Sewa (*27) is many things — a queer woman, the breadwinner of a family of five, and a tired Nigerian with immigration dreams. In this story, she shares how her desire to flee the troubles that come with being a breadwinner with no job security almost forced her to marry a gay man who promised to fund her relocation.
Like Sewa, about 56% of Nigerian youths are considering relocating in search of greener pastures. This japa wave does more harm than good to the country. For instance, the healthcare sector in Nigeria is dangerously losing its best hands. The country’s 200 million+ citizens are at the losing end of this loss, as the current doctor-to-patient ratio stands at one doctor to ten thousand patients.
Everyone has their own story and reason for wanting to leave, but Sewa’s story highlights the bigger issues pushing many to make that choice: limited opportunities and a struggling economy.
This is Sewa’s story, as told to Margaret
Earlier this year, the US President, Donald Trump, suspended USAID funding, and it hugely affected the organisation where I work. The impact was so bad that the management began a downsizing process that reduced the staff size from 22 to eight. Immediately, the number got to eight, and I realised that I no longer had job security. I also realised that it would be nearly impossible to get a job that would pay as much as what I’m earning right now.. I currently earn about ₦2 million monthly; getting that sort of pay in Nigeria won’t be easy
I weighed all my options and realised it was time to leave the country. I first started applying to schools and international jobs. Unfortunately, I got no job offers, but was admitted to schools. That also didn’t work out because I didn’t get any scholarships, and the school fees were more than I could handle.
The cheapest school fees from the offers I got were £16,000. I had only $3,000 and about ₦6 million in naira. I considered saving 1 million per month until September, but it felt useless when I calculated and converted it to pounds. For context, if I save ₦9 million, it would be around £4,200. That would barely cover tuition, accommodation, visa, health insurance, and other expenses. I also happen to be the breadwinner of my family, and relocating wouldn’t stop me from sending allowance to my parents, paying school fees for my siblings, and paying my parents’ rent.
Even if I figured out a way to suspend sending money home for one month, it still wasn’t a sustainable option. It was hard, but I came to terms with this. I also accepted that I could only move abroad through a fully funded scholarship. That would mean waiting in Nigeria for one more year, so I decided to do something for myself— travel the world with about ₦5 million. I started with some West African countries that cost me about ₦500,000 to explore. When I returned to Nigeria, I felt better than I had felt in a long time. While all of this happened, the nagging job insecurity was still there. It made me depressed because the next round of downsizing will likely force two or three people to leave their jobs. But I didn’t want to keep thinking about it, so I took another vacation to Qatar, Rwanda, Kenya, and Ghana.
It felt like a financially reckless decision because I could lose my job anytime, but I just wanted to put myself first for once. My friends were against it because ₦5 million seemed like a lot of money, but it was nothing when I compared it to the amount I needed to relocate. I just had to convince everybody to let me do what I wanted.
Being the breadwinner is draining, mainly because it’s been that way since my third year in university. My family were above average, so I went to private school. I remember my dad giving me ₦100,000 for feeding in my first year of university. Money had more value then, so that should give you an idea of how comfortable we were.
In my second year of university, my dad had a diabetes relapse. It got so bad that he had to retire early. His health kept getting worse, and we had to sell most of our properties. We had only one car left, so my dad gave it to his driver at the time for use in public transportation. The driver got into an accident, and the other driver he crashed into died instantly. That was the beginning of the end for my family. The driver was arrested, and my dad had to bail him out. He also had to handle the funeral fees for the person who died.
Unfortunately, the man who died was the breadwinner of his family. The family insisted on an expensive burial rite and kept his body in the mortuary until my dad agreed to pay for it. He also had to start sending money to his kids and the other people who were hospitalised. At some point, he had to start taking a loan to pay those bills.
My mom was a housewife before all of this, so finding a job was difficult. They stopped sending me money, and I had to take up ushering jobs. I was a first-class student when these things started happening, but my grades dropped to a second-class upper after I began skipping classes to help other people write their exams for extra cash. My siblings also had to leave their private schools to attend public schools. Then I started getting calls from neighbours at home, telling me that my mom was looking thin and my siblings were no longer going to school. I had to start doing whatever I could to send enough money to cover their feeding, medication, rent and school fees.
Luckily for me, I started earning well when I graduated from university. I got a job in a bank and eventually transitioned to a Non-Governmental Organisation(NGO). I was earning better than most people my age, but I couldn’t afford what they could because my money was going to my family. Most people who find themselves in my shoes usually feel some sort of relief when they find romantic partners who are willing to lift some of that financial burden off them. But I’m queer and that’s never really the case. Even in romantic relationships, I’ve gotten used to playing the provider role. So far, most of the relationships I’ve been in are 50/50. Sometimes, I look at my straight friends and how much they get to experience the provider perk, and I love it for them.
I know I need therapy to unpack some of these feelings, but I’m not ready to be that vulnerable yet. That’s the main reason why I chose traveling. It’s healing some parts of me in a unique way. Those experiences are mine. When I buy even things that are as small as clothes, there is a chance that my siblings or even my girlfriend will take them. But those travel experiences are mine and nobody can take them from me.
But I’m back to work now, and another downsizing process is starting. I’m not sure how that’s going to go. That’s why I need to leave Nigeria. I don’t even care what country I go to, as long as I find a fully funded way. I got a proposal from a gay man who wanted to get married to please his parents. It would be a lavender marriage, but he promised to sponsor my relocation. He seemed like a rich and well-travelled man, so I thought it was a good idea. But I chickened out after we started the process.
I would have to lie to my parents and his parents, and it just didn’t seem fair to enter that kind of contract marriage.
That was the easiest way for me to relocate. But I couldn’t do it when he said I would need to rebrand every part of my life to fit the perfect wife image his parents had in mind.
Now that that’s no longer an option, I must find another way to leave the country. When I leave this job, I don’t want to earn less than I currently earn because I have too many bills to pay. I have no idea what the future holds, but I know I need to figure it out soon.
