At one time, they were the faces on our screens and the names trending across Nigerian pop culture. Then, they packed up and japa’d, chasing new lives in faraway countries.
From movie stars who have given up acting to wear medical scrubs to musicians who have dropped the mic and traded Nigeria for abroad, these Nigerian celebrities have reinvented themselves and charted new courses.
Here are 10 Nigerian celebrities who japa’d and what they do now abroad.
1. 2Shotz
Real name: William Orioha
Famous for: Raps
Relocated to: U.S.A
New occupation: Photographer and Filmmaker
2Shotz was one of the OG rappers from South-Eastern Nigeria, known for hits like “Oyoyo,” “Make Them Talk” featuring 9ice, and “I Am William” with M.I. Abaga. But at the height of his fame, personal struggles, including an assault allegation from his ex-wife and a battle with depression, pushed him to step back and rediscover himself.
In 2016, he traded the mic for the camera, diving into photography and filmmaking. Now based in the US, 2Shotz has found a new sense of purpose behind the lens.
2. Boy Alinco
Real name: Bayo Bankole
Famous for: Papa Ajasco
Relocated to: U.S.A
New occupation: Events and Artist Promoter
Bayo “Boy Alinco” Bankole became a household name for his unforgettable role as the flashy, eccentric playboy in Papa Ajasco & Company, the hit sitcom created by Wale Adenuga. His swaggering walk, tight trousers, and oversized glasses made Boy Alinco one of the most iconic comedy characters of the 2000s.
In 2015, he relocated to the United States in search of better opportunities. But the move wasn’t all smooth sailing — in an interview with Teju Babyface, he opened up about the early struggles of his new life abroad, including a difficult first marriage and the challenges of starting over from scratch.
These days, Boy Alinco has rebuilt his life. He runs a transportation business, works in artist and event promotion, and occasionally takes on MC gigs.
3. Frank Donga
Real name: Kunle Idowu
Famous for: Comedy
Relocated to: Canada
New occupation: Multimedia Comms Specialist and Agriculture Expert
Frank Donga is a Nigerian actor and comedian best known for his deadpan humour in Ndani TV’s The Interview, where he played an awkward job seeker — a role that earned him a nomination for Best Actor in a Comedy at the 2015 Africa Magic Viewers’ Choice Awards.
In 2024, he relocated to Saskatchewan, Canada, where he now works as a Multimedia Communications Specialist with the Ministry of Agriculture. It’s a fitting full-circle moment for the comedian, blending his creative skills with his academic background in agriculture.
4. Funsho Adeolu
Relocated to: U.S.A
Famous for: Acting
New occupation: Events MC and brand influencer
Funsho Adeolu (Ondo State–born) is a veteran Nollywood actor, writer, producer, and founder of Fynest Media. Over the years, he’s starred in some of Nollywood’s most memorable Yoruba films, including Ile Alariwo and Idoti Oju.
After decades of entertaining Nigerians on screen, Funsho quietly relocated to the United States with his family, where he’s reinvented himself within the entertainment space. These days, he’s best known as “The Dancing MC” — a nickname he earned from the viral videos of him joyfully dancing at events.
General Pype was one of the standout voices infusing Reggae into Nigerian music in the late 2000s. In 2018, Pype paused his music career, choosing to step away from the spotlight to focus on family and explore life beyond the studio.
He moved to the U.S to start afresh, studying set design at the Georgia Film Academy. He has since remained dedicated to this new pivot and contributed his design skills to major productions like Black Panther (2018) and Samaritan (2022).
6. Helen Paul
Relocated to: U.S.A
Famous for: Comedy
New occupation: Professor and Head of Department
Helen Paul shot to fame in the late 2000s as Tatafo, the mischievous child-voiced character whose high-pitched tone and clever jokes made her a household name across Nigeria’s comedy scene. Her infectious energy and witty skits earned her spots on radio, TV, and film, cementing her as one of Nigeria’s most versatile entertainers.
In 2019, after earning a PhD in Theatre Arts from the University of Lagos, she relocated to the United States with her family. The move marked a new chapter for Paul — one that saw her evolve from comedian to academic. She now serves as the Head of the Department of Arts, Music, and Entertainment at Heart Bible International University, where she’s affectionately called Dr Tatafo.
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7. Terror D’Archangel
Real name: McMorris Ndubueze
Famous for: Acting
Relocated to: U.S.A
New occupation: Medical Doctor
McMorris “Maurice” Ndubueze was one of Nollywood’s go-to “bad boys” in the early 2000s. He made his mark with memorable roles in films like Final Hour and Married Women on Campus, where his tough-guy persona became a fan favourite.
But these days, Maurice has traded film sets for hospital halls. He relocated to the United States and is now a medical doctor, marking one of Nollywood’s most inspiring career pivots.
8. Okunnu
Real name: Wale Akorede
Famous for: Acting
Relocated to: Canada
New job: Content Creator
If you’re familiar with the OG Yoruba comic actors, then you definitely know Okunnu — the hilarious, over-the-top funnyman who brought chaotic energy and slapstick brilliance to countless Yoruba films.
Two years after publicly lamenting the state of things in Nigeria back in 2023, it seems the country finally pushed him to make a move. Okunnu has now relocated to Canada, where he’s living a quieter life but still finding ways to make people laugh. These days, he creates lighthearted, dress-up comedy skits with his kids — a wholesome extension of the comic energy we all loved him for.
9. Pepenazi
Real name: Opeyemi Gbenga Kayode
Famous for: Singing
Relocated to: U.K
New occupation: Gospel Minister
Between 2018 and 2019, Pepenazi had hit songs like “One For the Road” and “Illegal”, blasting out of club speakers.
In 2022, after a brief disappearance from social media and music space, he returned as a preacher and immigrant in the U.K.
10. Regina Askia-Williams
Relocated to: U.S.A
Famous for: Acting
New occupation: Health Care Practitioner
Regina Askia-Williams is a former Nollywood actress who relocated to the United States from Nigeria in the early 2000s. Having transitioned out of the film industry, she has built a successful second career in healthcare, becoming a family nurse and health practitioner based in New York.
Askia-Williams has also established her own medical practice in the U.S., where she provides medical services and is involved in community outreach efforts.
