Franklyn Usouwa, Author at Zikoko!

The Nigerian experience is physical, emotional, and sometimes international. No one knows it better than our features on #TheAbroadLife, a series where we detail and explore Nigerian experiences while living abroad.

Bimpe (35) had a good life in Nigeria as a successful travel consultant. But when her three-year-old daughter started shouting “Up NEPA,” something snapped. Determined to give her child a better life, she moved to Germany in 2020. In this story, she shares her experiences with systemic racism, the reality of raising a Black child in Germany, and why she is finally moving back to Nigeria.

Where do you currently live, and when did you leave Nigeria?

I currently live in Berlin, Germany. I left Nigeria in 2020.

What inspired you to leave?

I think it was the same thing that inspires most young Nigerians to leave: the belief that there is no future for them in the country. As a single mother at the time, my biggest motivation was my daughter.

My work took me outside Nigeria often, so I had thought about migrating eventually, but it was not in my immediate plans. Then one day, I heard my three-year-old daughter shout, “Up NEPA!”

Those words hit me like a train. It was heartbreaking to think she was going to grow up in that same environment. To have another generation shouting “Up NEPA!” just like mine did felt like a generational curse. I could not stand the thought. I started making plans to leave immediately. In less than a year, we had moved to Germany.

You said you travelled often for work. What did you do?

I was a travel consultant. If there was a potential language barrier, I would escort clients to their destination to ensure they got through immigration processes without any issues. I loved my job. Apart from being away from my family, leaving my career was the hardest part of moving away from Nigeria.

So how did you leave?

I had built up many contacts in the travel business over the years. I let them know I was looking to move to Europe, though I had not even decided on a specific country. I certainly was not thinking about Germany. I had been all over Europe, but never there.

However, I had a business partner with a travel agency there, and they were the first to show serious interest. The initial plan was to work for them on a sponsored freelance visa and regularise my stay later.

Did it all work out?

It almost did, but then the pandemic happened, and everything fell apart.

We arrived in Germany just days before they shut the borders. Once in Germany, I started the onboarding process at my new job. Then the lockdowns began. It was not just the borders that were closed; everything was shut down. It was a terrible time for the tourism industry, and the agency had to downsize. Naturally, they started with the newest hires. Suddenly, I was without the job that had brought me to the country in the first place.

What did you do?

The money I had saved in Nigeria started to look like nothing once changed to Euros. Between feeding and rent, I was burning through my savings very quickly. It felt like my life was going up in flames.

Without the job, I lost my visa sponsorship. I started receiving letters from the German government asking me to leave as soon as the borders reopened. But I was not ready to go back. I felt I had already given up too much to get there. I had sold everything in Nigeria and referred my clients to colleagues. There was nothing to go back to.

I got a lawyer to help plead my case, and eventually, I was given what is called Duldung here. It means “Tolerated Stay Permit.” Essentially, they suspended my deportation and tolerated my stay for humanitarian reasons. The whole situation was not my fault. I came to the country legitimately and had a plan. The pandemic was unexpected and affected so many people.

This must have been a very anxious time for you. What happened next?

The tolerated stay was for one year. I spent that time thinking about my next move. I decided to learn German as quickly as possible so I could apply for a tuition-free university programme.

I could not afford English-taught programmes, which are quite expensive. But for the German-taught programmes, you have to reach a C1 level in German to be admitted. Learning a new language at thirty was not easy. But I studied hard, took the language exam, and just managed to pass. I was admitted to an MBA programme.

On the job front, I eventually found a remote marketing role with a Malaysian company. That covered my living expenses. Things started to look better financially, but juggling everything was still incredibly difficult. I often considered giving up and going home, but my family in Nigeria relied on me for assistance. The €100 or €200 I send back regularly goes a long way there.

That sounds like a lot to handle. How did it all turn out?

Fast forward almost six years, and things are finally stable. I have finished my master’s and secured a government job, though I still keep my remote marketing role. My daughter is older now, I have a son, and I am married. Things turned out okay eventually.

That is great to hear. So you must be happy with life in Germany now?

Not exactly. Honestly, the idea of raising my daughter here is something I’ve completely abandoned. That goal was defeated.

While I met my husband here and Germany has been good to me in that sense, I would not advise someone in my former situation to come here. If you have no job or prospects in Nigeria, then fine, come. But if you are creative, talented, or entrepreneurial, stay away.

Why would you not recommend it?

Nigerians have fire in their blood. We are hustlers who do not stay in one place. In Germany, they will quench that fire. This place is for people who prefer a quiet, solitary life. If you do not mind systemic racism or you just want to live on government benefits, then Germany might suit you. But if you want to “make it” in life, there is nothing for you here. Career-wise, it was a very bad choice.

You mentioned your daughter. How has it been for her?

The “Up NEPA” I was running away from was replaced by something much worse: racism.

Things were okay in kindergarten because the school was run by British nationals and had an international mix of staff and students. She did not feel out of place. She even picked up German faster than I did. Her integration looked seamless. She was happy and confident. But primary school has shown us the darker side of Germany.

My daughter is the only black child in her school. In Germany, social groups are very segregated. The Germans stay together, and other immigrant groups do the same. Since there are not many Africans, my daughter is basically isolated. Considering what I experienced at university with “educated” adults, imagine what a child goes through.

Can you give an example of the racism you faced during your MBA?

We had to interview people for our thesis. While my German classmates secured interviews easily, I could hardly find anyone willing to speak to me. The most glaring instance, however, was during a supply chain presentation.

Our professor was a Greek man who was a lifetime civil servant in Germany. Alumni had warned me that he gave Black and Indian students poor grades, but I forgot the warning because he was actually quite engaging in class. When the group work came, our white classmates grouped up quickly, so I and the Indian students were forced to form the only non-white group.

We presented a case study on Dangote. My classmates were shocked; they did not think Africa produced anything of that scale. During the presentation, one student even asked if Dangote was “pure Black.” They could not believe a Nigerian man built such a business; they assumed he must be mixed race. It was incredibly irritating.

How did the professor react?

He was clearly upset. Maybe he thought I was trying to prove something by using Dangote as the case study. He grilled us for ages with questions he did not ask the other groups. Everyone could see he was being biased and unprofessional.

Since he could not find fault with the content, he attacked the slide design instead. He claimed the colours did not match and spent ages scrutinising the references and looking for missing commas. He even suggested we had not made the slides ourselves.

I had to pick up my son, who was not even a year old, so I left after our presentation. I later found out through our WhatsApp group that the professor was furious I had left and threatened to give our group the lowest score. I fought back, emailing the administration with proof that I designed the slides myself and challenging his bias.

Did the school take any action?

They called me for a meeting, but the professor’s “solution” was to give the entire class a C-grade. He did this to turn my classmates against me for “playing the racial card.” That is how the system brings you down—if they cannot get you directly, they turn the crowd against you.

That sounds incredibly isolating. As a family, how do you find ways to have fun in Berlin?

I would not call it fun; I would call it “unwinding.” Fun usually involves human connection. Without my husband and children, I would be completely alone. We go to church on Sundays and sometimes to the playground. But even there, other children do not play with mine. It is a cold, detached place to raise Black children.

How did you meet your husband?

I met him on a dating app because I did not have time to socialise elsewhere. He is German, but he does business across Europe. Meeting him is the best thing that has happened to me here. He is a wise man, which is rare. Germans are smart, but many lack emotional intelligence. My husband is different.

How was your dating life in Germany before you met him?

There is just no comparison between Nigerian and German men. I went on dates where the man expected me to split a €10 coffee bill. I am a liberated woman, but if a man cannot pay €5 for my drink, we have no future. We cannot even be platonic friends, because I do not see why friends would split such a small bill.

When I met my husband, I asked his opinion on that “Berlin tradition” immediately. He laughed and said he would never make me pay. I got lucky.

How would you compare pregnancy and childbirth in Nigeria versus Germany?

The Nigerian experience was better, but it’s only because of the racism. As a Black woman, you are not always treated properly by white doctors and midwives. I received better, more empathetic care in Nigeria.

In Germany, the staff only behaved nicely when my husband was around. Honestly, if I have another child, I would prefer to have them in Nigeria.

Have you visited Nigeria since you left?

Yes, we visited earlier this year. I had mixed feelings. I was shocked by the cost of living. I spent ₦100,000 in Shoprite on just toiletries. I was changing foreign currency and still complaining; imagine those earning Naira. It was painful to see people looking so skinny and hungry.

But on the other hand, I loved seeing my family. Meeting my new nephews and nieces for the first time felt amazing. My daughter was so happy to finally have people to play with. Her cousins and the neighbours’ children were all over her. She has been asking to go back ever since.

My husband also had a great time. He’s been telling his colleagues how warm and bold the people in Nigeria are. He says he has had better conversations with Nigerian businessmen than he has ever had with Germans.

What does the future look like for you?

I plan to relocate back to Nigeria. It could be as soon as next year. I will gladly leave my government job, but I’ll keep my remote marketing role with the Malaysian company because I’ve enjoyed a fantastic five years with them.

When I return to Nigeria, I want to resume my travel business to help young people move with proper information. They need to know that as a first-generation migrant, you will likely struggle.

If I had known I could not comfortably raise my daughter here, I would have chosen another destination. So I want to help other Nigerians with the information that will help them make the best decisions.

Are you worried about a reduction in your purchasing power when you move back?

Not really. Earning foreign currency in Nigeria provides a very good life. My only real worry is insecurity. However, I want my children to have that Nigerian drive. In Germany, they will be mediocre because the system only wants them to be average. In Nigeria, they will learn to be tenacious.

What have been the major culture shocks for you in Germany?

They do not use email; everything is sent by post. Letters, letters, letters! We are drowning in paper in 2025. The banking is another shocker; transfers that are instant in Nigeria take three days here.

But one thing I like here is how your days pan out exactly as you plan them. People are punctual, and there’s no traffic, so those annoying delays you’ll experience in Nigeria don’t happen here.

What have been your best and worst experiences?

The worst experiences have been with the systematic racism here. In healthcare, you will call 30 doctors for an appointment and be told they are full, but if a white friend calls, they get in immediately. You cannot prove it, but you know it is happening. Every day is a battle.

My best experience was meeting my husband. Meeting him and having my son made the entire journey worth it.

On a scale of one to ten, how happy are you in Germany?

Taking my family out of the equation, I would give it a two. It is very depressing here.

Do you want to share your Abroad Life story? Please reach out to me here. For new episodes of Abroad Life, check in every Friday at 12 PM (WAT).

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The terrorists, bandits, and kidnappers in Nigeria are not afraid to flaunt their weapons and ransom cash on social media. They post videos of hostages begging their families and friends to pay for their release, all in the full glare of the public.

It honestly feels like you’re almost as likely to see them on your timeline as you are to see streamers and influencers. Anyone who has come across their posts must have, at one point or another, asked a crucial question: How are they getting away with this, and how has their online presence not yet led the government to track and arrest them?

Why is there a terrorist on my feed?

You open up your favourite social media app for another doomscrolling session, and instead of another silly argument on X or cute dance videos on TikTok, you see something very different. It’s men in faded khakis with machine guns, counting massive stacks of cash.

These men are terrorists, bandits, or kidnappers and the cash is ransom money. So you’re probably thinking, “I shouldn’t be seeing this. It does not belong on this platform,” but you open TikTok again another day, and it’s there; you don’t want it to be, but it just is. That is the bizarre reality we are living in Nigeria. Terrorists and bandits have decided that kidnapping and mass murder are not enough; they now need to be content creators.

