Every year, tens of thousands of young Nigerians move to the UK in search of a better life. Edidiong* (25) came for a master’s degree after his family scraped together every naira they could find. A year after graduation, he’s still hustling for a job that will sponsor his work Visa. The pressure is real, and failure could mean losing everything.
As told to Aisha Bello
I arrived in the UK in August 2023 with a suitcase full of big dreams and a heart full of hope. I was ready to take on the world, or at least, that was the plan.
My family and our extended network back home had scraped together every naira they could spare to send me here for a master’s degree in International Business Management and Entrepreneurship. Everyone believed in me and expected me to succeed. I believed it, too.
My first year in the new country passed in a blur of routine and cautious optimism. I worked as a healthcare support worker, assisting patients with their social and physical needs and providing hands-on support in hospitals and clinics. It paid roughly £700 a week, enough to cover rent, bills, groceries, and a small amount of pocket money.
I was surviving and also learning the rhythms of the UK: how to get around, how to live, and how to stretch every pound, while quietly imagining the future I hoped to build.
By September 2024, I had finished my master’s. With my degree in hand, I applied for the graduate visa, which would give me two years to work without restriction. It cost around £3,000 — money I had painstakingly saved over the year. I remember the day the confirmation came through. I felt a small tinge of hope. Finally, I thought, a bridge to the life I had been chasing.
Then the job hunt began.
I thought naively that an MSc would swing open doors on its own. A polished CV and a degree would carry the weight of my ambition. I pictured employers lining up, eager to hire me.
I was wrong.
The reality hit harder than I expected. To remain legally in the UK after my visa expired, I needed to find a job that would sponsor a Skilled Worker visa, which felt impossible.
I sent my CV everywhere: Indeed, LinkedIn, and company websites. I applied to any role that seemed doable, including customer service, marketing, sales, business operations, and retail. I prepared four different CVs, each tailored to a different type of role.
By the time I stopped counting, I had sent out almost a thousand applications, each one carrying the hope that this time, something would finally stick. Responses were so rare, reminding me how distant I was from finding a job.
And the few that did respond evaporated when they learned I needed sponsorship. Suddenly, I wasn’t a promising candidate.
I could sense the unspoken calculations in their heads: the cost, the paperwork, the uncertainty. I couldn’t blame them. I wasn’t a prodigy. I didn’t have years of experience back home; just a couple of internships, and a freshly minted master’s degree, and apparently, that wasn’t enough.
I hadn’t considered this before moving. I hadn’t thought about sponsorship costs, the competitive job market, or my lack of UK experience. International students face a brutal landscape. Millions of graduates from different racial backgrounds compete for every available position, so a master’s degree, along with a few internship experiences, barely counts.
Over a year has passed. Still nothing. I’ve had to double down on the healthcare job just to survive. It pays the bills, but it doesn’t pay off expectations, ambition, or the sense that I’ve truly “made it.”
Every day, the calendar mocks me. Another year. Another 365 days of existing, surviving but not thriving. The pressure from home hangs over me heavily. They must think I’m doing better. I should be. I should have a proper 9-to-5 job, a clear trajectory, and a semblance of security. Instead, I’m navigating a rollercoaster of hope and rejection.
I’m at a crossroads. My graduate visa gives me another year. The pressure is crushing. I’ve started to consider every possible way to stay in the UK, even options I never imagined before.
Could I arrange a marriage to secure residency? Could I study the immigration laws closely enough to find a loophole? Could I somehow fund another degree, perhaps even a tuition-free PhD in another European country, to buy more time?
The truth is, I have no desire to start from zero again in another country. I’ve poured too much time, energy, hope, and money into grounding my feet in the UK.
Frustration, worry, and anger have become my daily companions. Every rejection, every cold automated “We regret to inform you” email chips away at my soul. Each morning, anxiety gnaws in my stomach as I question my choices, my abilities, and whether any of this was worth it.
Hindsight is ruthless. At night, I lie awake, running scenarios over in my head. Perhaps I should have gained more experience in Nigeria, networked harder while studying, or chosen a master’s degree that offered a clearer path to employment.
I’ve learned a hard truth: as an international student, you start at a disadvantage. The visa clock ticks relentlessly. Every day without a proper job edges me closer to a deadline I cannot ignore. I have to face it: If sponsorship doesn’t work, what do I do?
