What happens when you do not want to leave Nigeria? What happens even when amidst the crippling inflation, lack of stable electricity and the devaluation of the naira, you still call Nigeria a home you never want to love from afar?
Again, what happens when as absurd as it looks, someone decides to move back to Nigeria from more stable countries like the United Kingdom and Canada? Do we hold them as foolish if they narrate their decision to move back as one fuelled by a desire to heal from racist incidents? What happens when you have a fear of experiencing racism and so choose to stay in what seems familiar? Is that choice, one that marks you out as less adventurous? Where are the stories on the other side of Japa and immigration?
These questions have been on my mind since more of my family and friends began moving out of Nigeria. Don’t get me wrong. I remain happy for them and their joy is my joy. I may also move for school if the opportunity shows up. But here is where I run into problems: I have never fully seen myself living away from Nigeria long term. I always want to be able to live in Nigeria and travel to any place of my choice.
This decision of mine was first realised when I was in South Africa in 2015. I attended a youth leadership conference and I was deeply homesick. Words cannot describe how delighted I was when I landed in Nigeria. It was then that I realised that I could not stay too long away from Nigeria.
That decision has however not been understood or fully respected by some people around me. I have run into arguments with those I love for insisting that I did not want to relocate permanently.
While I know that they do care and while I sometimes worry that I may regret my decision to not move permanently, I do think there should be space to acknowledge the stories of those who do not want to move at all.
Speaking with A*, a medical student based in Jos and used to live in the Caribbean, she says that the issues around leaving or not leaving are not as simple as presented.
“I believe if you’re actually going to japa, japa with sense.”
“I don’t believe that leaving the comfort of Nigeria to wash the ass of a white man to get minimum wage as an American or feel like you’ve left Nigeria finally or to feel free when you have a better life here is worth it.”
A* went on to say that the above is not ideal to her as someone who has experienced both sides of the debate.
“Nigeria sucks, but it only sucks cause we are not in a system that works. Having lots and lots of connections and support in that community is important; if not, you’ll drown,” she says.
Two of my favourite authors are Helon Habila and Chika Unigwe. Both of them write about immigration, loss, and the shifting meanings of identity for Nigerians. In his novel titled Travellers, Habila narrates how immigration is not always the get-rich-quick scheme painted by Nigerians. In it, through characters who had to flee insecurity and lack of employment, and yet faced the issue of proper documentation as immigrants, we see that migration is a bittersweet experience.
This is the same thing painted by Unigwe in her short story collection called Better Never Than Late, where she illustrates how, for some people, moving out of Nigeria may not be the best option for them. In one of the stories titled Becoming Prosperous, there is an exploration of how migration can lead to a lack of satisfaction. Without giving spoilers from the story, it follows the life of Prosperous, who leaves her cushy bank job in Jos, Nigeria, with her husband due to his supermarket being burned down in a crisis in Jos. In Belgium, she faces the reality of a lack of employment, becoming a cleaner, and all this amidst a need to learn a new language.
This is not to shame those who want to move out of Nigeria and to other countries. It is, however, to illustrate the grey areas that are often ignored in the conversations around immigration and relocation.
Indeed, multiple reasons abound to leave Nigeria, and no one must be shamed or criticised for wanting to be in a place where there is at least a semblance of a working system.
Sometimes immigration is the only way to fully bring light to your dreams. This sometimes poses a dilemma for some people who move abroad, move back, and are tasked with deciding if they should stay back or leave permanently.
When speaking with Nduka Izuogu*, a Lagos-based software developer and startup founder, he narrates that for him, he just wants the option of a working system.
“My japa story started in 2018 when I began interacting with people who had multiple citizenships. I observed how having these protected them just a bit, and I thought to myself: ‘If Nigeria can still get to them, what happens to me?’. And so with that knowledge, I started the process of giving myself options.”
“For me, that looked like getting a better-paying job and another citizenship outside Nigeria. In 2022, I successfully got my Canadian PR, and I’ve been shuttling in and out of Nigeria since then. This may come off as a privileged take, but I don’t want to permanently uproot myself from Nigeria because of the life I’ve built here and also because of my company. I mean, if I did not have the option of a well-paying job at the time I started the process of another citizenship, maybe I’d have thought to move permanently.”
The overarching reason for this piece is to draw light on the fact that more Nigerians like me have to choose between a rock and a hard place. One that sees our fear of homesickness battle with our desire to expand our potential to the fullest. That is something that needs to be addressed.
Nigerians should not have to leave Nigeria in order for certain dreams to see the light.