But why do they feel the need to rub their crimes in our faces?

Everyone’s an influencer now… even terrorists

If you think the terrorists posting videos on social media are out of place amongst your favourite influencers, you are dead wrong. They are influencers too, just with different goals in mind.

Social media may be a new platform, but terrorist groups have, for a long time, used mass media to publicise their activities. This is because it allows the world to know what their motivations are. Most importantly, it is a great job advert.

We have previously discussed how extremist groups in Nigeria use money to recruit soldiers from poor communities. Like in early 2025 when the terror group known as Lukarawas offered ₦1 million to new recruits. The terrorists of Nigerian TikTok are showing off their cash because they want potential recruits to see just how much money they too can make if they join their ranks. The goal is to turn their crime into a successful brand.

To the poor and desperate youths in the Northern parts of Nigeria, where there is little education and few options, these videos advertise crime as a rewarding career path.

During the “End Bad Governance” protests in August 2024, a bandit posted a TikTok video asking the protesters to send him their account details.

At the end of the protests, which were sparked by widespread hunger, the Nigerian government charged a group of minors with treason for taking part in the protest. Treason carries the death sentence. So for those poor boys, the option becomes: die protesting your hunger, or join the extremists in the forests, counting cash.

In all the madness, there are two nagging questions: Why are the terrorists so bold, and why can’t the government use their digital footprints to track and arrest them?

Where did you buy your audacity?

These extremists appear in these videos barefaced, completely unafraid of being identified. Security experts believe it is a deliberate strategy to show the government just how fearless they are.

Basically, they are saying there is nothing the government can do about it. And so far, the Nigerian government is proving them right. So, if you are asking where they bought their audacity, the answer is that the government sold it to them.

The one group of influencers the government can’t dox

Government mouthpieces who have spoken on the issue seem to want us to believe that the problem is technical.

Special Adviser to the President on Policy Communication, Daniel Bwala, has said that terrorists operating online cannot be tracked because they do not use local internet service providers. According to Bwala, Nigerian security agencies can easily track local internet users because there are regulatory bodies that maintain a database of citizens and their phone numbers. But he claims the terrorists use Elon Musk’s Starlink satellite network, and that makes it impossible for the Nigerian government to track them.

Too many Nigerians have had the harrowing experience of negotiating a loved one’s release over the phone with kidnappers. Well, the Minister of Communications and Digital Economy, Bosun Tijani, says the bandits’ phones cannot be tracked either. Tijani claims they are especially hard to track because they use special technology to bounce their calls over multiple cell towers.

We can’t track them… except when we can

We might have bought Bwala and Tijani’s stories if this government could keep its story straight.

In November 2025, armed men invaded a church in Eruku in Kwara state and kidnapped 38 worshippers. Days later, the worshippers were released. During an interview with Arise News on November 24, presidential spokesperson, Bayo Onanuga, said that the federal government had made contact with the kidnappers and demanded they release the hostages or face consequences.

He said, “They made contact with the bandits to secure the release of the captives. Our security agencies have systems for tracking these criminals, which allow them to monitor developments in real time.”

So which is it? Can the government track these criminals or not?

According to Onanuga, the kidnappers released the hostages because they were afraid of the force the government would come down on them with if they continued to hold them. There is so much to unpack in that statement.

Why did the government get involved in that particular case and not others? Why is the government allowing armed groups to go scot-free after releasing hostages? Aren’t they just going to find another group to kidnap?

We have so many questions.

No more excuses

Whatever the technical limitations that are preventing the government from tracking and neutralising these violent extremists, it should be a priority to fix and address them.

Upgrading the digital capabilities of our security forces must be top of the agenda for any spending on defence. We need more than excuses from this government. We need solutions. We need answers. We need a safer Nigeria. And we need it now.

But if we’re going to get them, we have to demand it. We have to be loud and clear that we are not buying excuses anymore. We want to see results and we want to see action.

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Ever had a moment where Nigeria’s systems made life harder—or unexpectedly easier? We want to hear about your personal experiences that reflect how politics or public systems affect daily life in Nigeria. Share your story with us here—we’d love to hear from you!

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The Nigerian experience is physical, emotional, and sometimes international. No one knows it better than our features on #TheAbroadLife, a series where we detail and explore Nigerian experiences while living abroad.

Melody (27) got interested in Korean culture through K-dramas and K-pop. That fascination led to a master’s scholarship in South Korea. In this story, she shares the experiences, difficulties, culture shocks, how three years in Korea have changed her, and how she misses Nigeria’s signature chaos.

Where do you currently live, and when did you leave Nigeria?

I currently live in South Korea. I left Nigeria in 2022.

What inspired you to leave?

I came here to do my master’s.

But why South Korea?

I have been interested in South Korea for a very long time. Of course, it started through K-dramas and K-pop. I found the language fascinating, and I started studying it.

I decided I wanted to pursue a master’s in International Studies with a focus on Korean Studies. And where better to do that than in Korea? So I started looking at study opportunities and got a scholarship.

Was that your first time leaving Nigeria?

Yes, that was the first time I ever left Nigeria.

What was it like arriving in this country that you’ve been fascinated with for so long?

It was like a dream come true. I was very happy. There were a couple of minor niggles, but I feel like the happiness overshadowed any negatives.

I lived in Nigeria for the first 24 years of my life, and staying here in Korea for just three years has completely changed the way my brain works. Getting to see how effective things can be in terms of transportation and quality of life is eye-opening. I’m not trying to throw Nigeria under the bus, but it’s just so different.

I visited Nigeria last year, and I was shocked by the state of the airport. But regardless of its shortcomings, going back to Nigeria always warms me. Here in Korea, it sometimes feels like nobody cares about you, but Nigerians are friendlier. I’m not saying Koreans aren’t friendly; they need to have a reason to talk to you, like being in the same school or going to the same church. I don’t even really know my neighbours yet.

It’s a bit different from older Koreans, though. They are more approachable and more willing to engage in conversations with strangers, unlike the younger ones, who will never approach you first. If you do approach them, though, most of the people I’ve met are really nice.

Anyway, I realised I missed the people in Nigeria. Even the food. I really missed yam. And to an extent, I would say I miss the small gbas gbos that happen in Lagos. My first time on a bus when I got back, they started fighting in the bus and I was just like, “I have missed this.” Everything is so calm in South Korea.

Were you fluent in Korean when you first arrived?

No, I was not. I’d done a bit of self-study before coming. I had also taken classes at the Korean Cultural Centre in Abuja. But I still experienced a bit of a language barrier when I first arrived.

The first year of my scholarship programme included one year of Korean language training. But most of my classmates are also foreign nationals, so we would communicate in English.

The language barrier really became a problem when I actually started my master’s. It’s one thing studying the language, it’s another thing studying in the language. Sometimes I felt like crying during my first semester. I had to do extra studying because I’m basically translating from Korean to English and then trying to understand it back in Korean. It was really difficult for me at first.

Aside from academics, how did the language barrier affect day-to-day life?

It wasn’t a problem. My understanding of the language was enough to get through daily life easily. Also, the country is set up so you barely have to speak to anyone to get anything done. And even if you do, and you’re missing some vocabulary to say what you want, there are translation apps you can use.

How was the experience settling in socially?

I’m not very good at making friends. So most of the friends I made were either schoolmates or from church. There were other Nigerians who got the same scholarship, and we made a group chat and tried to stay connected. That made it easy to feel settled.

What are your plans for the future?

I don’t have any plans set in stone. I’m currently job hunting, but I’m also considering pursuing a doctorate degree. I’m just trusting God’s guidance and instruction for my life.

What would be an ideal job for you?

I’ve been applying for roles in marketing, social media management, and overseas sales. But I’m open to any job that fits my skills.

Do you see yourself returning to Nigeria permanently at some point?

Nigeria will forever be home to me. I have family and friends in Nigeria. But about coming back to settle permanently, I honestly cannot say right now. Of course, I’ll always visit.

How do you have fun in South Korea?

Well, I got interested in swimming, so I’ve started taking swimming classes. I also go to the gym. Or sometimes I’ll go to a café. I like going to the beach, visiting museums, and sightseeing. But I think my favourite fun activity is travelling. I really love travelling. Apart from the actual travel, I even love just planning trips.

When you say travelling, do you mean within South Korea?

Within Korea and also trips out to other countries. Being in Korea has given me opportunities to travel that I never had in Nigeria. From here, it’s much easier to get visas, especially to other Asian countries.

Interesting. What countries have you visited?

I’ve been to Thailand, Vietnam, Malaysia, the Maldives, and Qatar.

Nice. Which was your best trip?

I went to Malaysia and the Maldives on the same trip. In 2024, when I started taking these trips, I went as part of a group, but on this trip, it was just a friend and me. It was sort of a vacation, and we did a lot of activities. We went island hopping, did water activities like snorkelling, and visited museums. The Maldives was so beautiful it felt surreal. I’d never seen bodies of water look that clear. That trip was just so fun, I can barely express it in words.

The Qatar trip was interesting too. It was my first solo trip, so I was a bit worried, but it ended up being great. On my first day, I went on a safari trip, and I met some Nigerians and people from other countries, too.

Sounds like you had a great time. What culture shocks did you experience when you first arrived in South Korea?

I did a lot of research, so I was already quite familiar with the culture before I came here. But a few things did surprise me. For example, timing, let’s just say I was used to “African time.” If an event is scheduled to start at 2 PM, I’m aiming to get there at 2:30 or even 3 PM. But it’s not like that here. If they say it’s 2 PM, it’s starting at exactly 2 PM.

Another shock was the weddings. Back in Nigeria, when you attend a wedding, you know that’s all you’re doing for that day. Here, they have strict time slots for the weddings, so it’s very short, very quick. But what I find most fascinating is the gift-giving. They don’t buy gifts; they just give money.

They have these counters, and as you come in, you go there, put the money in an envelope and hand it over to the people there. Then they’ll give you a ticket. If you don’t gift money and get the ticket, you can’t eat at the wedding. It’s very different from how we do weddings in Nigeria. But I think I prefer the system here, because the newlyweds can use the money to buy whatever they need.

One more shock was the public displays of affection (PDA). There is a lot of that here, and I feel the K-dramas lied to us about that. You don’t see a lot of it in those shows. The main characters might not kiss until the very end. But coming here, I was like, you guys should get your room. What’s wrong with all of you?

You sound like you’ve had an amazing time in Korea, but what has been your worst experience?

I was once hanging out with a Korean friend and another friend from Myanmar. We were at a mall, and we saw this massage chair open for use. Before we walked up, we saw a white couple testing it. And when we got there, they told us foreigners weren’t allowed. We pointed out that we had just seen two foreigners test it; they appeared to relent. They let my friends test it, but when I wanted to, they wouldn’t let me.

I still think about that experience once in a while.

Sorry that happened. Have you experienced other instances of racism and discrimination?

Nope. But to be fair, I’m a really open-minded person, and unless it’s really in my face, I wouldn’t notice stuff like that.

Okay. What has been your best experience so far?

I’ve had a lot of great experiences. I could start from the day I arrived here. I left Nigeria with one wheeled travelling bag and one Ghana-must-go bag. When I arrived, I had to catch a train. Going to the train station, I had difficulty dragging the Ghana-must-go while wheeling the box. And a Korean woman just came and assisted me in dragging the Ghana-must-go until I got to the elevator taking me down to the boarding platform.