When Tope* (24) left Nigeria for Egypt in 2021, she believed she was chasing a better life; one that would allow her to support her family, save money, and return home with pride. Instead, she found herself trapped in a cycle of exploitation.
This is the story of how she spent two years working as a domestic worker abroad and came back home with nothing.
As Told To Boluwatife
My second time at the Cairo International Airport in Egypt was a very different experience from my first.
The excitement and hope I felt when I first set foot in the country had been enveloped by regret and shame. I’d let everyone down: my parents, siblings and even myself.
I tried to distract myself by watching people come and go at the airport. I wondered if some of the dark-skinned girls I saw were entering Egypt for the first time. Maybe, like me, they also thought their lives were about to change. I desperately wanted to walk up to one and tell her to turn back and run as fast as possible. To warn her that she could end up like me.
But even as I sat there lost in thought, I knew I was lucky to be leaving at all. For weeks, I hadn’t been sure I ever would. My sponsor — the woman who brought me to Egypt — had made it clear that going home wouldn’t be easy.
She’d threatened me for weeks, insisting I couldn’t leave unless my family paid for my return flight and the balance of her “investment” on me.
“You think you can come here to work for free and just go?” she hissed. “Pay, or stay here forever.”
In the end, my parents took out loans from family friends so that I could return home. When my sponsor finally gave me my passport and flight details, she said, “You should be grateful. Some girls never leave.”
She didn’t give me a single naira. Not even for transport from the airport. I was returning to Nigeria with nothing.
Two years before this event, I’d left Nigeria for Egypt as a restless 20-year-old, desperate to ease the financial pressure on my family.
My parents are struggling traders, and we grew up poor. Rationing food and surviving on loans were our normal. I can’t count the number of times my dad had to avoid coming home because his creditors were always chasing him for their money.
The pandemic in 2020/2021 worsened our financial situation. Business was terrible, and my dad took even more loans. My two younger siblings couldn’t attend school due to unpaid fees, my elder brother dropped out of polytechnic, and hopelessness became a dark cloud over the house. I tried to support as much as possible with the little I made as a hairdresser, but it was clear that we needed something more.
When I heard a woman in our area was connecting girls to jobs in Egypt, I didn’t hesitate. She told me I’d be working as a nanny. “They’ll treat you like family,” she said. “You’ll earn in foreign currency. You can send money home every month.”
To make the arrangement even better, I didn’t have to bring any money. My sponsor would cover everything: my passport, visa, and the entire travel process. In exchange, I’d give them 90% of my salary once I started working in Egypt for two years. I was supposed to keep the remaining 10% as pocket money or send it home to my parents.
I imagined finally earning enough to save my family from poverty. I even saw myself finding a way out of Egypt to another foreign country after the two years. I had big dreams.
But from the moment I arrived in Egypt, I knew my sponsor had sold me a lie.
There was no nanny job. I was a full house girl; cleaning, washing, and taking care of three children under four. The house had five bedrooms and only one house girl: me.
I worked from 5 a.m. until past midnight. No rest and only one day off in two weeks. No privacy, either. I wasn’t allowed to go outside. The only time I saw sunlight was when I took the trash out.
My employers took my passport and didn’t let me use my phone during the day. The madam would scream at me in Arabic when she was angry. The man of the house never touched me, but I made sure to never be alone in a room with him. Something about the way he looked at me made my skin crawl.
My main issue was the pay. The family sent it directly to my sponsor, who claimed my 10% was E£500. She advised me to keep E£100 as pocket money and send the rest home to my family.
It sounded like sensible advice to me. I spent all my time at my employers’ house and had minimal expenses, so it was better to support my family as much as possible. My sponsor took care of sending my money home. Or at least that’s what she told me.
She never did.
Six months into the job, my mum asked if I’d settled enough to start sending them money. That’s how I found out my sponsor hadn’t sent anything home. When I confronted her, she claimed she was keeping the money to send in bulk since ₦14k (The exchange rate was around ₦35 to an Egyptian Pound) was “too small” to send every month.
After that, every time I asked for updates on when she planned to send the money, she said it was “processing”.
I found more inconsistencies in the story my sponsor sold me. I made friends with some other African maids and learnt it wasn’t normal for my salary to go to my sponsor. Apparently, I was supposed to collect my money myself and then remit her share to her.
Also, there was no “processing” that should have prevented her from sending my money home. She was obviously stealing from me.
I confronted my sponsor, and she told me I was stupid. “Who do you think you are to question me?” she shouted, “You want to collect salary yourself so you can keep my money, right?”
When I saw that the approach didn’t work, I went to my madam and asked her to pay me directly. She must have thought I was trying to steal from my sponsor because she chased me out of the house and reported me to my sponsor.
My sponsor welcomed me back with beatings. She beat me so much that I have a small bald spot on my head from where she dragged my hair during the ordeal. It was her way of making sure I wouldn’t try to go behind her back again.
For the next year and a half, I endured. I went from one employer to another, enduring mistreatment and hunger. I even worked with someone who threw plates at me when she was angry. I told myself I just had to wait out the two years to pay my sponsor back so I’d be free. Then I’d work for one more year to gather money and look for something else to do.
However, at the end of the two years, my sponsor began to tell me a different story. She claimed I had mostly worked with people who paid low salaries, so I hadn’t fully repaid her investment. She claimed I still owed her a year’s equivalent of salaries.
At that point, I was just done. Even if I stayed, what was my assurance that she wouldn’t turn around again to claim the money wasn’t complete? I begged her to let me return to Nigeria, where I’d work and pay her back. But she refused.
She insisted I had to pay her back and raise money for my return flight before she’d let me go. At the end of the day, I had to involve my parents for help.
I hated doing that. I was supposed to go and hustle to create a better life for them; yet I didn’t send them anything for two years, and I was still calling them to help me raise money. I don’t know how they managed to borrow ₦2m to clear my debt and pay for my flight ticket, but they did.
I’ve been back in Nigeria for almost two years now, and I’m worse off than I was when I left. Previously, I had a small kiosk where I attended to clients, but now I only earn money from hairdressing by providing home services to clients. I supplement my income with cleaning jobs, but my ₦60k – ₦90k/month salary is hardly enough for survival.
