She watches her breath frost in the London air as she walks to her second job. The reality of life abroad collides with the carefully curated social media version she still maintains for those at home.
The japa decision wasn’t made lightly crushing inflation, currency devaluation, security concerns, dwindling healthcare access, educational system collapse, and children deserving better opportunities. But nobody prepared her for this grinding transition: the credential devaluation, cultural isolation, and the peculiar strain of proving yourself repeatedly in environments where previous achievements are meaningless.
While her 8-year-old adapts quickly, her 12-year-old struggles with cultural belonging. Her spouse, once a mid-level manager, now works night shifts at a warehouse. Her former colleagues see only the foreign currency she sends home, not the psychological toll of reshaping an entire family’s identity at 40.
Her LinkedIn updates showcase professional progress, never the midnight doubts or the weight of expectations from family counting on her success.
The uncomfortable truth: many are simultaneously succeeding and struggling, grateful for opportunities yet mourning what they’ve left behind. The japa syndrome isn’t simply economic migration—it’s a complex renegotiation of family identity.
Would they return? Perhaps. But Nigeria must offer more than nostalgia to reclaim its scattered talent. It must build systems worth coming home to.