When I got out of the elevator, the train was almost leaving. An older couple saw me struggling and came to help. The man was running and dragging the Ghana-must-go until he lost his slippers. It all just felt so welcoming. Like that was literally my first day in Korea, and people were helping me like that. That was a very memorable experience for me.

On a scale of one to ten, how happy are you in South Korea, and why?

I think I’m going to give it seven. Ten is for God, nine is for me… I’m just joking.

I’m going to give it a strong eight. My life here is way better than it was in Nigeria. Even in terms of opportunity.

I love the travel opportunities being here has given me. And South Korea has literally been a home away from home for me. Most people I’ve met here have been welcoming. Life here is not that hard. Things work. There’s constant electricity, transportation works, healthcare works, and so does everything else. It’s not a ten yet because I’m still searching for a job.

Do you want to share your Abroad Life story? Please reach out to me here. For new episodes of Abroad Life, check in every Friday at 12 PM (WAT).

Before you go, help us understand how you and other young people feel about the 2027 general elections by taking this 10-minute survey.

Click here to see what other people are saying about this article on Instagram

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The Nigerian experience is physical, emotional, and sometimes international. No one knows it better than our features on #TheAbroadLife, a series where we detail and explore Nigerian experiences while living abroad.

After travelling through 35 countries, Stephanie (31) shares how slow, intentional travel reshaped her outlook, opened global doors, and led her to build a new life in Canada.

Where do you currently live, and when did you leave Nigeria?

I currently live in Canada. I left Nigeria permanently two years ago, but my first trip out of Nigeria was in 2017. Something in me changed after the COVID-19 pandemic. I suddenly had this urge to be outside, explore and do more. So I started actively travelling after that.

Were these holidays or work trips?

I’ll call them workations. I took these long trips, settled in a new city while working full time simultaneously. Weekends and evenings were spent like a tourist, while weekdays were focused on work.

How many countries have you been to?

I’ve been to 35 countries, and I’ve visited a lot of them multiple times. I’m more focused on the experience they give me than the number.

That’s a lot of countries! When did you realise you love travelling?

It was during a trip to Spain. I was in Malaga, and I was just completely awestruck by the beauty of it. The coastline, the water—it was so beautiful.

I took a road trip from Malaga to Valencia, going from city to city. And I loved the feeling. I love meeting new people and experiencing new cultures, so that was the deciding moment for me. I knew that I needed to continue seeking that feeling.

Interesting. What’s your favourite country you’ve visited?

I have two: Thailand and Mexico.

Mexico because, to me, Mexicans feel just like Nigerians. I felt like I was at home. The cultures just feel very similar.

Then Thailand because they are some of the happiest people I’ve ever met. They are so kind, so caring, generous, sweet, and very warm.

It’s quite common to hear Nigerians complain about the difficulty getting around with a Nigerian passport. How has that been like for you?

Yeah, it was difficult in the beginning but I went about it the right way. I think most people go for a UK or US visa for their first application, having no travel history.

What I did was to travel to African countries first. The first place I visited was Ghana. Then I went to Rwanda, Kenya, Uganda, and Tanzania. It was after visiting those African countries and building that travel history that I started applying for visas outside the continent.

The first country outside Africa I visited was Spain. It was a short visa, of merely two weeks, but that’s how you start building that travel history. Now I have multi-year visas for the US, UK, Schengen, Thailand, and of course my visa and work permit in Canada. It didn’t just happen at once. I built my travel record very carefully.

I think it’s also important to do your research and then do your applications yourself. If you have questions, ask people with experience. People need to know that a lot of the things that we fear would get us rejected are within our control. We just have to do the right things.

When you visit any new city, is there anything you look for to decide if you like it or not?

Before I even go there, I try to do some research about it. I’ll read about it, and watch some videos to understand other people’s experiences. Then when I’m in the city, I usually take one of those group walking tours where you just walk around the city together with someone who has lived there for a long time.

A good way to fall in love with a city is seeing it through the eyes of someone who loves it. So I try to see the city through the eyes of people who really know it.

Also, those tours allow you to connect with other people who are also new in the city. It has been a good way for me to make friends.

What has been your favourite travel experience?

It was in Cappadocia in Turkey. I took a hot air balloon ride. The other passengers were all coupled up and taking pictures, and I was by myself just looking and watching the sun rise.

It was so beautiful. That moment reconnected me with God spiritually. It was so beautiful to witness, being about a thousand metres above the ground watching the sun rise up. I thought to myself, “There has to be a God who made something this beautiful?”

So you were basically touring the world on these “workations.” But what inspired you to leave Nigeria permanently?

After my first solo trip, I realised that I couldn’t live in Nigeria anymore. I think even while growing up, I sometimes felt different in the things that brought me joy. I love experiences, simple things like taking a walk and deep human connections. Those simple pleasures were harder to build into my everyday life in Lagos because of how fast-paced the city is.

I did not leave Nigeria because I was searching for a better life. Nigeria gave me a very full life, deep friendships, and strong roots. I left because my idea of fulfillment was evolving. That is what first led me to Kenya, where I lived for about a year and a half, and eventually to Canada.

So Kenya had what you were looking for?

It was perfect. The nature, and travelling around Kenya, is amazing. It’s so easy to move around. They have a great rail system that can take you from Nairobi down to Mombasa in less than five hours. And generally, it feels like a country that was built for tourism.

Even Kenyans love travelling within Kenya. They’re always going on little weekend trips to different parts of the country. So for someone who likes to explore like me, it’s the perfect place to live.

What was it like actually living in a new country?

Initially, I was super excited. I had come to Kenya so many times as a visitor, but the reality of actually moving there was different. I thought it would be the same feeling as when I was visiting, but at the beginning, I had difficulty adjusting.

First of all, Nairobi can get very cold. Also, the food is much less spicy than we prefer in Nigeria. But the biggest thing was trying to build a community.

In Nigeria, I had all my friends, and I had a very active social life. I was always hosting people, throwing parties, and going for events. And then I got to Kenya and I had no friends. I basically had to start from scratch.

But at the same time, I wasn’t in the country long enough to really build a strong community because I would stay for two to three months, then I’ll be on my next trip. By the time I’ve come back, the people I connected with have moved on with their lives. It didn’t help that a lot of the people I was able to connect with were also travellers like me. So even though we do keep in touch, our schedules were rarely in alignment.

Did you experience any culture shocks in Kenya?

I was pleasantly surprised by the independence of Kenyan women. They are very strong, very independent, and feel very much like the pillars of their society.

I also found the work culture to be very different from Nigeria, at least comparing Nairobi to Lagos. While Lagos is very fast-paced with the usual hustle and bustle, Kenya felt more relaxed. On weekends, you’ll see people going to the park with their families for a picnic. Just simple things like that which I never saw living in Lagos.

There’s this idea that Nigerians have a bad reputation on the continent. Did you feel that in Kenya?

No, actually I would say it’s the opposite. While I was in Kenya, once I mentioned to anybody that I was Nigerian, they would get so excited. It was great.

I’m actually grateful to Kenya for reconnecting me with my Nigerian roots and making me appreciate Nigeria more, especially our music. Everywhere you go in Kenya, the clubs, the bars, the restaurants, it is Nigerian music playing.

For the longest time, my music taste leaned very Western. But being in Kenya got me listening to Nigerian music again.

What was your best experience in Kenya?

I’ll say my first safari. It was the Naivasha safari. You take a boat on the lake to an island, Crescent Island. And you can just walk amongst the animals.

Like I said, I love nature. And being in that environment made me feel so connected to nature. I felt whole.

That sounds amazing. What about your worst experience?

That would have to be when a friend came to visit me in Nairobi, and in less than twelve hours of her arrival, her phone was stolen.

Nairobi is actually notorious for crimes like phone theft. People jokingly call the city “Nairobbery.” So, I had actually warned her to be careful.

We went to a nice upscale event. You naturally wouldn’t expect that your phone would get stolen in a place like that. But it happened. It was crazy. Definitely the worst experience.

That is crazy. But apart from the crime, you said Kenya was perfect for you. So why the move to Canada?

It just felt like the right next step for me. I was lucky enough to get a work permit here, and I took it as a sign from God that this was the next place that I needed to be.

Also, I wanted something a bit more stable that would make me feel grounded. I want to really focus on my career right now, and I feel like Canada would be the best place for that.

I also have a lot of friends and family here, so that helps. I’ve only lived here for about three months, and I already feel quite at home. Settling in has been a lot less difficult than it would have been if I didn’t have that support system.

What has been your worst experience in Canada?

A friend welcomed me so well and let me stay with them as long as I needed. But even with that soft landing, Canada still showed me shege.

I had already planned a schedule in my head for all the things I would achieve before the end of the year. And getting my own apartment was a major part of the plan.

But getting an apartment as someone who has never lived here before was so difficult. I kept getting rejected everywhere I went. Once they found out I’m an immigrant who just moved here, that was it.

Rent here is typically on a monthly basis, and I was even offering twelve months rent upfront, but some landlords still wouldn’t rent to me.

I began to lose hope because I was just so tired of looking for apartments every day and getting rejected. I’m grateful for my agent because he just kept on pushing and trying, and eventually I got a place. I just moved in a few days ago.

So, yeah, the apartment search was a pretty terrible experience.

Glad you found a place in the end. What about your best experience in Canada?

That has to be my visit to Niagara Falls. Being on a boat while watching the falls crashing into the water was very beautiful.

Let’s talk about future plans. You talked about moving to Canada because you wanted more stability. What does that look like for you?

I want to eventually buy a house. At some point, I want to go back to school. I want to have a real presence in the FinTech space. And I feel like being in Toronto with New York and London just being hours away, I’m in a good spot location-wise.

I also haven’t travelled around North America yet, so being here allows me to start to explore and just take some little trips to places close by.

Do you ever see yourself returning to Nigeria permanently?

To visit, definitely. To move, not anytime soon. Maybe when I’m seventy years old.

In Nigeria, I would say I was quite comfortable. I had a driver, had a cook, and a housekeeper; I barely did any chores. All I did was focus on work. But those things don’t mean as much to me as simplicity, ease of life, and just being able to get amenities when I need them.

It is actually funny how being away from Nigeria has made me love and appreciate it even more. Distance has given me perspective.

On a scale of one to ten, how happy are you in Canada and why?

I feel the happiest I’ve been in a long time. But ten would be a bit of a stretch. So let’s say a nine.

I made this decision despite having so many things going well for me somewhere else because deep down I knew it aligned with what I want long-term. And with each passing day, I feel more confident that I made the right choice.

It’s not been the easiest start, but I feel like everything has just been falling into place little by little. I feel very happy to have my little apartment with the Toronto skyline. The peace is what makes me truly happy.

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Uche’s* (27) outgoing vibe landed him a coveted NYSC posting at the National Assembly. In this story, he talks about the free-flowing cash, enjoying Abuja’s nightlife, and how being so close to power in Nigeria was not all he thought it would be.

Life before…

I grew up in a very humble background. And when you’re in that kind of situation, your reality forces you to create alternate universes where you dream big as an escape.

I wasn’t athletic at all, so while other kids played street football, I disappeared into books. I loved international thrillers from writers like James Hadley Chase and Tom Clancy. My dad would also bring home newspapers, and I devoured those too. So from quite a young age, I was already building an interest in government and geopolitics.

Government was my best subject in secondary school, so I went on to study International Relations at university. I dreamt of becoming a foreign service career officer, maybe even an ambassador one day.