My parents still haven’t fully repaid the loans they took to bring me out of Egypt. I support when possible, but sending ₦30k monthly feels like a drop in an endless ocean. They don’t bother me about the loans. In fact, they’ve told me they plan to sell my dad’s land in the village to clear the remaining balance, but that makes me feel worse. I put them in this situation.
Still, I’m grateful to be back. I heard stories of girls who died in their employer’s house, and nothing happened because who even cares what happens to you? I also know of sponsors who did worse than what mine did to me.
I regret taking the step to move in the first place, but I thank God I have the chance to start again. I know things will get better soon. Or maybe I’m just hoping. Because hope is the only thing I have now.
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Someone you know has left or is planning to leave. 1,000 Ways To Japa will speak to real people and explore the infinite number of reasons and paths they use to get to Japa
Leah (26) thought moving to the U.S. for school would change her life, but family pressure and mental health struggles forced her back to Nigeria. Now doing her master’s in the U.S., she shares how she made it back and how other Nigerian students can boost their visa chances.
Where do you live, and when did you move out of Nigeria?
I currently live in the United States of America. I’ve been here for a few years now, but the first time I left Nigeria was back in 2013. I first moved here for my undergraduate degree, though I ended up moving back to Nigeria.
Why did you choose to move back to Nigeria?
I thought I hated the U.S. I was struggling to adjust in ways I didn’t expect, especially with my mental health. I was diagnosed with an illness, and it shook me. I felt like I had done everything right, but I still struggled. One of my uncles decided I would be better off in Nigeria and arranged for me to move back. So, the return wasn’t entirely my choice.
At what point did you decide to return to the U.S.?
I came back in 2019. I only spent about seven months in Nigeria before returning for my master’s degree. I was still pre-med and trying to strengthen my medical school application, so I got a research-focused master’s.
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Let’s talk a bit more about returning for your master’s. How did you approach it, and what are your strategies for people trying to do the same thing now?
The visa process is more complicated now, but it’s still possible to come to the U.S for your master’s. The admission part is relatively doable, but many people struggle to get the actual visa. I’ve seen people get scholarships or graduate assistantships and still get denied visas, often because they don’t have travel history or enough ties to Nigeria.
I advise people who don’t know how to start the process to start with research. This step is especially important if you don’t have a U.S. degree. You need to dig into what programs you’re eligible for, then identify five to ten schools and understand their requirements. Most U.S. schools will ask for two to five reference letters (from professors or former employers), your academic transcripts and a statement of purpose.
If you’re applying for Fall admission (around September), start planning by October of the previous year. Especially if you want funding, apply early before December. Another thing you should consider is networking. Reach out to professors before you apply. Research their work and send them emails. Build relationships so that when your application comes in, there’s a name and face they recognise.
Do you have any tips for securing the U.S student visa?
Travel history is important. You don’t have to have visited the U.S., but it helps if you’ve left Nigeria before. The U.S. embassy is less likely to give you a visa if they think you’re buying a one-way ticket. Your documentation is also important. Have a valid passport with at least one year to expiry. Show that you’re not just trying to escape Nigeria. Be clear on why their program is right for you and how it aligns with your goals.
Thank you! What does life look like for you now that you’re settled in again?
Honestly, life is good. I got my master’s, gave up on attending med school (which shocked a few family members), and now work at a contract research organisation. I’m also doing a second master’s degree and mentoring people looking to enter clinical research. I think I’m just more mature now. I know who I am and what I want. Back then, a lot of my decisions were made for me. Now, I make them for myself.
I love that for you. What are some perks of living in the U.S., especially for Nigerians?
It’s a diverse place. You’ll find Nigerians, Ghanaians, Indians, literally people from all over the world. That kind of exposure changes how you see life. You see life differently here, and your mind will be expanded.
What are some of your favourite things about living in the U.S.?
This might sound silly, but I love the seasons. In Nigeria, it’s either raining or it’s hot. Here, you get actual fall, winter, spring, and summer. Also, I’ve made friends from all kinds of backgrounds — Indian Americans, white folks, other immigrants. It has helped me discover parts of myself I might never have explored if I’d stayed in Nigeria, especially in terms of my identity. I now know who I am outside of my family. That’s something I value.
On a scale of 1 to 10, how happy would you say you are now in the U.S.?
I’d say 8.5. I’m pretty happy here.
Want to share your japa story? Please reach out to me here.
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Someone you know has left or is planning to leave. 1,000 Ways To Japa will speak to real people and explore the infinite number of reasons and paths they use to get to Japa
When Boye had to pick between finishing the degree he had studied for four years to get in Nigeria and moving to the U.S as a permanent resident, he chose the most sustainable option. In this story, he shares how he got his visa and is now trying to figure out life as a videographer in the States.
Where do you currently live, and when did you move out of Nigeria?
I live in Chicago, United States of America, and I moved here in October 2024.
Congratulations! How exactly did you move?
My mom has family in the U.S. who have become citizens. They were the ones who filed for us to move here as permanent residents ten years ago.
Ten years?
Yes, I was still in secondary school when the process started. We waited ten years for an interview date and finally got one last year. Then, we got the visa and were given six months to prepare and leave Nigeria.
Why did the process take that long?
I can’t say why for sure, but I’m guessing that’s because many people were in the queue and it was a “first come, first served” arrangement. My knowledge of the immigration process isn’t the best because I was still a kid when it started. But I remember we used to get updates telling us they were still working on it as the years passed. We had already given up when we finally got the interview date last year.
How did you feel after getting the visa?
It was very interesting because I didn’t plan for it. I was in my fourth year at UNILAG, and the academic session hadn’t even ended.
Also, my videography career had just started picking up in a new way, so there were so many things to look forward to in Nigeria. But when the opportunity to leave came, I couldn’t resist it. I saw it as a chance to chase bigger dreams. But my dad was against it at first. It took lots of conversations, but he finally gave his approval.
Did you finish your degree before you left?
