Every week, Zikoko spotlights the unfiltered stories of women navigating life, love, identity and everything in between.
What She Said will give women the mic to speak freely, honestly and openly, without shame about sex, politics, family, survival, and everything else life throws our way.
Vinny*, 24, left Nigeria for Germany with big dreams and even bigger fears. She thought she’d found freedom, but what she discovered was a mix of culture shock, loneliness, resilience and the slow work of building a life from scratch. In this week’s What She Said, she talks about leaving home, navigating a new country, and what she’s learned about self-worth and survival.
Can you tell me about your life in Nigeria before moving to Germany?
I actually grew up knowing that living outside Nigeria was possible. My parents’ jobs meant we travelled a lot when I was younger, so from secondary school, I knew I wanted to go to university in Europe or America. I’d spend hours in the school library flipping through TOEFL books and university prospectuses, calculating tuition fees and dreaming of where I could go.
Germany became the goal because we’d lived there before, and I had relatives there. But one of their requirements was to have at least a year or two of university study already. So, the plan was for me to start uni in Nigeria and then transfer.
That’s how I ended up at FUTO. It was supposed to be one year. It turned into three because of COVID and endless strikes. Honestly, I hated everything about the education system. Imagine writing exams crouched on the floor. But socially, it was actually fun. Nigerian universities are strange: even when the academics frustrate you, the community can hold you up. I was comfortable being myself, even as an introvert. And dating? Let’s just say it was plentiful. You could casually date multiple people at once if you wanted. I had fun with that phase.
But money was tight. My parents, who were middle-class, hit a rougher patch during that time, so I had to rely on my makeup skills to earn some money. Relatives abroad chipped in sometimes, so I was never desperate, but it made me more independent. Looking back, it was a chaotic but formative period.
When did Germany become real for you?
After lockdown eased in 2021, I had my year one and two results, had taken the English exams, and finally started applying. Once I got accepted, everything happened fast; within six months, I moved to Germany.
Leaving didn’t feel like a sad farewell. My family turned it into a celebration. Nobody cried; everyone was just excited. Watching them be so happy to see me go was almost strange. That joy made it hard for me to feel sad.
The only difficult goodbye was with my boyfriend. We’d been together for about a year, and I’d grown fond of him. He acted excited too, which confused me; why was he so happy to lose me? But beneath it, I knew he was hurting. For me, though, excitement drowned out the sadness. I couldn’t wait to start.
What was it like when you first arrived?
I’d done my research; opening a bank account, getting an ID, a SIM card, even apartment hunting before I landed. I also had relatives to guide me through the first weeks, so the transition was seamless.
As part of the visa, my family had to put about €12,000 in a blocked account for my first year’s living expenses. That meant I didn’t need to work immediately. I tried a few odd jobs to test the waters, but my bills were paid, and I had enough money to shop and save. That financial stability made my honeymoon period last almost a year.
And honestly? It was bliss. Steady light and water made me feel rich. I was in a small town, at a separate international students’ campus, surrounded mostly by other foreigners and Nigerians. Real German society was still at arm’s length. Most of 2022 was online classes anyway, so I’d just sit in the backyard with my laptop and blanket, attending lectures under the sun. It felt like living inside a dream.
When did the challenges begin?
Before I moved to the bigger city, in that first small town, job hunting was almost impossible. There were barely any opportunities, and the few that existed paid very little. The only alternative was commuting almost six hours a day to a bigger city. Trains here are comfortable, but that kind of journey daily would’ve killed me. The real challenges came when I had to move; a new state, a new university, bigger city. Suddenly, I wasn’t cocooned anymore. I was alone.
In Nigeria, you’re never truly alone even when you’re broke or stressed. There’s always noise, gist, someone checking in. Here, I could go days without anyone saying my name. Germans aren’t unfriendly, but they’re not quick to let you in either. And the language barrier humbled me. I thought I knew German, but I sounded like a child in real life. Every bank visit, every attempt to order food, every job interview felt like a test I wasn’t prepared for.
Dating was another culture shock. In Nigeria, dating felt communal. There were options everywhere. In Germany, it was quieter, more individualistic. People take longer to connect. For someone used to the social ease of Nigeria, it felt like starting from scratch.
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What was your financial situation at that point?
My blocked account of €12,000 was running down. The allowance I got each month was enough when I lived cheap, but as soon as I realised I couldn’t sustain myself without work, anxiety set in. By the end of 2022, I decided to move to a bigger city near Frankfurt and start university again. It was a hard reset; new school, environment, bills.
What changed after moving?
That’s when reality slapped me. Everything costs more: rent, food, transport. Money disappeared faster than I expected, and I was living on the edge before I found stable work. I couch-surfed between colleagues’ places for about a year, sometimes even sleeping at train stations. There were months I barely had food. It tested me deeply.
Were you eventually able to find work?
Eventually, I found a longer-term job at a bakery, but juggling work and school nearly broke me. I’ve been working for two years, and only recently have I come out of that constant state of financial panic. Still, the balance is hard: 70% of my income goes to rent, so I often have to ration the rest carefully.
What about adjusting socially?
Socially, it was equally tough. The small campus I first lived on was mostly foreigners, so I’d been sheltered. Moving here introduced me to “real” German society. The language was harder. I’d studied German before, but dialects and slang made me feel like I was learning from scratch. Imagine sitting in a bilingual classroom, trying to follow lectures in a language that still trips you up. It’s exhausting.
And culturally, how did you experience that shift?
Well, there’s the cultural coldness. Germans don’t really initiate conversation… like ever. They stare, but they don’t talk. As an introvert, it messed with me. I kept questioning myself: was I faking being introverted this whole time, or was I just broken? Making friends with other foreigners was easy, but breaking into German circles felt impossible.