Maybe it wasn’t meant to be, or maybe the chance will still come later. But my time at the National Assembly (NASS) showed me the worst sides of Nigerian politics.

Preparing for NYSC

Ending up at NASS was honestly by chance. I wasn’t trying to get posted there, but looking back now, I see how my choices and attitude made it happen. There was a lot of luck involved too.

At university, I got along really well with my lecturers. With their advice and encouragement, I already had my path mapped out. After my bachelor’s, I was going to get a master’s, maybe even a doctorate, and then join the department as a lecturer at my university.

One of my professors told me that the most likely route to the foreign service roles I wanted was through academia. So I didn’t see NYSC as an opportunity, just an obstacle I had to clear before continuing my academic journey.

That’s why I wasn’t too bothered about where I’d serve. Luckily, I got posted to the seat of power: Abuja.

Being friendly in camp was helpful

This is where things get serious. First of all, remember, this is Nigeria. For a place like the National Assembly, a lot of placements are already reserved for the connected.

So if, like me, you know absolutely no one, the best way to give yourself a chance is to get into a leadership position at camp. At the time, I didn’t realise I was helping my chances. I was just being myself.

Everybody likes a humble, approachable guy. And that’s naturally who I am. I’m outgoing and I love meeting people. So I had no issues walking up to people to introduce myself and get to know them.

You’ll find that most people want friends but don’t want to be the first to initiate. They put up aloof fronts but are pleasantly surprised when someone stretches out a hand for a shake and starts a conversation.

Because I was forward in making friends, I got quite a number of them. So when the platoon leadership elections came up, I indicated interest, and with votes from all my new friends and acquaintances, I won. It was a landslide, to be honest.

Platoon leadership was a stepping stone

I became platoon president, but there are other positions too, like vice president or treasurer. Try to get one of these roles if you can.

As platoon leader, your job is to organise your platoon for morning drills, kitchen duty, cleaning, and so on. That means you interact with camp officials a lot. You also coordinate your platoon’s participation in camp events like sports, pageants, and marching. I made sure my platoon did well in everything. We made the podium in all activities.

I had to do a lot of legwork. Not just because I was platoon leader, but because this was Abuja. Let’s just say a lot of the corpers there were privileged.

Some basically came, registered, and left only to return on the last day of camp. Others stayed during the day but went home at night. Black tinted SUVs were constantly coming and going.

These were the type of people who would quickly contribute funds for whatever needed doing, but I had to do the heavy lifting myself. At the end of the day, being active helped me build a good rapport with the camp officials, and that’s exactly what you need to do.

The meeting

Near the end of the three weeks in camp, the officials called us platoon leaders for a meeting. That’s when they asked if we had places we’d like to be posted to.

Considering my career goals, I immediately said the Ministry of Foreign Affairs. But it turned out postings there are in high demand, and far more connected people had already made requests. The Ministry of Foreign Affairs was off the table, so I was told to pick between the Nigerian Defence Academy (NDA) and the National Assembly (NASS). I chose NASS.

Reporting for duty

Those of us posted to NASS took our documentation and went there. At the gate, once you show your papers, they give you a visitor’s tag and let you in. We were ushered into an office, and from there different offices would come and pick from among us. Sometimes representatives requested specific ethnicities or genders.

Of course, this didn’t happen in a single day. Nigeria isn’t the kind of place where things move that fast. Over several days, we’d go, sit in a room, enjoy the AC, scroll on our phones, and wait. Each day, a few people got picked.

One day, while I was chatting with other corpers, a lady came in, pointed at me and another guy, and said, “You and you, follow me.” We followed.

As we walked, she asked if we knew anybody. We said no. Then she asked the other guy his ethnicity. He was Yoruba. She told him to go to the Speaker’s office. She asked me the same. When she heard I was Igbo, she looked disappointed. She thought for a bit, then told me to go to the office of the Clerk of the House of Representatives and tell them she sent me.

So I went. I met the clerk’s assistant, told him she sent me, and he just pointed me to a desk. That was it.

The clerk’s office

The clerk’s office handles general administration and welfare for the House of Representatives.

On the admin side, all bills pass through the clerk’s office before they ever get to the floor. It’s also where all the keys are kept. If anyone wants to access a room, they come to us.

On the welfare side, once items like office furniture or cars are approved, the budget goes to the clerk. The office receives bids from contractors, buys the items, and distributes them to members.

Most days, I’d come in, greet everyone, then start with the register of keys. People sign keys out, so I’d check who hadn’t returned theirs. Then I’d go from office to office to collect them. That took time, but afterwards you basically just sit, relax, go for lunch, gist, and watch TV.

Some days, though, politics demanded certain bills be passed quickly. We’d stay till as late as 11 p.m., fine-tuning the bill. We worked with the legislative aide of whichever representative owned the bill to make sure it was ready for the floor. I knew my stuff, so my boss valued my input.

ALSO READ: I Got a PPA That Paid Me ₦250,000 During NYSC. Here’s How I Did It

The lifestyle

We were paid a salary in addition to the NYSC allowance. And honestly, money flowed freely at NASS. Any politician who came to the clerk’s office would gift us before leaving. “Corper wee, have this,” “Well done, corper. Take this one.” ₦10,000 here and there, it adds up. I usually left with around ₦50,000 most days.

For a poor boy like me, I hadn’t seen that kind of money before. I was just spending. I wish someone had told me to save.

Almost every day after work, we’d head to Silverbird Galleria to watch a couple of films. From there, we’d go to Trukadero. Opposite Trukadero was Cubana, so we’d cross over. Then off to Moscow Underground. We were basically touring Abuja. I have to admit, the nightlife in Abuja is great. It was really fun.

Getting retained after service… Or not

First tip: know your stuff. I did.

I was really good at my job. The Nigerian bureaucracy is full of inefficiency, so I quickly got to work drafting new process documents to make things smoother. My work started getting noticed, and my boss even wanted me to stay after service. Unfortunately, I didn’t fit very well into the culture there, and that ended up working against me.

But here are some tips that might help you have better luck.

How to get retained

Be morally flexible. At NASS, money flows freely. Too freely. Like I said, I would accept gifts from visiting politicians. But every bill has to pass through the clerk’s office, and people are always looking to grease the wheels with cash. I wasn’t ready to collect those kinds of monies, and in that environment, that makes you “untrustworthy.” They’re very cautious of potential whistleblowers.

Never discuss politics. It sounds ironic, but at the National Assembly, avoid all talk about Nigerian politics. Especially any critique of how politicians aren’t doing well. And absolutely do not talk about religion.

Be humble. Or at least act humble. Basically, be a mumu. Unfortunately for me, I wasn’t.

One day, I came to the office and saw someone at my desk. I politely asked him to get up so I could work. To be honest, I think I fell for a trap. It exploded into a big issue.

Apparently, I’d broken some unwritten rule where you can’t tell someone to get up if they’re “higher” than you in some hierarchy I didn’t even know existed. That’s how I got banished from the clerk’s office to some inactive committee. That’s when I knew it was over.

So yes, be “humble.” Remember you’re dealing with people whose survival depends on staying close to power. If they sense any form of threat from you, they’ll do their best to get rid of you.

Maybe if I had kept my head down, I’d have been retained. Maybe if I had been more of a politician.

In summary…

Assuming you studied an appropriate course (political science, government, international relations, etc) and you find yourself posted to Abuja.

At camp, be a social butterfly. You’ll need people’s support for the elections.
Contest for a platoon leadership position. That support comes in handy here.
If you win the elections, be a very active leader. Be respectful and try to build a rapport with the camp officials.
When you get the opportunity, ask for your desired placement.
At NASS, be good at your job, work hard and be humble.
Fingers crossed Nigerian politics doesn’t do its thing.

*Names have been changed to protect the privacy of subjects

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The Nigerian experience is physical, emotional, and sometimes international. No one knows it better than our features on #TheAbroadLife, a series where we detail and explore Nigerian experiences while living abroad.

Chike* (32) and his wife were struggling to pay bills despite being two medical professionals in a no-child, two-income household. In this story, he shares how he left that life behind to become a cleaner in the United Kingdom and what life has been like in his first six months there.

*This model is not affiliated with the story in any way*

Where do you currently live, and when did you leave Nigeria?

I live in the United Kingdom. I left Nigeria in 2025. I’ve only been here for about six months.

What inspired you to leave?

First of all, I don’t even think of it as leaving. I would say I escaped Nigeria. My reason for escaping was the search for better circumstances, for a better life.

What was life like in Nigeria?

Life in Nigeria was hard, with little to no reward for the stress. I am a radiographer and sonographer. My wife is a nurse. We don’t have children yet. Even though we were two working medical professionals, it was still difficult to pay the bills.

We couldn’t even make rent sometimes. We could barely get through the month without exhausting both of our salaries and sometimes having to take on debt.

That’s insane. Did both of you travel or just you?

Both of us. She actually moved first. She got a job as a nurse with the National Health Service (NHS), and I joined her a couple of months later.

I had registered and gotten licensed to practise radiography in the UK, but getting a job here proved difficult. Many employers still want UK experience.

So what did you do?

I looked for other jobs. The first job I got was as a cleaner at a warehouse.

Wow!

I know, right? But I showed up with pride every day and took my job seriously. The shocking part is that I earned more cleaning in a week in the UK than I did in a month as a radiographer in Nigeria.

In my first two months in the UK, I worked many different jobs in all sorts of places. Really labour-intensive jobs at packaging companies, food production companies, bottling companies, warehouses, anywhere that was hiring.

But those were stressful. It was starting to tell on my body. So I got a job in care. Very recently, I finally got a job as a sonographer. I’m really happy about it because it was very difficult. To be honest, when I left Nigeria, I never imagined it would take me up to six months to get the job, considering all the experience I had.

Sometimes I just think about how hard it must be for my colleagues applying from Nigeria. The process is just getting tougher for immigrants.

Congratulations on the new job. Any long-term plans?

My goal is to progress within the NHS, do a master’s degree and specialise. I’m hoping to have started and maybe even finished my master’s within the next three years. My wife and I are trying to time it so we start our master’s together. That way, when we’re studying, we can both encourage each other.

I’m really grateful for the grace of having a partner in all of this. Our ideals, goals and both short-term and long-term plans are all in alignment. That has been amazing.

You called leaving Nigeria “escape.” Any possibility of a return at some point?

If it weren’t for family back home, I wouldn’t be looking forward to coming back to Nigeria anytime soon. So the plan is to visit once in a while after we’re settled.

To go back permanently, I don’t see that happening for the foreseeable future. The only thing that would ever make me seriously consider moving back would be a genuine and very drastic change in the conditions back home. The current Nigeria, as it is, is not a place I want to be.

You’ve only been in the UK for a short period. But apart from your wife, have you started to build a support system?

I’m naturally a bit reclusive, so to be honest, currently, my wife is really my only support system here. Even the few Nigerians I’ve met here were introduced to me by my wife. They are her colleagues and friends, and I guess they are sort of my friends by extension.

Let’s talk about your experiences in these first six months. Any culture shocks?

When I got off the plane, the first thing that hit me was the cold. I was mentally prepared for it to be cold, but my body clearly wasn’t. It took me a few weeks to adjust.

I’ll say the stereotype about their food being bland isn’t dishonest. They don’t do spicing as we do back home. We mostly cook Nigerian food at home. Unlike my wife, I’m open to experimenting and trying new things. So I’ll always try British cuisine. Some of them are downright horrible, but some are actually very good.

