out a bold vision: a 2.4 trillion-shilling education budget, expanded technical training, 10,000 diploma students supported through loans, and thousands of science scholars funded through the Samia Scholarship Programme. This isn't about academic pride—it's about national growth, strategy, and future readiness.
If Nahodha’s point was about making education more practical, he should have simply said that. Instead, he punched holes in the very foundation the country is trying to build.
Many educators agree that students need more lab time, more real-world exposure, and less cramming for exams. That would’ve been a valid and welcome contribution. But to say that core academic subjects themselves are pointless? That is where he lost the plot entirely.
In many Tanzanian schools, especially public ones, practical training is indeed minimal. Science practicals often come right before final exams and take up less than 5% of classroom time. At the college level, practical industrial training is squeezed into just two months each year. That is where reform is needed—not in discarding the very concepts that empower those practicals to happen.
So, what should Shamsi Vuai Nahodha do now? He has two choices—dig in and dismiss the uproar, or take the harder, braver route: admit he spoke without a full grasp of the subjects. The second path may bruise the ego, but it could restore credibility.
It would mean stepping out of the chamber and into the classroom. Sitting with curriculum experts. Listening to teachers and engineers who use these principles daily. Walking into a Veta lab and watching students apply formulas to cut metal, wire circuits, and calibrate machines—real-world tasks powered by the very knowledge he deemed pointless.
Because education isn’t guesswork. It’s not about loud opinions. It’s about precision, respect for knowledge, and the humility to listen before you speak. What happened in Parliament wasn’t just a blunder—it exposed a deeper crisis: when leaders dismiss science without understanding it, they don't just undermine subjects—they erode public trust.
One teacher in Tanga captured it perfectly: “If a grown man in Parliament doesn’t understand why the periodic table matters, then it’s not our students who are failing. It’s our leaders.” The public reaction said it all—Tanzanians are paying attention. They care. And they will speak out when ignorance tries to rewrite the value of learning.