Oh, no. I just requested my transcript. I have the opportunity to resume my education in the U.S, and I’m working towards doing that next year. Right now, I’m focusing on building my videography career here in the U.S. I could have attempted to finish my degree at UNILAG. However, it would have been impossible because I still had two academic years left, and as I mentioned earlier, we were asked to leave the country in six months. I also couldn’t predict how long it would take me to finish the course because of potential academic strikes.
What’s life in the U.S looking like?
It looks promising. As a creative individual, I feel I’ll thrive here. I’ve met many people in the creative space here and seen enough to know I was being cheated in the Nigerian creative industry. I currently work as a videographer with a real estate company, and the few months I’ve spent doing this job have made me feel like God gave me a second chance. I’m making more money than I’ve ever made in my entire life, and I can’t help but wonder what my life would look like if I had spent the last four years being a videographer here instead of in Nigeria.
So, you have no regrets leaving Nigeria?
I have no regrets. I wasn’t really an academic person, so it didn’t hurt that much to ditch UNILAG. I’ve always believed there’s more to life than a university degree. I miss the values the school instilled in me and the people I met there, but I have no regrets.
Are you going to resume at the same academic level in the U.S with your transcript?
I’m not sure. I know they’ll check the number of credits I’ve done in UNILAG and compare it to those I haven’t taken. When they have their final calculation, they’ll determine the number of years I’m supposed to spend in college.
Besides school, what was your life in Nigeria like?
While I was at UNILAG, I worked with a media agency. It is one of the leading agencies in Lagos, so I got to network with influential people. On a typical day, you’ll find me shooting videos when I should be in class, but it was worth it. The financial aspect wasn’t very rewarding, but it paid off in terms of exposure. Now, I have a solid portfolio to present in any part of the world.
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Love that for you. Have you experienced any culture shock in the US?
So many culture shocks. Everyone here tells me that I have an accent, which is funny because don’t we all? But they always struggle to hear me. I constantly have to repeat my words before my colleagues hear me. The funny thing is, I can hear them clearly, as I think they should hear me too. But I’ve started using faking an American accent just so they can understand me without having to repeat myself constantly. Another culture shock is probably how much people love afrobeats here.
In what significant ways has moving abroad changed your life?
Honestly, I feel more relaxed than I’ve ever felt. I’m not being hard on myself like I used to in Nigeria because there is a system that makes life easier here. When you work, you get a reward for it. And not just any form of mediocre reward, you actually earn your worth. Anytime I convert my monthly pay to naira, I still can’t believe it.
Do you still see a future in Nigeria?
I’d probably like to retire in Nigeria, but I won’t like to go back there anytime soon.
On a scale of one to ten, how happy are you in the US?
9.5 is a fair number. It could be higher, but I miss my friends in Nigeria.
Want to share your japa story? Please reach out to me here.
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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.
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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.
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Someone you know has left or is planning to leave. 1,000 Ways To Japa will speak to real people and explore the infinite number of reasons and paths they use to get to Japa
Zahir* (29) left his seven-figure job in 2022 to start over as a student in Canada against his family’s wishes. Three years later, he became a permanent resident, homeowner, and six-figure earner in Canada. In this story, he shares how he achieved these goals with a plan he crafted in Nigeria.
When did you move from Nigeria, and where do you live now?
I live in Canada now. I left Nigeria in January of 2022.
What was the motivation behind your move?
To be honest, #EndSARS changed everything for me. After witnessing what happened, I knew I had to leave the country. I tried relocating through the Express Entry route at first, but it didn’t work out. I didn’t give up, though; a part of me felt like I needed to leave Nigeria, so that’s what I did.
So, how exactly did you move to Canada?
I ended up moving as a student. I applied for a postgraduate program in data analytics, but I devised a plan to convert my student visa to a work visa afterwards and get my permanent residence. I achieved all of that in less than two years.
I want to hear about that plan. But first, tell me how you could afford to study in Canada.
I wasn’t lucky enough to secure a scholarship, despite my strong academic track record. On the other hand, I actually didn’t try that hard to get a scholarship because I could afford to sponsor myself. I grew up poor in Nigeria but managed to build myself up. The school fees were around 17,000 Canadian dollars at the time, and I had saved up more than that already. I was a senior data scientist in Nigeria, and my monthly income was ₦1.6 million. The exchange rate was still fair then, so I paid in full even though the school gave me the option to pay in instalments.
You gave that up to start over as a student in Canada?
Yes. Now that I’m thinking about it, it sounds a bit silly, but I got to where I am today because I took risks. Before my Canadian degree, I had gotten into a fully funded master’s program in South Africa. Through that program, I got a paid opportunity to visit Canada as a research assistant for a week. That one week in Canada gave me all the right reasons to move to the country permanently.
Can you walk me through how you secured admission into a Canadian university?
The process is simple compared to some other countries. If you plan on sponsoring yourself, research and identify the schools within your budget. You’ll need to pay an application fee of as high as $100, so keep that in mind. When you decide on the university you want to attend, decide on the program you’ll love to enrol in and tailor your Statement of Purpose (SOP) to the programme’s requirements.
You’ll likely be asked to pay your tuition deposit when you get your admission offer. When you receive the semester tuition, you can apply for your visa. At this stage, you’ll need proof of funds, which was $10,000 when I moved. You’ll also need the school to issue you a Provincial Attestation Letter (PAL), a document that helps the Canadian government track the number of students allocated to each School. The school will only issue a PAL to you if you have met its payment obligations.
Do you have any tips for intending Canadian postgraduate students?
Your proof of funds can go a long way in getting your visa. My visa application was denied the first time because I made an avoidable mistake. If you are self-funding, it’s easier to present your bank statements because you already have a documented record of your income. If your parents or others are funding you, I’ll advise that you ask the sponsor to write a deed of gift, which is a letter to the Canadian embassy explaining why they intend to sponsor a student.
Thank you. Would you say leaving your seven-figure income to study in Canada was worth it?
The school itself wasn’t worth it, but it gave me opportunities for which I am grateful. It would have been impossible to get to where I am today without studying in Canada. I got my first analytics manager role here during my first four months. Although I could only work for 20 hours at the time, my offer letter stated the company would convert me to a full-time staff member when I graduated. They kept their word, and I started earning a six-figure salary when I was retained as a full staff member. I worked there for a year and got my permanent residency.
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So that is the plan you had before you left Nigeria?