There’s something I’d heard about the culture here, and I’ve seen it for myself. People can be polite, smile with you, meanwhile they figuratively stab you in the back. But I don’t necessarily think it’s a bad thing. Even when I can tell the smile is fake, I still appreciate it. I feel like even a fake smile can make someone feel a bit better.

And honestly, I think it’s part of why their system works. There are aspects of the culture I really appreciate. For example, even superiors at work still have to respect you and treat you correctly. Because of that, every job retains the dignity of the person.

I said I was proud of my first job here as a cleaner. Back in Nigeria, it would be unimaginable for someone of my academic standing to accept such a job with pride. It would be considered embarrassing, and you’d be paid next to nothing. But here, even a job like that pays a livable wage.

So while there are cultural differences that take some getting used to, I can’t criticise them because I think it’s all part of why their system works.

Let’s talk about highlights and lowlights. What has been your worst experience so far?

My worst experience was a very long warehouse shift. Twelve hours of back-breaking work with only one hour of an unpaid break. To make things worse, the bus that was supposed to take me home never left the station that day. I had to trek for almost two hours to the next train station. That day was just the worst.

Sounds horrible. What has been your best experience?

My best experience was getting the NHS sonography job. That was the moment I finally felt like I had arrived. After six months, I felt like I could start my life here.

It’s like in the journey of my life, I was travelling down a smooth road, then when I got here, I turned onto a very rough side path. I had to take that path for six months. When I finally got this job, I felt like I’d started to turn back onto the smooth road again.

The process was tough. It involved a physical interview where I had to perform a live ultrasound scan in front of a four-person panel of British professionals. It was nerve-racking, especially because it had been over five months since I left Nigeria, so I was out of practice.

Honestly, I was doubting myself. It was the first time I’d gotten to the interview stage of any of my applications. I knew there were many other applicants. I didn’t have UK experience. So I was nervous.

It had been so difficult getting to that stage. If I didn’t get it, I didn’t know how long it would take me to get another. So it felt like a lot was riding on it. I tried not to think about it too much so I could manage my disappointment if I didn’t get it. My wife was more confident than I was. She believed in me more than I believed in myself.

When the acceptance mail came, I screamed the whole house down. I bet my neighbours thought something was wrong. That was my best moment so far.

I can imagine. Congratulations again. On a scale of one to ten, how happy are you in the UK and why?

I’d say a solid eight point five. My major reason for leaving Nigeria was to seek a better quality of life. I’m not looking to work less, but I want to actually see the fruits of my hard work. I don’t want to be living to work, I want to work for a living. Here, I feel my hard work is rewarded.

As a radiographer in Nigeria, I could barely afford my own needs. But here, I can even help out family back home.

It doesn’t feel like a fool’s dream to plan towards buying our own home in a few years. You don’t have to save two years’ salary untouched before you can afford an old car just to commute. If we live frugally for two to three months, we should be able to get at least a fairly used car if we want.

A lot of the things you’re conditioned to see as luxury back home are considered basic here. So it’s just a much better quality of life.

It’s not a ten because I still think about my family in Nigeria. Even if you escape a dungeon and you still have family there, then a part of you is still in that dungeon. So even as things get better for me, I still have to put in extra effort to help make things better for them.

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Nigeria often feels lawless. When we do act like we have laws, they are selectively enforced depending on who you are and where you stand in society.

So what happens when the average person no longer believes justice will come from the government or legal institutions? They turn to individuals. Loud, charismatic, sometimes chaotic and flawed individuals. It’s Nigeria’s anyhowness that gives people like VeryDarkMan and Ordinary President an audience.

Here’s how.

In the land of anyhowness

The word “anyhowness” is a Nigerian slang that very accurately captures life in Nigeria.

The Urban Dictionary defines Anyhowness as the pervasive behavioural attitude that perceives nothing as either right or wrong, proper or improper, rational or irrational, ethical or unethical, legal or illegal, but rather sees any behaviour as acceptable subject solely and entirely to the immediate and selfish desires of an individual or a homogenous group.

In Nigeria, there is no steady moral ground to stand on. It’s all flexible, constantly shifting. Anything and everything is allowable if it’s the means to a desirable end. What was wrong yesterday can be right today, and vice versa. Anyhowness.

Still, selfishness and hypocrisy are human traits. Nigerians don’t have a monopoly on them. We’re not different from people anywhere else in the world. Yet we see far more functional societies all around us. How do they do it?

Strong institutions. They’re the pillars that hold everything up. That’s how the morality of your society doesn’t collapse on itself every two market days.

Nigeria’s institutions, though, are weak. Frail. Flimsy. They fall at the slightest push.

Where do we even start?

Is it EFCC arresting Bobrisky for spraying money but letting Government Ekpemupolo (known as Tompolo) walk free, even though both committed the same offence?

Or INEC officials and security operatives watching blatant vote buying during recent elections?

Or the case of Ochanya Ogbanje, where Felicia Ogbuja was jailed for negligence, but her husband and son, Andrew and Victor Ogbuja, accused of sexually assaulting the child, are still free men?

We could go on.

When institutions fail to provide moral consistency, people look for it in individuals. That’s how figures like VeryDarkMan rise to prominence.

VeryDarkMan

Martins Vincent Otse, popularly known as VeryDarkMan (VDM), properly entered the national spotlight in 2023 when he called out the skincare brand Jenny’s Glow and its founder, Igbinoba Osasenaga Jennifer.

VDM accused the brand of not being registered with the National Agency for Food and Drug Administration and Control (NAFDAC). It sparked conversations about regulatory processes in Nigeria’s beauty industry, which had largely been ignored, and it showed VDM’s willingness to go against big names without mincing words.

Since then, he’s kept the same bullish energy. That approach has sparked feuds with celebrities and landed him in police custody multiple times.

Activist Social Media Police

Most media platforms describe Otse as an activist. But he doesn’t like the label.

He made this clear in a YouTube video on November 17, 2025, while responding to criticism that accused him of hypocrisy. Yes, that word again.

The Cambridge Dictionary defines an Activist as someone who believes strongly in political or social change and takes part in activities to try to make change happen.

The criticism came from a tweet pointing out that VDM, who rose to fame by calling out brands selling unregistered products, was now allegedly involved in selling fake iPhone 17s. The poster argued that being an activist meant VDM should be held to higher standards.

VDM replied, “I’m not an activist… I don’t even have any definition of what I am. Na una dey call me activist. Me I be social media police. And I try to impact.”

Source: @Verydarkblackman

Whether he realises it or not, that statement shows a desire to avoid labels that come with accountability. So he prefers to create his own.

Who polices the social media police?

On August 5, 2025, Wasiu Ayinde, a popular Fuji musician, clashed with airline staff at Nnamdi Azikiwe International Airport. Just five days later, on August 10, another incident happened between Comfort Emmanson and Ibom Air staff.

On August 17, VDM posted a video on Instagram advising passengers to obey flight rules and respect attendants.

Source: @verydarkblackman

Fast forward just three months to November 17, 2025, and VDM himself was in a physical fight with comedian and social media personality Freedom Okpetoritse Atsepoyi, better known as Mr Jollof. Punches. Headbutts. Even biting. Disgraceful stuff.

The hypocrisy of telling others how to behave on flights, only to act out in the exact same setting.

VDM later released an apology video on YouTube. It opened with him comically bandaged up, trying to use humour to soften the situation.

What it really showed was that his accountability is always on his own terms. Which, as a private citizen, is his right. But it also highlights the problem with expecting private citizens to act as moral police in our social spaces.

VDM is not the only flawed man trying to fill the vacuum left by weak institutions.

Ordinary president

Ahmed Isah, better known as Ordinary President, is a radio personality. He hosts Brekete Family on Human Rights Radio in Abuja.

The show is where “ordinary Nigerians” come to seek justice and help. Six days a week, hundreds of people line up outside the studio hoping their case will be heard. Each day, Isah picks the few that catch his attention.

On air, victims share whatever human rights abuse they’ve suffered. Isah then delivers his brand of justice by naming and shaming the “guilty” party. If it’s a government official or agency, he’s known to call them live on air and demand they fix the situation.

Cases range from broken marriages and community disputes to government overreach, tenancy disagreements, wrongful dismissals, pension issues, and even brutalisation by security operatives.

Now, if you’re thinking these sound like cases that belong in court, you’re absolutely right. That’s exactly where they should be. But litigation in Nigeria is a nightmare for most people, especially the poor (who are most Nigerians).

Our courts are slow, clogged with endless backlogs, and the thought of being adjourned forever makes many give up. People want their case heard now, with judgement delivered immediately.

There’s also the problem of illiteracy. The language of the courts is inaccessible to many Nigerians. Meanwhile, Ordinary President runs his show entirely in Pidgin.

Presidential slaps

In May 2021, BBC Africa released a documentary about Ordinary President. In it, he handled a case where a woman accused her niece of witchcraft, tied her up, and poured boiling water on her scalp. The child was left badly scarred.

While interrogating the woman, Ordinary President physically assaulted her. Two vicious strikes across her face in view of his audience and journalists, while surrounded by cameras.

Source: BBC News Africa

Public backlash followed, and he apologised: “Please, na human being I be. I am bound to make mistakes. Na the zeal inside of me and the passion wey dey push me.”

But in the heat of the controversy, another video from October 2020 resurfaced, showing him slapping a man during the show.

Source: QEDNG

Human pegs in institution-shaped holes

Here’s the thing: we actually agree with Ordinary President: he is human. VDM is human, too. They’re both bound to make mistakes, to act in ways that contradict the morals they preach.

That’s exactly why they don’t deserve the pedestals we put them on.

Humans cannot replace institutions. Even when they present themselves as alternatives, it’s our responsibility not to buy into it. We need to ignore the hype. Ignore them.

Putting people on pedestals is asking too much. It never works. They always fail because they are human.

We can only hold them accountable to the level they’re willing to offer. VDM’s apology video was on his own terms. He didn’t have to do it. Same with Ordinary President’s apology.

We can’t rely on controversial, fallible individuals to be the moral compass of our nation. Individuals will always represent their own interests, even if those interests seem aligned with the masses for a while.

What we truly need are strong institutions we can hold accountable. Institutions grow stronger when citizens demand accountability. And so far, Nigerians have done a poor job of that.

Institutions are what can truly represent our collective interests with a consistency that humans simply cannot. But for that to happen, we must build strong institutions by becoming active citizens.

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Tope* (33) decided to abandon her ₦35 million salary in oil and gas after the EndSARS protests to leave Nigeria for the US. In this story, she shares her experiences of marriage, finding love and building a new family, and how she managed to purchase a house in the US after just three years.

Where do you currently live, and when did you leave Nigeria?

I live in the United States. I left Nigeria in 2022.

What inspired you to leave?

There were a few reasons. I’m queer, so moving somewhere I could live freely was always on my mind. Many of my friends had already left or were planning to leave. But what really pushed me was the EndSARS protests.

How so?

I was working in oil and gas, earning good money. My job was offshore, so I had a one-month-in, one-month-out schedule. That meant I could literally spend a whole month at home without doing much before heading back to the field.

Life felt easy. I could pay people to handle chores, and my salary meant I could afford most things I wanted. I travelled whenever I liked for holidays, but I didn’t really see myself living abroad.

But then I had friends—male colleagues—who would get picked up by police just because they looked a certain way, drove certain cars, or had laptops and phones. We made good money, so we could afford these things, but that made us targets. They would have to pay to be released, even though they could prove their income was legal.