How did school transitions add to all this?
On top of all that, changing universities three times — from FUTO to my first German school to my current one — left me stuck in academic limbo. Eight years of study, three institutions, and still no diploma. It messed with my head. Add the pressure of working weekends while attending classes all week, and there were moments I broke down.
What toll did that take on your mental health?
There were times I’d sit in my room trying to stop myself from crying, trying to drag myself to class or work when all I wanted to do was collapse. Loneliness, financial stress, and cultural shock compounded into what I can only describe as mental constipation. I felt like I was carrying everything inside me with no outlet.
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Did all these struggles change how you see yourself and the world?
All this shaped me politically and ideologically. Studying international health and policy, I developed strong views about race, class, feminism, and socialism. But those conversations aren’t easy to have here. German society doesn’t like talking about race or class; there’s this heavy belief in meritocracy and individualism. So I went through that awakening alone. It was isolating, but it also sharpened my sense of self.
So yeah, that’s when the honeymoon ended. Moving cities stripped me of the comfort I thought I had and forced me to start from scratch in every way: financially, socially, mentally.
You’ve mentioned being pro-Black, feminist, socialist, and an ally. How do those values show up for you in Germany?
Yeah, so being pro-Black, feminist, socialist, and an ally is, for me, just a manifestation of my internal desire for everybody to live freely without the constant worry of racism, discrimination, or poverty. I thought Germany would be more progressive compared to Nigeria,especially around feminism and gay rights. And on the surface, it is. You see pride flags, rallies, gay couples holding hands, and even men openly supporting feminism. But then you meet the intersections—Nigerian friends who are homophobic, German friends who are too, and you’re left navigating how to stay friends with people who don’t even believe in someone’s right to exist. That’s been confusing.
Dating here is another adjustment. Women often make the first move, which I’m not used to. And while I get compliments from white men, it rarely goes beyond that. I also don’t really date them. My preference is Black men, but then there’s the fear of dealing with homophobia or conservative values. So it’s complicated. I’ve learned to wait and let the right people take the lead.
What’s been the hardest cultural difference to adjust to?
Communication. Nigerians are direct; we’ll tell you if we don’t like something. Germans? Passive-aggressive, especially at work. Add in the language barrier, and it gets tricky. My German is good, but I still speak with an accent and still mix words up. Germans are perfectionists about their language, so sometimes it feels like they just don’t understand me, even when I’m speaking fine. With other immigrants, it’s easier; we just get each other.
What about the hardest part of building a life in Germany?
Starting from zero. As I mentioned, in Nigeria, I had history. People knew me, I had networks, I belonged somewhere. Here, I was just “the foreign girl.”
Making friends was tough. Germans can be kind, but they’re not quick to let you in. I had to learn patience, to sit with myself without feeling like something was missing.
Also, proving yourself over and over gets exhausting. Every job application, every conversation… I felt like I had to convince people I was worth their time. It chipped away at me until I realised the only person I needed to convince was myself.
And what’s been the best part?
Freedom. Pure, terrifying, beautiful freedom.
I was always someone’s daughter, girlfriend, or sister in Nigeria. Here, I became just me. It was scary at first, but also powerful. I could reinvent myself without the weight of everyone’s expectations.
I’ve also learned resilience in a way I never had before. When you survive loneliness, language barriers, and the constant push to prove yourself, you realise there’s very little you can’t handle.
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Have you found your people here?
Yes and no. Before I left, my sister told me to focus on finding German friends, but that was bad advice. I need my people—loud, African, grounding. I’ve built support systems with Nigerian friends, other students, coworkers, and even family members I didn’t know well until I moved here. Having someone who shares my values—talks politics, philosophy, boring socialist books—is the most grounding. My friend Pares is that for me. She makes it easier to carry the hard stuff.
Looking back, what lessons stand out the most?
Biggest lesson? Don’t tie your self-worth to documents or achievements; visa, graduation, or job offer. They don’t define you. Give yourself grace, because you will make mistakes here. Be patient, question everything, and don’t let comfort stop you from asking, Could this be better?
I’ve grown more resilient. I stand my ground more with family and friends. Spiritually, I’ve left the church and Christianity, but I’ve gained this deep contentment from connecting with myself, the universe, and the earth.
And what do you wish you had known before leaving?
That abroad isn’t just an opportunity, it’s a sacrifice. People glamorise the “japa” story, but they don’t talk enough about the empty nights, the holidays spent alone, the way your accent becomes a reminder that you’ll always be different.
I wish I had prepared myself emotionally, not just financially. Money can get you here, but it won’t hold you when you cry at 2 a.m. because you miss home.
What advice would you give Nigerian women planning to move abroad?
First, remember who you are. If you managed to leave Nigeria, get your passport, apply to school, and survive that system, you can make it anywhere. Pay attention to race relations; Germany may say it’s not racist, but you’re still Black. And please, enjoy yourself. Go out, be free, be gay if you’re gay, dance in the club, walk home at 3 a.m. like I do. Just do it safely.
And what’s next for you?
I’m finishing university and ready to step fully into the workforce. I want to be impactful, especially in global health—malaria, HIV, and inequalities. Maybe work with the UN one day. Personally, I just want to grow into my joy and happiness. That’s really it.
Finally, what’s one lesson this whole journey has taught you?
That belonging isn’t a place, it’s a practice.
Germany hasn’t always welcomed me, but I’ve learned to create little pockets of home — cooking Nigerian food on Sundays, video-calling my siblings, teaching myself to laugh at my broken German instead of hiding from it.
Leaving Nigeria taught me that no place is perfect, but every place can teach you something about yourself.
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