Yes, that was the plan, but I didn’t entirely know what I was doing; I was just taking a chance on myself. I came to Canada with two dreams: getting my permanent residency and buying my first home. You cannot buy a house here until you get a permanent residency, so I knew I had to get that out of the way quickly. About a year after I became a permanent resident, I bought my first home.
That’s insane. Where are you people seeing this money?
My job is one of the top 5% highest-paying jobs in Canada. I make over $100,000 yearly. The funniest part is that some of my family members were against me moving to Canada because I was earning well in Nigeria, but now, when they visit me in Canada, they go on and on about how I made the best decision. I left in 2022, and by 2023, the economy had started falling apart, so to them, I had foresight. But they give me too much credit because I barely knew what I was doing. I thank God because I owe my success to Him.
You’ve hacked financial freedom in Canada. How is your social life?
It’s a lonely country, but I’ve made some good friends and we’ve managed to build a community. We play tennis often and help each other out when we can.
You’re winning in life. Are you ever going to move back to Nigeria?
I visit Nigeria often, and I plan to move back at some point. It might not happen in the next ten years, but it’ll surely happen. I moved to Canada because I didn’t want to live and die in one country. Now that I’ve achieved that, I can picture a future where I retire early and live the rest of my life in Nigeria.
On a scale of one to ten, how happy are you in Canada?
It’s way over ten. I’m a man of few needs and wants, so I can easily afford everything I desire. Things are working out for my good.
Want to to share your japa story? Please reach out to me here.
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The Japa class of 2023-2024 does not know what the Lord did for them because the 2025 aspirants are going through it. In what can only be described as village people machinations, the UK government has announced new immigration rules that will make relocating and staying in the European country harder than it already is.
What’s going on?
The real question is “what’s not going on?” On Monday, May 12, the UK government released an immigration white paper detailing its new laws and focus in that area. The 82-page document (yes, 82 whole pages) titled Restoring Control over the Immigration System contains anything but good news for hundreds of Nigerians looking to move to the European country anytime soon. We’ll break down some of the affected areas below:
Graduate route visa
From now on, postgraduate students in the UK will be required to leave the country 18 months after their studies, instead of two years, which had been the norm.
If this first rule has you screaming “God abeg,” you’ll hate to know there’s more: The UK also wants to “explore introducing a levy on higher education provider income from international students,” and it doesn’t stop there. Universities that sponsor international students are also on the hot seat — they will now be expected to meet some compliance requirements, which include a 95% course enrolment and 90% course completion rate, a new rating system (Red-Amber-Green) for publicly accessible grading of universities on compliance level. Schools whose scores are below par will either have their sponsorship numbers reduced, be made to follow through with an intervention plan, or be stopped from sponsoring international students into the UK.
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Permanent residency and citizenship
The new immigration laws will make it much more difficult for foreigners to transition to permanent residency and gain citizenship. Instead of the usual five years, migrants will now be required to spend a minimum of ten years in the country to gain citizenship and permanent residency status.
Social Care Visa
If you or your relatives ever had plans to japa through the Social Care Visa, you might have to kiss that plan goodbye because the UK government will be shutting down that route. If you used this route and are currently inside the UK, you can enjoy a small win — the UK government will establish a transition period until 2028, which will “permit visa extensions and in-country switching for those already in the country with working rights.” It’s a small win, but don’t celebrate just yet because it will be kept under review.
Skilled workers
The reforms in this area are mostly tabled under the introduction of a Temporary Shortage List that will impose time-limited access to the Point-Based Immigration System. They will affect occupations with an RQF 3-5 (below degree level) and a couple of other things.
Other areas which will undergo reforms include family migration, humanitarian response, and global talent.
The UK government says it is putting all these reforms in place for the sole purpose of reducing Net Migration, which was at 906,000 and 728,000 in 2023 and 2024, respectively. The UK basically wants everybody to stay in their countries, and it couldn’t have made it any clearer than it did in the long document just issued. If you’ve ever mumbled “Nigeria must work” before, now is the time to scream it at the top of your voice because it really must.
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Someone you know has left or is planning to leave. 1,000 Ways To Japa will speak to real people and explore the infinite number of reasons and paths they use to get to Japa
Maria went from being a fairly paid teacher in Nigeria to a well-paid teacher in the US. In this story, she shares exactly how she left Nigeria through a teacher exchange program and how others can do the same.
Where do you currently live, and when did you leave Nigeria?
I currently live in Texas, USA, and I moved in December 2024.
Congratulations! How exactly did that happen?
I am a special education teacher, and I discovered that there are recruitment agencies that recruit social education teachers in American schools. I applied to a few agencies; some got back to me, others didn’t. Typically, you have to pay a fee to the agencies, but if you’re lucky, the school that wants to hire you might decide to cover the agency fee on your behalf. I was lucky. After my interviews, the school that offered me a position volunteered to pay a portion of the agency fee. That’s the simple summary of how I moved. The school paid a portion of the agency fee, I paid the balance, applied for my visa, and moved.
Now, can I get the detailed explanation of the entire process?
The process can be different depending on the agency. For example, some agencies will ask for IELTS, while others don’t. In my case, I had to do a credential evaluation, which most people do through World Education Services (WES). I used another organisation called SpanTran because my agency has a discount arrangement with them. After that, I had to do two audio interviews where the agency asked about my years of experience. You need at least two years of work experience to qualify. Once you pass the first rounds, they send your CV to different schools looking for teachers. The schools then review your credentials and may request an interview with you. In my case, I had two video interviews with the school.
After the interviews, the school contacted the agency to inform them that they’d like to hire me. Anyone interested in exploring this relocation route should know that some agencies offer employment assistance for free, but mine wasn’t one of them. In fact, they require you to pay a yearly fee until your contract ends, and it’s a five-year contract. Once you receive your employment offer, you’ll be sent a DS-2019 form, which you need to apply for your visa. However, getting an employment offer doesn’t guarantee a visa. You can still be denied. I was denied the first time I applied, but got approved on my second attempt. That’s the step-by-step process.