It didn’t happen to me directly. They mostly targeted the guys. But I saw it up close one day. I was on a road trip with friends, driving through Calabar, when the police stopped our bus. They picked on one of my friends simply because he had two laptops.

The police said they would hold him for investigation and told the rest of us to continue our journey. I got down and insisted we weren’t going anywhere without him. I had to make a scene, which is very unlike me because I’m not a confrontational person. After a lot of back and forth, they finally let him go.

That experience showed me that the problem affected everyone. We weren’t exempt just because we had money. So when the protests started, I was really invested. So when it ended the way it did, I knew I had to leave.

So your sexuality didn’t play into your decision to leave? You didn’t face discrimination?

Well, I wasn’t open. Nobody who would discriminate against me knew I was queer. I did tell one colleague—a subordinate I felt close to—but he reacted by trying to preach to me, like older Nigerian men often do.

My siblings know, some of my cousins know, but my parents don’t. I only tell people I think will be okay with it. I avoid situations that could cause drama.

So I didn’t face discrimination directly, but being in the Nigerian gay community, you hear about kito cases. It’s scary and sad. Also, the secrecy makes dating toxic.

What kind of toxicity?

For example, you’ll be with a girl, but she’ll also be with a guy as cover. I know many gay women who married men, and I understand why. Life is already hard as a single woman in Nigeria. Some landlords won’t even rent to you if there’s no man. No matter how comfortable you are, as a single woman in Nigeria, there’s still a level of disrespect.

So I get why some women married men and still wanted girlfriends on the side. But I always knew I wasn’t going to do that. I’ve always wanted to marry a woman.

So how did you travel?

I applied for a master’s degree. One of my brothers was already living in the US, so I applied to universities in his city. I figured I would live with him and save on things like rent. It wasn’t a scholarship; I paid all my fees myself.

How did you afford that?

My base salary was about ₦35 million a year. But when you’re out in the field, they give you an allowance. So during my off months, I lived off the allowance and didn’t touch my base salary.

A friend taught me about investing in stocks, so I did that too. Stock prices were down during the COVID-19 pandemic, allowing me to buy them cheaply. When I was ready to travel, I cashed out some mutual funds to cover tuition and other expenses. I still have most of my stock. I sold some again last year when I bought my house here, just to make up the down payment.

Are you still studying?

No. It was a one-year programme. After that, I got a job with an automobile company, but I was there for less than a year. I hated that job, but luckily, I got poached by my current employer.

What do you do now?

I’m a lead engineer at a research facility.

What made you hate your previous job?

The culture was terrible. There was this toxic competitiveness where everyone was trying to prove they were working harder than the next person.

Do you like your current job?

Absolutely. Since they wanted to poach me, I was able to negotiate things like a flexible schedule. I’m respected and valued. Everyone’s impressed with my work, and I’m not even stressed.

Can you compare working in Nigeria with your current job in the US?

My situation in Nigeria was sort of different. I joined the company through a graduate trainee program, so this meant I was moved around different teams to learn. After that, I was thrown into the field to supervise and manage teams of technicians. This was particularly challenging, partly because of my age and largely because of my gender.

Now, in my current job in the US, I’m also the only woman on the team, leading blue collar men and even though they’re pretty much the same (in terms of attitude, sense of humour, and being lewd), they show me more respect here because they don’t have a choice. I’ve never had to report anyone to HR, but I know if I did, there would be real consequences.

The culture allows them to look beyond the fact that I’m a woman and see my years of experience, knowledge, and skills.

What was it like coming to the US?

Honestly, the first few months sucked. I moved in with my brother, and his city was predominantly white. He had Nigerian friends, but they were mostly straight tech guys. It just wasn’t my crowd. Even though they invited me to hangouts, I felt alone.

I went on a couple of dates, but they didn’t work out. I was unintentionally celibate for six months. Then I met my wife, and we just clicked.

That sounds nice. How did you meet?

We started talking online, but it was on our first date that we really connected. It was at a café. I was late, so she was already inside waiting. I had to parallel park, and the car I was driving was bigger than what I used to drive in Nigeria. My parking was very embarrassing.

I walked in thinking, “I hope this girl didn’t see me.” So I said, “I hope you didn’t see me parking.” She replied, “Nope.” Then burst out laughing. I laughed too. Obviously, she had seen it. But it was such a great way to start, connecting through laughter.

It just felt easy. You know when you meet someone and you vibe instantly? Every day since has been laughter with her.

That sounds truly amazing. But what’s your support system like in the US?

I have some family here. Two of my siblings live in the US, though in a different city now because I had to move for work. My brother was actually the witness at my wedding. I’m hoping to eventually move back closer to them. Right now, we’re about an hour’s flight apart.

I live with my wife and my mother-in-law. I get along really well with my wife’s family. Everyone lives in different states, but we try to get together once or twice a year.

I also have a lot of friends. Even when we can’t meet in person, we talk virtually.

Do you feel any type of way about having a relationship with your wife’s mum, when she can’t with your own parents?

Definitely. It’s something I’m really struggling with right now. We’re thinking about having a child, and I don’t want to confuse the kid or send mixed signals. If my Nigerian family wants to be part of that child’s life, they’ll have to accept that I’m gay.

I’ve been trying to talk to my dad about these things. I haven’t told him I’m gay, but I already know where he stands. This is a man who once told me he likes Trump because “he will stop gay people.”

I always try to see things from other people’s perspectives, so I understand Nigerian Christians being homophobic. But you have to think critically. You have three children in the US, three immigrant children. How does hating queer people outweigh immigration policies that could see your children deported?

I can’t even engage my mum in these conversations because she goes straight to emotional blackmail. I got a dog recently and showed it to her. I said, “You’re a grandma now.” She immediately replied, “No o! I’ll be a grandma to human children.” Then she started talking about finding a husband.

I own my house. I bought it in my third year here. I had to remind my mum that she hadn’t even told me she was proud of me for achieving that. It’s sad comparing that to my mother-in-law, who tells me she loves me every day and is always saying how proud she is of me.

I understand my parents are worried about the shame of family members knowing and what pastors will say. I empathise with them. I know it’ll be very difficult for them, and I feel sorry for them. But I’m going to come out next year whether they like it or not.

Wishing you the best of luck with that. I hope they find their way to accept it. Let’s change gears a bit. What do you do for fun?

Sometimes we go out to shows and concerts. There are nice restaurants around, too. But I’m more of an indoor person now. In Nigeria, I used to enjoy going to strip clubs. When I see people clubbing online, I miss it, but I’m old now, please. If I go out till 11 pm, I need an entire day to recover.

So we do more indoor activities. We each have a hobby room in our house. My wife is into science fiction media and games, so that’s what you’ll find in her space. She’s always trying to get me to play games with her, but I’m not a gamer.

In Nigeria, I learnt to sew while I was in university, so I use my hobby room for that. I’m always creating new designs. I also take care of my house plants. I have over seventy of them, so something always needs watering or pruning.

It’s definitely not like Nigeria. It’s more boring. I miss things like Detty December so much. But this is fun in its own way.

Speaking of Detty December, have you been to Nigeria since you travelled?

Unfortunately, not. I just need to sort out my immigration status. Hopefully, next year, my papers will be sorted and I’ll come down for a visit.

Fingers crossed. Would you consider settling in Nigeria at some point in the future?

No. I’m married to a woman.

There’s a version of events where we move away from the US because we don’t feel comfortable here with everything happening. But we’ll likely end up in Europe. Wherever we go, it has to be somewhere our marriage will be recognised. That’s the most important thing.

Let’s talk about culture shocks. Were there any you experienced when you moved to the US?

The major thing for me was the food. Honestly, I found the food disgusting. There’s sugar in places you don’t expect sugar to be.

Have you gotten used to it, or do you just cook Nigerian food?

I cook Nigerian food. But it’s expensive. For example, I can’t find goat meat locally, so I have to have it shipped every time.

How does your wife find Nigerian food?

Okay, I guess. She doesn’t like a lot of it, but she’ll eat some.

Being here has made me realise some things about our food, though. For instance, how it all looks the same. I’ll ask my wife to help me take out my egusi from the fridge, and she’ll say, “Which one is that?” I’ll reply, “The brown one.” Then she’ll say, “They’re all brown!” And when you think about it, it’s true. They’re all brown.

Also, it never occurred to me how pungent things like iru and ofada are. The smells fill the whole house. Anyway, she eats some of my food, I eat some of hers, and if I don’t like what she’s made, I always have something Nigerian in the fridge.

Let’s talk about highlights and low lights. What has been your worst experience in the US?

The job with the automobile company. Nothing crazy happened, but the culture was off. You’d see people on the 8 am to 4 pm shift working till 2 am.

I was there for less than a year and had four different managers. Some were fired, some quit. They would literally fire people and walk them out of the building in the middle of a shift. It was just a weird place. Definitely my worst experience. I knew within three months that I was going to leave as soon as possible. That wasn’t the type of job I wanted at all.

That does sound toxic. What has been your best experience in the US?

Meeting my wife, getting married, and building this life for myself.

The reason I can even think about coming out to my parents now is because I’m in this safe relationship. If I didn’t feel like I was in something I’d have forever, I’d be afraid to come out. Because what if it didn’t work out?

But being safe in my marriage, knowing this is my family and the life I’m building, gives me strength. Never in my wildest imagination did I think I would have something like this as a lesbian woman. So yes, my marriage is the best experience of my life.

Sounds blissful. But let’s see if we can put a number to it. On a scale of one to ten, how happy are you in the US—and why?

I’ll say eight. In my personal life, it feels like a ten. Maybe even twenty over ten, to be honest. I feel so much safety, love, and acceptance.

But in the US as a whole, living as a black woman and an immigrant isn’t easy. I haven’t really suffered direct discrimination, and I’m fortunate to be able to apply for my green card through my wife. But I know people who got sponsored by their jobs only to be laid off and stranded.

Even if you’re not directly affected, you see and hear what’s happening to other Nigerians here. People detained by ICE, and partners creating GoFundMes to help them out. It all feels heavy.

It’s heavy being in this country. But I also feel like it’s not just here. Look at all the things happening in Nigeria this week. There’s a lot going on in the world right now. That’s why I say eight. My personal life is good, but there’s so much happening outside of that, and you can’t really isolate yourself.

Do you want to share your Abroad Life story? Please reach out to me here. For new episodes of Abroad Life, check in every Friday at 12 PM (WAT).

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The Nigerian experience is physical, emotional, and sometimes international. No one knows it better than our features on #TheAbroadLife, a series where we detail and explore Nigerian experiences while living abroad.

Collins (36) always believed in his potential. After he walked away from Igba Boy and put himself through University, he found that Nigeria stifled that potential, so he moved to the UK. In this story, he shares the differences between life in Nigeria and the UK, the culture shocks, and how childbirth and parenthood feel vastly different in the UK.

Where do you currently live, and when did you leave Nigeria?

I live in the United Kingdom now. I left Nigeria in 2022.

What inspired you to leave?

I just felt like I wasn’t reaching my full potential in Nigeria. I had an unconventional path, and I was determined to do better for myself. So when it started to feel like I couldn’t achieve the things I wanted back home, I decided to go where I could.

You said you had an unconventional path. Could you explain?

After secondary school, I didn’t go straight to university. I spent four years in the Igbo business apprenticeship system we call Igba Boy.

