MigrationAnonymous🇳🇬

5d

The Year Everyone Started Saying Goodbye

It started small. First it was a colleague from Compliance — one Friday she was sharing jollof at the office potluck, the next Monday there was a farewell card going round for her "Canada journey." Then a colleague from IT. Then two people from Finance in the same quarter. By the time our HR lady joked that she should just keep a permanent "Bon Voyage" cake order with the bakery, nobody laughed too hard, because everyone was quietly doing their own IELTS prep in their spare time. I was the one who swore I would never japa. I used to argue with my friends in our WhatsApp group — "This is my country, who will build it if we all leave?" I said it with my full chest, several times, usually after a good day at work when the naira in my account still meant something. Then came the month fuel doubled again. Then the month my landlord increased rent by 40% "because of the economy" and said it like it was a weather report, nothing personal. Then the month I did the maths — my salary in dollars, converted, was less than what my former course mate in Lagos-then-London earns in two weeks doing customer support, not even her main profession. I did that calculation on a Tuesday night and didn't sleep well. I still love this country. I want to be clear about that, because people who leave get accused of not loving home enough, as if love pays school fees. But I also love my future children having stable electricity to do their homework under. I love the idea of not calculating "will an ordinary flu bill wipe out my savings" every time I feel a headache coming. So I started my own process quietly. I didn't post it on LinkedIn with a countdown. I didn't want the mixed comments — half "congrats o, remember us" and half "another one has abandoned the country." I just did my documents, saved in dollars where I could, and kept showing up to work like a normal person, because in this economy you don't announce your exit plan to anybody, not even close colleagues, until the visa is in hand. Loose talk has cost people their notice period peace before. The week my visa got approved, I sat on my bed and felt two things at once, which I think is the most Nigerian feeling there is: real joy, and something close to guilt. Guilt for the team I'm leaving mid-project. Guilt for my mother, who will now tell her friends "my daughter don travel" with pride, while quietly missing Sunday rice at her table every week. Joy because for the first time in years, I feel like I am choosing my life instead of just surviving inside it. I don't know what the abroad life will actually be like once the excitement wears off — the loneliness people warn you about, the "japa depression" nobody prepares you for, the jobs that don't recognize your years of experience back home. I know it's not automatically better, just different, and that some who left are quietly regretting it in group chats nobody else sees. But I also know I was tired of watching my career, my plans, my whole timeline for life, be decided by an exchange rate and a government I didn't choose. So this time, I'm choosing something. Even if it's not perfect. Even if I cry at the airport, which I already know I will. If you're still on the fence: there is no shame in staying, and there is no shame in going. Just don't let anybody — group chat or LinkedIn — make you feel like your decision about your own one life is a referendum on your patriotism.

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MigrationVitalQuail🇨🇦

22 Jul

I Applied for a Canada Visa 7 Times Before I Was Finally Approved

I don't know who needs to hear this today, but if life keeps knocking you down, don't stay down. A few years ago, I had one dream: to move to Canada. It wasn't because my life in Nigeria was terrible. I was doing okay. But I believed there was something more waiting for me, and I couldn't let go of that vision. So I applied. Rejected. I applied again. Rejected. Again. Rejected. Eventually, I stopped counting until I realized I had been refused seven different times. The rejections became so normal that I actually started expecting them. Every time I submitted an application, I was already making plans for what I would do after the refusal letter arrived. That's how much disappointment had become part of the process. Then something unexpected happened. On my seventh application, I was finally approved. The funny part? My passport had less than six months left before it expired. Looking back now, I can't help but laugh. At the time, though, there was nothing funny about it. I had spent years questioning myself, wondering if I should just give up. Today, I'm grateful I didn't. If you're chasing something that truly matters to you—whether it's a visa, a career, a business, or any dream that feels impossible right now—don't let repeated failures convince you that it's over. Sometimes the only difference between failure and success is one more attempt. I'm living proof that your breakthrough can come after your seventh rejection. Never stop believing.

324149

MigrationMildDog

20 Jun

Living Abroad Is Not Easy

Good day, everyone. I used to think the hardest part was getting the visa and relocating. Now I know I was wrong. Traveling abroad for vacation is fun, but relocating permanently is a completely different experience. It's been a few months since I moved, and honestly, I haven't had a chance to rest. It's been one temporary job after another, long hours, bills to pay, and constant pressure to survive. Sometimes I feel like I'm just working and sleeping, then waking up to do it all over again. Back home, many people think that once you relocate abroad, life automatically becomes easy. The reality is very different. I'm grateful for the opportunity, but some days are harder than I ever imagined. For those already abroad, how did you survive your first few years? Did things eventually get better? How did you cope with the stress, loneliness, and constant hustle? Sometimes I feel like nobody talks enough about this side of living abroad. I will be reading the comments. Thank you.

30126

MigrationMildDog

13 Jun

My Family Believes I’m Abroad Studying—In Reality, I Dropped Out

I am actually originally from Nigeria, but all back home think I am still studying in the UK. I once forged a fake acceptance letter just to make them believe it. When they video call, I wear a hoodie, blur at the back and say I am overwhelmed with course work. I have even forged Zoom classes just to make it believable. What’s true is, I actually dropped out a year ago. I couldn’t keep up. It was just too much pressure, both moneywise and mentally. I tried to grit it out, but with months of anxiety and unpaid bills, I just quit. But how do you explain to your family, who sacrificed everything to bring you there, that you failed? Today, I toil at late-night cleaning shifts for offices in London, occupy a small, barely affordable room, and scroll through posts of my friends’ graduations with a constricted chest. I still keep sending my parents updates—doctoring photos, fabrication upon fabrication, lies upon lies. They’re most proud. It pains me most. At times, I consider simply confessing. But I’m afraid it will shatter their hearts. I have no idea how long I can continue with this. Has anyone ever found himself or herself under similar circumstances? Please, what do you do if you were me?

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