I had to take the IELTS exam, which cost about ₦185,000 at the time. It’s now about ₦280,000. The credential evaluation with WES typically costs about $200, but as I mentioned earlier, my agency uses another organisation that offers a discount, so I paid about $100. Agency fees range from $2000 to $4,000. The visa application costs $185.There’s also the SEVIS fee, which is about $220. The Student and Exchange Visitor Information System (SEVIS) is like a license you need to move to the US as a teacher. Flight fees vary, and I recommend securing accommodation before arriving.
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You’ve spent almost six months in the US. How has your life changed?
I had a soft landing because of my job, but I’m still adjusting to many things. For example, there are very few Nigerians in my area. Thankfully, I was assigned a Kenyan mentor when I moved here. Many Kenyan teachers in my school moved through the same route, so they are the ones I mostly roll with. Financially, it’s still an adjustment. I moved here with only $1,500. To make things worse, there’s no public transport in my town, so I’m stuck with Uber until I can afford a car.
That’s a big change. What’s it like teaching in the US?
It was strange at first. We use the British curriculum in Nigeria, so I had to adapt to the American curriculum. I also had to learn new software for reporting, planning, and paperwork. The teaching itself isn’t stressful; it’s the reporting and paperwork that’s time-consuming. But I’m adjusting. I’m also learning to speak slowly so my white colleagues and students can understand me.
On a scale of one to ten, how happy are you in America?
I don’t think I can put a number to it yet, but if I had to, I’d say five. I’m grateful to be here, but I’m not very happy. I don’t have friends yet, there are lots of bills, and I’m still trying to settle in.
Want to to share your japa story? Please reach out to me here.
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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.
Abike (24) left Nigeria with hopes of later returning home as a doctor. But when the Ukraine war started, her goal shifted to simply making it out alive. In this story, she shares how she lost some of her friends in a stampede and found shelter in Hungary.
Where do you live right now, and when did you move from Nigeria?
I live in Budapest, Hungary, and I left Nigeria in March 2021.
Why Hungary?
In 2020, I took the undergraduate exam at University of Ibadan with the hopes of studying medicine. But I missed the cut off mark by a few points. So my parents suggested that I study abroad. By December 2020, I was applying to study in Ukraine.
Ukraine?
Hungary wasn’t my first destination. It was actually Ukraine. I moved to Hungary through an unusual route.
Why?
The war started in Ukraine, and like many other Nigerians, I ran for my life. Before that I was just starting to get used to my new life in Ukraine. The most drastic change for me was the weather — coming from Lagos, where it’s much hotter, the cold felt unbearable. But to my surprise, people were wearing shorts while I was convinced the cold would kill me. Still, compared to Nigeria, Ukraine was a nice country. I was there for over a year and even made a few Ukrainian friends.
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How did you end up in Hungary?
When the war started, I was living in Kharkiv, one of the first cities to be hit. That morning, chaos broke out. The airspace was locked, meaning no flights could leave. My friends and I, about five of us living in the hostel, rushed to the metro station, where we stayed for five days. The metro, being underground, had turned into a makeshift bunker.
At first, we didn’t plan to leave Ukraine. My parents advised me to move west, away from Kharkiv, which bordered Russia. So, we took a 20-hour train ride to Lviv, where we stayed for two days, trying to figure out our next move. Unfortunately, I got separated from my friends due to the stampedes whenever a train arrived.
I met some other people, and we decided it was no longer safe to stay in Ukraine at all. We got on a train heading further west and eventually crossed into Hungary. From there, we were taken to Budapest, where the immigration office processed our arrival.
Many Nigerians who left Ukraine chose to return home. Why didn’t you?
Going back to Nigeria was never an option for me. My dad and I discussed alternatives, and we initially considered the United Kingdom. However, leaving the European Union would have meant applying for a new visa, which is a long and difficult process.
Since I already had a Ukrainian residence permit, it made more sense to stay within the EU. The priority was to find a way to transfer to another university, so I focused on that.
How easy was it to settle down in Hungary?
Honestly, the first five months felt like I was just going through the motions. I followed instructions, went where I was told, and tried to figure things out. But the kindness of the people here helped a lot. We were taken to a hotel the night we arrived because the migration office was closed.
People had donated food, toiletries, and essentials, so we didn’t have to worry about basic needs for the first month. The real challenge was figuring out our legal status since we weren’t Ukrainian citizens. Those with only Ukrainian visas had to leave. But because I had a residence permit, I was eligible to apply for one in Hungary — as long as I got accepted into a university here. That became my next goal, but it didn’t go exactly as planned.
Were you able to transfer to a Hungarian university, or did you start from scratch?
Unfortunately, I had to start over. My Ukrainian university refused to release my transcripts. That was when I learned the hard lesson of always collecting physical copies of my transcripts at the end of every semester. Without my transcripts, my new university in Hungary couldn’t transfer my credits. So, even though I was already in my second year in Ukraine, I had to start again from the first year..
How did it feel to start over?
At first, it was frustrating. However, after attending a few classes in Budapest, I realised that the education system here was much more practical than what I had in Ukraine.
In Ukraine, everything was theory-based, but here, we had practical learning from the first class. In hindsight, I was grateful for the fresh start because I might have struggled if I had continued from my second year.
Interesting. Did you experience any culture shock when you moved to Hungary?
The biggest shock was how easy it was to communicate in English. In Ukraine, I had to learn some Ukrainian to get by, especially for things like banking. Most people speak English here in Budapest, so things were much easier.
Another difference is the weather. Kharkiv was extremely cold — it started dropping to single digits in September, and by November, we were already dealing with negative temperatures. Budapest, on the other hand, has a milder winter. The lowest temperature I’ve experienced here was around zero degrees.
They also a lot of PDA here — people make out everywhere, sometimes right next to you. And then there’s the smoking. I don’t smoke, but it feels like everyone else does.. Your teachers smoke, your classmates smoke, your professors smoke, your doctors smoke — everybody’s smoking.
What’s the Nigerian community there like?
There’s a nice Nigerian community here, but it’s quite different from Ukraine. In Ukraine, most Nigerians are students, while in Hungary, many are working professionals or adults with family responsibilities. There aren’t as many Nigerian students here.
I attend the Redeemed Christian Church, which has a large African population. We usually organize get-togethers and outreaches. Nigerians are naturally welcoming, so finding a sense of community is easy. There’s just a chance that you’ll meet more grown-ups here than people in your age bracket.