I still remember the night I finished my last secondary school exam. My dad sat me down and told me I wouldn’t be going to university. He just couldn’t afford it. So in 2005, I went to serve a master at Balogun Market in Lagos. I was there until 2009.

The usual agreement was to serve for seven years, after which your master would “settle” you with a fully stocked shop and some capital, about ₦2 million back then, which was a lot. But we had a falling out, so I left after four years.

What happened?

I’d managed to save about ₦38,000, and he found out. He said the money was his because, in his words, “whatever belongs to the boy belongs to the master.” I didn’t agree. So we parted ways. That meant I wouldn’t get the full settlement, but I’d already made up my mind. My heart was never really in it. I wanted to go to school.

In the end, he gave me ₦250,000. I added that to my savings and used it to put myself through school. I wrote the General Certificate of Education (GCE) and Unified Tertiary Matriculation Examination (UTME) exams and got into Obafemi Awolowo University (OAU).

That’s impressive. When did you start feeling like you weren’t meeting your potential?

Almost immediately after my National Youth Service Corps (NYSC) service year. I moved back to Lagos with some savings and stayed with a friend, but the money started running out fast. I was applying for jobs and getting nothing. It was frustrating. That wasn’t how I pictured my life.

I started thinking, “What if people laugh at me?” Like, I left Igba Boy to go to school, and now I’m unemployed. If I’d stayed, I’d probably have my own shop by now, with boys under me.

Eventually, I got a job at an insurance company in 2018. The starting salary was just ₦40,000. And from what I saw of the office politics, I knew I wouldn’t go far there.

At that same time, a friend got a job abroad with one of the Big Four. That was my lightbulb moment. I thought, “I need to leave this country.” So I started saving and applying to schools abroad.

How did that go?

I actually got into a German university on a scholarship. But it didn’t work out.

I did the first year remotely from Nigeria because of COVID-19 travel restrictions. By the second year, I was supposed to move to Germany, but even though the scholarship covered tuition, I had to fund my travel and show €10,000 as proof of funds. I didn’t have that kind of money, so I dropped out.

Luckily, I’d met my wife-to-be around that time. We were both planning to japa, so we decided to work on it together.

Did you get married in Nigeria?

Yes, we did. We even had our first child there. After the wedding, we agreed she’d go to school while I worked. She got a partial tuition fee scholarship to a UK university, so we moved, and I found a job.

What do you do now?

Finance. When we got here, we had mentors who advised us. I told them I had experience in programme management and insurance, and they said, “Go into finance. That’s where the money is.”

So that’s what I did. I’m working now and also doing my certifications. I’ve finished Association of Accounting Technicians (AAT) Level 2 and Level 3 certifications, and I’m currently on Level 4, working towards becoming a Member of the Association of Accounting Technicians (MAAT). That’s a designation that you’re a qualified accounting technician in the UK. Afterwards, I’ll start my Associate Chartered Accountant (ACA) certification with the Institute of Chartered Accountants in England and Wales (ICAEW) to become chartered.

Nice. Have you been back to Nigeria since you left?

Nope.

Any plans to return?

Maybe for a visit. But definitely not to stay.

So the UK is home now. What’s your support system like?

We have Nigerian friends around, but I was intentional about not relying only on the Nigerian community. We’ve made friends from other countries, too. Honestly, I’ve been let down more by Nigerians here than by others.

For example, I tried joining a group in my church, but it felt like we were always being asked to contribute money for one thing or the other. And it was just one guy pushing it. I got tired and left.

Are there many Nigerians where you live?

Oh yes. We live in one of the most diverse cities in the UK. There are lots of Nigerians and Indians, especially. So the Nigerian community here is big.

But one thing we noticed early on is that there’s this culture where Nigerians who’ve been here longer expect some kind of special respect from new arrivals.

So, you had a kid in Nigeria and another in the UK. How do those experiences compare?

They’re worlds apart. In the UK, it’s not just about the mother and baby; they actually care about the man too.

During antenatal visits, they ask the man, “How are you coping? How are you dealing with this? Do you need help? Do you need counselling?” They even gather all the men in one room to teach us how to support our wives. They ask about financial pressure and, if you’re struggling, they’ll tell you where to get free food like milk and eggs.

They also check if your house is suitable for a newborn. They’ll come around to inspect things like mold on the walls, and if they find any, they’ll contact the council to fix it.

Counsellors randomly call just to check in. At first, I found it invasive. But it really helps you prepare mentally. Having a child is a big deal. So it’s really great that there’s actual support to help men be in the right shape to then support their wives through it.

The biggest difference is the structure. As long as you have paid the annual NHS surcharge, all healthcare services, including childbirth, are covered. Each family gets their own suite. I was surprised when I followed my wife to the hospital and there was a couch-bed for me too.

They also offer after-birth support. They come to check on the mother and baby to make sure she’s not dealing with postpartum depression.

In Nigeria, once you’ve paid your bill and been discharged, that’s it. Goodbye. Let the next person come in. It’s like a factory. Come in, push out your baby, move on.

If I had to sum it up, I’d say Nigeria is still very far behind. So very far.

The UK childbirth experience sounds better. But what about raising the child?

That depends on what you’re looking at.

My wife and I both work. Here, the man gets about four to six weeks paid leave, and the mother gets around nine months to care for the child.

My mother-in-law came to help for six months, but she had to return before her visa expired. So we had to start taking the child to a nursery, which is very expensive. It’s not like Nigeria, where you can easily get help from your mum, sister, or a paid assistant.

But my eldest, who’s in school, goes for free. And if there’s any health issue, you just take the child to the hospital for free. Children under seven don’t pay for NHS services.

So yeah, it’s easier in some ways and harder in others.

They say it takes a village to raise a child. Does being far from extended family in Nigeria bother you?

Honestly, no. It does take a village, but I feel like we have that village here. It’s just made up of different people.

If anything happens to your child or someone reports something, that’s when you realise there’s a whole community looking out for them.

At school, teachers and counsellors don’t just talk about academics. They talk to the children about their welfare and home life. They reason with them like they’re adults.

So yeah, the community here is different. In Nigeria, the support system is family-based. Here, there’s a different type of family that doesn’t share blood with you, but they’re invested in your child’s wellbeing.

Recently, there’s been a lot of anti-migration talk in the West. Does that make you uncomfortable?

Yes and no. My wife has actually been worried. You come here with plans to stay long enough to get Indefinite Leave to Remain (ILR), and then you start hearing far-right people saying they might scrap it. It’s scary to think they can just take something away that you’ve spent time and money chasing.

But me, I’m not too bothered. When I first got here, a lot of people told me to go into care work. I refused. As a matter of principle, I will not come here and basically be a slave for white people after my ancestors were already brought here in chains. My ancestors didn’t wear shackles so I could come and wash infirm white people just to get ILR.

People said I had an ego. But it’s not ego. I just believe labour is capital. I want to develop myself to the point where I have the skills to be a global citizen. So I’m focused on becoming a chartered accountant.

Even if regular people don’t know it, the politicians do. They know they can’t survive without skilled migrants. If not, countries like China will leave them behind, and they’ll become irrelevant in the global economy.

They need skilled migration. All this anti-immigrant talk is just politics.

That may be true, but that kind of politics creates tension. Have you or your family experienced racism?

No, but I think that’s because we live in a very diverse city. I’ve heard stories from people who live in mostly white areas.

What were your biggest culture shocks when you moved?

People actually obey the law. I mean the small things like traffic lights. On buses, there are seats for old people, people with disabilities, or those carrying children. If you sit there and you’re not supposed to, the driver will stop the bus and tell you to stand up. You either find another seat or you stand and hold the railing.

Another shock was at work. In Nigeria, every superior is “oga” or “sir.” Here, you call your boss by their first name. You can correct their mistakes too. They actually expect and want you to. Try that in Nigeria and see what happens.

They also don’t care much about religion. As a Christian, I feel like the odd one out. In Nigeria, if you say “Jesus is not real,” people will look at you like you’re mad. Here, it’s the opposite. If you say “Jesus is real,” that’s when people will look at you funny.

I was also shocked by how open people are about their sexuality. I remember being in London and seeing two men kissing passionately in public.

Also, they don’t believe it’s only the man’s job to provide. I was talking to a colleague about mortgages, and he said, “Your wife lives in the house too, so she should pay her share.” They split bills and chores. If the woman does the dishes and laundry, the man takes out the bins and vacuums.

There’s this strong sense of responsibility. If you use something, you contribute. One time, I bought coffee for the office at Tesco. Next thing, people started dropping money on my desk. In Nigeria, they’d just watch you and label you the mugu who’ll keep giving them free coffee forever.

Another thing I noticed is that white colleagues will gist with you in the office about things like sports, weather, and family life, but never politics or religion. And in public, they act like they don’t know you. They’ll see you and look away.

I had to address it during a team meeting. I told them, “If I greet you in public and you ignore me, don’t bother talking to me in the office.” Since then, they greet me when they see me outside.

Going to church was another surprise. We’re Catholic. In Nigeria, mass is at least two hours. Our first mass here lasted just 45 minutes. We were shocked.

It sounds like a very different life compared to Nigeria. On a scale of one to ten, how happy are you in the UK—and why?

It’s a ten.

First, peace of mind. I remember calling emergency services for my child. Within minutes, an ambulance, two police cars, and a private car with a doctor showed up. Another time, my neighbour called about a fire, and four fire trucks came.

Second, this is a country that works. I’m not even a citizen yet, but I’m allowed to vote. I know my local representative. I have the number for their office, and I can call if I’m not happy about anything. I once wrote to the council asking for a breakdown of how my taxes were being spent. Two days later, they sent me a full report.

So yeah, I’m really happy here. It’s definitely a ten.

Do you want to share your Abroad Life story? Please reach out to me here. For new episodes of Abroad Life, check in every Friday at 12 PM (WAT).

Before you go, help us understand how you and other young people feel about the 2027 general elections by taking this 10-minute survey.

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On Sunday, November 9, 2025, the Independent National Electoral Commission (INEC) announced that the incumbent governor of Anambra, Chukwuma Soludo, had won the governorship elections held the day before.

According to INEC, Soludo received 422,664 votes, while his closest rival, Prince Nicholas Ukachukwu of the All Progressives Congress (APC), got 99,445. On paper, it looked like a landslide. But truthfully, it had less to do with popularity and more to do with who had the deepest pockets.

How much does a vote cost these days?

Election observers said the process was surprisingly smooth. INEC officials actually showed up on time, and the Bimodal Voter Accreditation System (BVAS) worked without the usual drama. And there were hardly any reports of violence.

Basically, it was as good as elections get in Nigeria, except for one thing: vote buying.

Civic participation non-profit, Yiaga Africa, confirmed that the final results reflected the actual votes cast. So no rigging in that sense. But they and other observers couldn’t ignore the shameless vote buying that went down.

Reports say parties handed out anything from ₦1,000 to ₦30,000 to voters.

Reacting to the news, former Anambra governor and presidential hopeful Peter Obi said, “Someone who is not employed will collect ₦30,000 for his vote. That means you’ve sold your school, your hospital, your job opportunities, and your future. And that’s what’s very worrying about our democracy.”

Vote buying is nothing new in Nigeria. It’s one of the oldest tricks in the book. Campaigns often feature sharing items ranging from spaghetti, loaves of bread, bags of rice and cold, hard cash. Sadly, it’s part of the political culture.

But this new level of shamelessness, where party reps hang around polling units and openly buy votes in front of INEC officials and police, is a growing trend. And it’s very disturbing.