How different is your life now compared to when you lived in Nigeria?
The biggest difference is independence. Back home, I didn’t have to handle everything alone, but now, I do. It’s a lot of responsibility, but it has also made me more self-sufficient.
Do you have plans to explore other countries?
I’m considering relocating to the UK, Ireland or Australia when I’m done with my education here. The good thing is that my Hungarian degree is recognized in any EU country. I’m studying medicine, so I don’t need to take any special exam before I’m allowed to practice in the EU. But that’s my long-term plan. For now, I’m focused on visiting different countries. The last place I went was to Berlin, and the only thing I had to spend a significant amount of money on was my accommodation. It’s cheaper and easier to explore the world from here. If it’s within the EU, I don’t need to worry about paying for a visa.
On a scale of one to 10, how happy are you in your new country?
Eight. My life is good, especially when compared to my life in Nigeria.
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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If you’ve been on the internet recently, you might have seen doctors around the world celebrating Match Day. It’s when medical school graduates find out if they got into a US residency program. But here’s the thing: the journey to matching costs a lot of money.
We asked two Nigerian doctors who got matched to break down what it means to match, the steps involved, and how much Nigerian doctors spend to secure a US residency.
But first, let’s explain a few things:
What Does It Mean to “Match” as a Nigerian Doctor?
Matching means securing a spot in a US residency program, a crucial step after medical school for doctors who want to specialise and earn more.
Without it, you remain a general medical practitioner or a medical officer.
Residency is where doctors get hands-on training in their chosen speciality, and it typically lasts 3-7 years, depending on the field.
Doctors become medical consultants after completing their residency program.
The USMLE: Your Ticket to Residency
The United States Medical Licensing Examination (USMLE) is a three-step exam for every medical graduate, including Nigerian doctors, who want to practice in the US.
Passing a foreign licensing exam is non-negotiable for any doctor looking to practice abroad.
It’s like a conversion process for your medical degree, and the USMLE is required to apply for US residency programs through the National Resident Matching Program (NRMP).
The Three Steps of the USMLE:
Step 1: Can be taken after your second year of medical school.
Step 2 CK (Clinical Knowledge): Usually taken in the final year of med school or after graduation.
Step 3: Taken after ECFMG certification, typically during or before residency.
Nigerian doctors can take the first two steps as undergraduates, while Step 3 is done after starting clinical practice.
What It Cost Me to Match Into a US Medical Residency at 24
I officially became a doctor in January 2025 after completing my medical degree at the University of Lagos. I haven’t started practising yet, but on Monday, March 17, I got matched into a US residency program to specialise in Emergency Medicine.
The journey to this point started in September 2021, just as I resumed my fourth year of medical school. That was when the US Medical Licensing Examination (USMLE) announced a major change—Step 1, which had always been a scored exam, would now be graded as simply “pass” or “fail,” starting from January 2022. This meant that Step 1 scores would no longer be disclosed to residency programs.
Before this change, Step 1 was the most important part of a residency application, especially for international medical graduates like me. Residency programs heavily relied on it to compare applicants, and a high score could make you stand out. The pass mark was 194/300, but anything above 240 was considered competitive.
For U.S. medical students, this change wasn’t as big of a deal since they were already studying within the system where they’d apply for residency. However, for international students, it was a huge disadvantage. We lost one of our biggest opportunities to prove we were just as qualified. With Step 1 now pass/fail, residency programs could no longer use it to rank applicants, making Step 2, which was still a scored exam, the new deciding factor.
At this point, I wasn’t even sure I wanted to practise in the US. However, a senior colleague who had just taken the USMLE advised me to take the Step 1 exam before the change made things even more competitive. So, I bought the UWorld study materials in September and started preparing.
Unfortunately, I wasn’t fully prepared to take the Step 1 exam when the grading system change took effect in January 2022, so I took it right after my fourth-year MBBS exams in March 2022.
Getting funding for the process
My family played a major role in ensuring I could go through with the matching process. My parents had started saving for my exams in 2021. At the time, a dollar was exchanged for around ₦415, and Nigerian banks allowed up to $4,000 (₦1.6m) per quarter in foreign exchange transactions.
By March 2022, when it was time to pay for my USMLE Step 1 exam and US clinical rotation, we exchanged approximately $4,000 to cover the estimated expenses. Convincing my parents wasn’t easy, but they trusted my judgment and saw the bigger picture. Once they committed, it became a major thing we were doing in the house; everyone in the family invested in making it happen.
Taking the USMLE Step 1: $2,369
I prepared for Step 1 alongside my 400-level exams, which made that year the toughest of my time in medical school. Step 1 was my first real exposure to the US medical system in terms of studying, and it was intense. Luckily, my best friend Raphael Eloka, who also matched into a Radiology program, was preparing at the same time. So, it wasn’t as tough as it would have been if I were the only one in my class doing it.
Step 1 is an 8-hour exam with 7 question blocks, each lasting an hour, plus an additional hour for breaks.
The exam covers the basics of medicine, similar to what we study in our second and third years of medical school in Nigeria, with a few additional courses. The challenge is that their questioning style and curriculum are completely different from ours. So, if you’re taking it while in school, you’re essentially studying two different systems at once. It’s tough but doable.
There were no exam centres in Nigeria, so I travelled to Ghana to write it at a CBT centre. Here’s what it cost me:
I had done enough practice exams to feel confident that I’d pass, and I did. I was very ecstatic.
Immediately after my exams in March, I had to do a one-month elective clinical rotation before moving fully into my 500 level.
I could have done my rotation at a hospital in Lagos, but completing a clinical rotation in the US would significantly boost my chances for the matching process. And that’s exactly what I did.
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Medical Rotation in the US: $2,200
UNILAG partnered with Northwestern University Hospital in Chicago, allowing students to do clinical rotations there for free. My best friend Raphael and I were the only two Nigerians selected out of many applicants.
I’d confirmed my selection while preparing for the Step 1 exams and had already received my US visa. So, after the exams, I travelled to the US for my rotation. This was still March 2022.
The rotation was my major turning point.
Medicine in the US was nothing like what I was used to in my previous rotations as a medical student in Nigeria. Resources were abundant, robotic surgeries were a thing, and as students, we were actually allowed to assist in procedures. It was a completely different level of learning, and I knew that this was where I wanted to train.
Regardless of what happened, I decided I would commit to the process, write all the subsequent steps, and do everything I needed to qualify for a residency program in the US.
The rotation was a very challenging experience, but it also gave me the opportunity to network with other Nigerian residents — connections that later became instrumental in my matching process.
Although the clinical rotation program was free, I had to cover other expenses:
I started preparing for my Step 2 exam during the eight-month ASUU strike in 2022 and took it just before my 500-level MBBS exams in October 2023.
By then, the naira had jumped from ₦415 to ₦747 per dollar, an 80% increase from the rate we exchanged in 2022.
Step 2 was easier because I was already familiar with the exam structure. I knew how to manage my time, balance studying with school, and handle the pressure. Honestly, anyone who has made it past their first two years of medical school is already in the top 1% — with the right guidance, you can ace any exam.
I had to travel to Ghana again to write Step 2 at a CBT centre. Here’s what it cost me:
I passed my Step 2 exams with a score of 244 out of 300 and received my results in two weeks. With that, I was ready to start applying for the match process.
The Match Process: What it cost to apply to 66 residency programs
In September 2024, during my final year of medical school, I applied for residency in the US through the National Resident Matching Program (NRMP). My CV was strong, but I needed to improve my chances, so I secured another free, short clinical rotation.
This opportunity came through a Nigerian doctor, Dr. Nsikak, whom I connected with on Twitter. She had matched into Emergency Medicine, the same speciality I was interested in. I reached out, and she agreed to mentor me. I got the clinical rotation opportunity through her at Lehigh Valley Health Network (LVHN) in Pennsylvania.
To make the most of my trip, I also attended an Emergency Medicine conference around the same time.
Residency applications are expensive, and I had to be strategic.
ERAS Token ($165): To start my residency application, I needed to register on the Electronic Residency Application Service (ERAS), the official platform for submitting applications. The ERAS token is a one-time fee to open an account and access the system.
Occupational English Proficiency Test ($400): Since I studied medicine in Nigeria, I had to prove my English proficiency by taking an approved test. This test is mandatory for international medical graduates applying for residency in the US.
Application to 66 residency programs ($1,600): Every residency program requires an application fee. The more programs you apply to, the higher your chances and the higher the cost. Since I had a limited budget, I could only afford to apply to 66 programs out of 300. Most international applicants are advised to apply to 150+ programs to boost their chances, which costs around $4,000, but I took a leap of faith.
To ensure I applied strategically, I researched and networked with hospital residents I met during my clinical rotations and medical conferences. I spoke with doctors who had matched in previous years, learned about the hospitals and residency programs they got into, and used their advice to refine my list. I focused on programs that sponsored visas and had a track record of accepting international graduates.
Out of 66, I got eight interviews and was successfully matched into a residency program. My residency starts in July 2025.
Grand Total: I spent $12,668 altogether, which was around ₦13 million at the time, but at today’s exchange rate, it’s valued at ₦19.4 million.
The hardest part of the journey was the uncertainty, financial strain, physical stress and mental gymnastics. It was exhausting and one hell of a marathon. Completing the process requires a lot of grit and mental fortitude, but if you can endure it, it’s worth it.
I’m grateful I don’t have to deal with student loans that take a massive cut of many US medical residents’ income. Residency salaries range from $60,000 to $80,000 a year, which is decent, and the earning potential is even better post-residency.
What It Cost to Apply to 95 Residency Programs
Dr Mariam Bello, 28, General Medical Practioner (₦400k/Month)
Photograph by Femi Gabriels
I currently work as a general practitioner at a hospital in Lagos, but on Monday, March 17, I got matched to a US residency program to specialise in internal medicine.
It’s been a long time coming. I earned my medical degree from Afe Babalola University (ABUAD) in 2020, completed my medical house job in 2022 and finished NYSC in 2023. The next step in my career was residency, but I didn’t want to do it in Nigeria. So, I got a job as a general practitioner while preparing for my USMLE exams on the side.
At first, I considered the UK route. I took the IELTS English test and planned to register for the UK PLAB exams, which would allow me to practice as a medical officer in the UK. But I missed the application window in 2022. I took that as a sign to pivot to the USMLE instead. Besides, PLAB would only make me a medical officer in the UK; I’d still have to apply for residency later.
But I had already made up my mind. When I told my parents about my decision in 2022, they agreed to support me financially.
My USMLE Journey
I started preparing for the Step 1 exam in May 2023, but I found the study materials abstract, so I paid an online tutor $85/month for six months. In December, I travelled to Ghana for the exam, took it, and passed.
If I had a US visa, I would have travelled for clinical experience to increase my chances. However, the cheapest voluntary rotation I could find cost $2,000 for four weeks. It was too expensive to ask my parents for, considering my other expenses. In March 2024, I found an alternative: tele-rotation and completed a two-month online clinical rotation with an endocrinologist in Oklahoma for $250/month.
By June 2024, I had moved on to Step 2. Preparing was easier since I was already familiar with the system. However, I only had three months to study because that was the latest I could take the exam and still apply for residency that year. I sat for Step 2 exams in August 2024 and scored 232 out of 300. It felt disappointing because I had aimed for 260, and a score of at least 240 is generally recommended to boost your chances.
I even considered not applying for residency again that year because the application window was just a month away in September. But thanks to my support system — friends and family who encouraged me, I pushed through.
The Match Process
I applied to 95 residency programs in internal medicine, got three interviews and eventually matched into one.
Cost of residency applications:
$11 per application for the first 30 programs → $330
$30 per application for the next 65 programs → $1,950
Residency interviews are less about what you’ve done and more about how well you sell yourself. They want a compelling story.
One of the programs that interviewed me liked my volunteering experience. For others, it’s research publications, high Step 2 scores, or strong letters of recommendation from consultants. In my case, I believe my recommendation letters, volunteering experience, personal statement, and how well I presented myself in my CV and interviews made the difference.
My residency starts in July. After everything, I can finally say it was worth it.
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