The 2023 general election is mostly remembered for violence and alleged rigging. But there were also reports of people handing out cash or making transfers at polling units to voters who backed their party.

The National Bureau of Statistics (NBS) reported that there was a significant jump in the amount of vote-buying in 2023 compared to previous years. Agents of the Economic and Financial Crime Commission (EFCC) were even attacked at a polling unit in Bwari, Abuja, while trying to arrest a vote buyer.

In September 2024, during the Edo governorship election, Yiaga Africa reported that voters were paid between ₦5,000 and ₦10,000. And all the major parties were involved in the act.

Kimpact Development Initiative (KDI), another civil society group, estimated that over ₦2 billion was spent on vote buying during the Edo and Ondo governorship elections in 2024.

With the 2027 general elections around the corner, we won’t be surprised if vote buying gets even bolder.

Na who don chop dey vote

At the heart of this sad vote buying culture is poverty.

Nigeria is poor. Like, really poor. The NBS says 63 per cent of the population (over 130 million people) are multidimensionally poor. So it’s not shocking that people are trading their votes for literal daily bread.

The choices we make at the ballot box affect our lives for at least four years, most likely longer. Like Peter Obi said, selling your vote is selling your future.

But how do you convince someone to vote for a better tomorrow when they’re hungry today?

It’s clear that Nigeria’s political class has mastered the art of weaponising poverty to grab and hold onto power. As long as Nigerians stay poor, their votes will stay cheap.

But in Nigeria, vote buying isn’t just about poverty.

Why are you here? I thought you were financially stable

During the People’s Democratic Party (PDP) presidential primaries in 2023, candidates reportedly paid delegates between $10,000 and $20,000 for their votes.

One delegate, Tanko Sabo from Kaduna, spent ₦12 million of his earnings from the primaries on his community. Amongst other donations to the less privileged, he paid WAEC and NECO fees for students who couldn’t afford them.

He said he’d promised his people he’d use the money for them if they made him a delegate. After giving the money away, he said, “I’ve satisfied my conscience and all my people are happy.”

In August 2025, Ibrahim Auyo, a House of Representatives member from Jigawa, claimed that lawmakers pay between ₦1 million and ₦3 million to present bills in the National Assembly.

At the risk of understating things, we can safely say that Nigerian lawmakers are well-fed. They get all sorts of allowances and perks, paid for by taxpayers. They’re not starving like the everyday Nigerians selling votes just to eat for one day.

Still, whether it’s ₦20,000 on the streets of Anambra, $20,000 at a party convention in Abuja, or ₦3 million in the National Assembly, votes in Nigeria are always for sale. The only thing that changes is the price tag.

Nigeria’s political class doesn’t know any other way to do politics.

Nigerian voter, how market?

One big reason vote buying works so well for Nigerian politicians is simple: it’s cheap. And it’s cheap because Nigerians don’t vote.

INEC registered almost 2.8 million voters ahead of the Anambra election. But only about 598,000 showed up on election day. That’s a 21.4 per cent voter turnout.

Here’s the thing: when people show up en masse to vote, it makes all kinds of electoral malpractice (violence, vote buying, ballot snatching, rigging, etc) less effective.

Vote buying especially becomes too expensive to be practical. In Anambra, if every registered voter had shown up, buying votes would’ve cost politicians five times more.

Also, Nigerians who are above the poverty line, who can afford not to sell their votes, need to actually show up and vote.

Fixing this country requires collective action, and voting is a key part of doing your bit.

Having money problems

Like we said earlier, Nigeria has a poverty problem. And that poverty creates the perfect environment for vote buying.

We need a serious approach to poverty reduction. And while that’s in progress (hopefully), safety nets must be put in place to protect the most vulnerable members of society.

The International Monetary Fund (IMF) and Ngozi Okonjo-Iweala, director-general of the World Trade Organization (WTO), have repeatedly urged President Tinubu to provide safety nets. But so far, we’ve seen little to no action from his administration.

Nigerians need to be able to afford the dignity of not selling their votes.

But here’s the tragic loop: we’re asking vote buyers to fix the very poverty that allows them to buy votes. Personally, I’m not holding my breath.

The political class has weaponised poverty to gain and keep power. As long as things stay the same, they have zero incentive to fix a system that rewards them for doing the barest minimum.

And as we’ve already pointed out, even the political elite, regardless of how rich they are, still sell their votes for the right price. So this isn’t just about poverty or lack of choice. It’s a culture.

We need to redefine how Nigerians see politics and governance. Right now, we’re too selfish, too cynical, too pessimistic, and way too short-sighted. If we can’t see past our noses, we won’t walk far. If we can’t look beyond the credit alert we’ll get today, we’ll never get more than that.

Not in my job description

If you’ve been reading and wondering where INEC is in all this mess, you’re not alone. We’ve been wondering too.

Turns out, they’ve been right there, watching it all happen. And according to them, there’s not much they can do.

In 2024, after getting criticised for the vote buying seen during the Edo governorship election, INEC said it shouldn’t be blamed.

Rotimi Oyekanmi, Chief Press Secretary to the INEC Chairman, said INEC couldn’t be held responsible for what political parties do. He added that “other stakeholders should also play their part and stop undermining the electoral process.”

Basically, every time politicians act out of line, INEC says its hands are tied. For example, ahead of the 2027 elections, candidates have already started campaigning way before the legal 150-day window. But INEC says it can’t do anything because it can’t prove it.

Victoria Etta-Messi, the INEC Director of Voter Education and Publicity, said that since the politicians are using proxies to put up their campaign posters, there’s nothing INEC can do to punish them.

Similarly, in Anambra, the Resident Electoral Commissioner (REC) for Anambra State, Queen Agwu, said they had no proof of vote buying, so they would not be taking any action against the parties or candidates.

Technically, there really isn’t a lot INEC can do about vote buying except reporting it to law enforcement agencies. It is the job of the police, EFCC, and the Independent Corrupt Practices Commission (ICPC) to prosecute vote buyers.

In fact, INEC has asked for assistance to prevent vote buying, including calling on the National Assembly in February 2025 to pass laws prohibiting the possession of large sums of cash near polling booths.

INEC’s Director of Litigation and Prosecution, Tanimu Muhammed, also said it is important for an Electoral Offenses Commission to be established because INEC lacks the ability to prosecute offenders.

According to Muhammed, INEC is doing its best currently, but a dedicated institution with the legal authority and resources to investigate and prosecute electoral crimes is needed urgently.

Who is responsible?

After the Anambra election, the Socio-Economic Rights and Accountability Project (SERAP) has urged INEC to report vote-buyers to these organisations responsible for actual enforcement.

But the Anambra INEC Resident Electoral Commissioner, claiming INEC did not witness any vote buying, is honestly quite disappointing. Especially when so many election observers noted the prevalence of vote buying during the election.

It feels very much like selective blindness on the part of INEC. Even if it can’t prosecute them, INEC officials on the ground are the first witnesses of electoral malpractices and should be ready to report offenders to the organisations that can prosecute. Currently, they aren’t even doing that much.

There are also reports of police officers at polling booths watching vote buying happen and doing absolutely nothing. And while the EFCC does make a few arrests, it’s clearly not enough. The EFCC said it arrested three people for trying to buy votes in Anambra, but observers still say the election was heavily influenced by vote buying.

INEC, EFCC, the police—all the institutions meant to protect the integrity of our elections—need to step up and do their jobs. Politicians can’t keep breaking laws so publicly, so shamelessly, without consequences.

But institutions are made up of individuals. And as individuals, Nigerians need to realise: we can’t keep selling our votes (futures).

What can you do?

We need more electoral reforms, including possibly establishing a dedicated body for prosecuting electoral offenders. Call your representative in the National Assembly (NASS) to demand this. You can find their contact details here.
Get your PVC and vote. Vote buying is possible thanks to low voter turnout. Do your part and show up on election day.
We think this one is obvious, but we’ll still spell it out: Don’t sell your vote!
Educate those around you on the importance of political participation. You can do that by sharing articles like this.
Help enlighten others on the true cost of vote selling.

Before you go, help us understand how you and other young people feel about the 2027 general elections by taking this 10-minute survey.

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Where do you currently live, and when did you leave Nigeria?

What inspired you to leave?

You said you travelled often for work. What did you do?

So how did you leave?

Did it all work out?

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What did you do?

This must have been a very anxious time for you. What happened next?

That sounds like a lot to handle. How did it all turn out?

That is great to hear. So you must be happy with life in Germany now?

Why would you not recommend it?

You mentioned your daughter. How has it been for her?

Can you give an example of the racism you faced during your MBA?

How did the professor react?

Did the school take any action?

That sounds incredibly isolating. As a family, how do you find ways to have fun in Berlin?

How did you meet your husband?

How was your dating life in Germany before you met him?

How would you compare pregnancy and childbirth in Nigeria versus Germany?

Have you visited Nigeria since you left?

What does the future look like for you?

Are you worried about a reduction in your purchasing power when you move back?

What have been the major culture shocks for you in Germany?

What have been your best and worst experiences?

On a scale of one to ten, how happy are you in Germany?

Why is there a terrorist on my feed?

Everyone’s an influencer now… even terrorists

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Where did you buy your audacity?

The one group of influencers the government can’t dox

We can’t track them… except when we can

No more excuses

Where do you currently live, and when did you leave Nigeria?

What inspired you to leave?

But why South Korea?

Was that your first time leaving Nigeria?

What was it like arriving in this country that you’ve been fascinated with for so long?

Were you fluent in Korean when you first arrived?

Aside from academics, how did the language barrier affect day-to-day life?

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How was the experience settling in socially?

What are your plans for the future?

What would be an ideal job for you?

Do you see yourself returning to Nigeria permanently at some point?

How do you have fun in South Korea?

When you say travelling, do you mean within South Korea?

Interesting. What countries have you visited?

Nice. Which was your best trip?

Sounds like you had a great time. What culture shocks did you experience when you first arrived in South Korea?

You sound like you’ve had an amazing time in Korea, but what has been your worst experience?

Sorry that happened. Have you experienced other instances of racism and discrimination?

Okay. What has been your best experience so far?

On a scale of one to ten, how happy are you in South Korea, and why?

Where do you currently live, and when did you leave Nigeria?

Were these holidays or work trips?

How many countries have you been to?

That’s a lot of countries! When did you realise you love travelling?

Interesting. What’s your favourite country you’ve visited?

It’s quite common to hear Nigerians complain about the difficulty getting around with a Nigerian passport. How has that been like for you?

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When you visit any new city, is there anything you look for to decide if you like it or not?

What has been your favourite travel experience?

So you were basically touring the world on these “workations.” But what inspired you to leave Nigeria permanently?

So Kenya had what you were looking for?

What was it like actually living in a new country?

Did you experience any culture shocks in Kenya?

There’s this idea that Nigerians have a bad reputation on the continent. Did you feel that in Kenya?

What was your best experience in Kenya?

That sounds amazing. What about your worst experience?

That is crazy. But apart from the crime, you said Kenya was perfect for you. So why the move to Canada?

What has been your worst experience in Canada?

Glad you found a place in the end. What about your best experience in Canada?

Let’s talk about future plans. You talked about moving to Canada because you wanted more stability. What does that look like for you?

Do you ever see yourself returning to Nigeria permanently?

On a scale of one to ten, how happy are you in Canada and why?

Life before…

Preparing for NYSC

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Being friendly in camp was helpful

Platoon leadership was a stepping stone