So here I am, working my healthcare job, and sending out yet another hundred CVs, caught between desperation and determination. I don’t know what the future holds. However, I do know this: I refuse to give up, and I refuse to return home to Nigeria as someone who failed.
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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.
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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.
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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.
Obi (27) has lived in four different cities since leaving Nigeria ten years ago, but she is still not settled abroad. She shares her journey of constantly being on the move, unpacking the emotional weight of migration and exposing the hard truths behind the “Japa” dream that many Nigerians pursue abroad.
This model is not affiliated with the story in any way
Where do you currently live, and when did you leave Nigeria?
I currently live in the United Kingdom (UK), but I left Nigeria in 2015 to go to the US.
What inspired you to leave?
It was just what was expected. After secondary school, you go abroad to further your studies if your parents can afford it. So I would not say I was inspired to leave; I was just expected to. Once I finished secondary school, I spent a year doing SATs and applying to various universities in different countries, including the United States (US), the UK, Canada, and Mauritius. But I ended up choosing the US. At the time, I just felt like that was where I needed to be.
That is very interesting. So, how did you find the experience in the US?
I had visited a year prior because I have family over there. So I thought I had an idea what life would look like, but living there was a whole different ball game. It was the first time I was really on my own, not being sheltered by my parents. So I had to grow up very quickly.
I felt very much like a fish out of water during my first semester. I did not do very well academically because I was very homesick and depressed.Like I said, I had visited family there before and I had always absorbed so much American media. So I felt I already knew the culture, but it was very different actually living there.
How so?
The US is a very capitalist place, so even as a student, money went fast. I had to get a job and learn how to take care of myself. Within my first year, the exchange rate went up drastically from around a dollar to ₦160 to around ₦300. So I realised I could not expect my parents to keep up with my fees and allowance.
I tried to get a job, but you are not allowed to do so on a student visa until your second year. And when you do apply in your second year, it has to be within campus and you can only work 20 hours a week.
I quickly had to learn how to manage money better and live there without getting myself into too much debt.
Okay, so you struggled academically and financially. What about socially?
I was a bit of a loner in Nigeria because I am neurodivergent, and Nigerians do not really know how to relate to people like me. But I thought it would be better in the US, that Nigerian-Americans would be better with things like that, but that was not the case.
I had friends from different ethnicities: Hispanic, white, Black, Asian. But I found it very strange that I was not getting along with the Nigerian-Americans.
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Why was that?
I tried to make Nigerian-American friends in the beginning, but they had subtle discriminating behaviours like saying you’re “fresh off the boat” because you just got there.
There is a huge Nigerian-American community in Texas and I was immersed in it while I lived there. There is a lot I liked about it, like the fact they really seem to want to have some kind of connection to Nigeria. I really liked that some of my cousins there had a better understanding of Igbo than I, who grew up in Nigeria. I admire that their parents put effort into that.
While I admired those things about them, I also feel like they have carried a lot of the bad in Nigeria and brought it with them to the US. They worship white people and discriminate against Black Americans and other Africans in an off putting way.
They are also very materialistic and judgemental. Once, an aunt tried to matchmake me, but apparently when the guy’s mother heard I was studying advertising and not medicine or engineering, she immediately called it off.
They have just carried all the same prejudices here, including their politics. Obviously, as immigrants you would expect them to support Democrats because that is the party that favours immigration. But because they hate queer people so much, they vote against that, not realising they are harming their own interests.
I left just before Trump’s second term and looking at all the things he is doing, honestly, I think Nigerian-Americans deserve what they are getting. They lack the social awareness and consciousness to know who their true allies are.
Wow. I certainly see your point. Did your other friends help you settle into life in the US though?
Yes, my friends definitely helped me settle. I think the culture also helped. The culture in the US allows you to be a bit more expressive, so even if you are acting strange, nobody is going to start asking what is wrong with you like they would in Nigeria. People are not as judgy in the US.
I have dyscalculia, a learning disorder affecting numerical reasoning. In Nigeria, a maths teacher made me stand up and told me I should go to Mountain of Fire Ministries for deliverance because I was very bad at maths.
It took me a while, but I started to feel more comfortable in the US. I remember early on a Jamaican friend told me I was being very uptight. And that was because I was always anxious, expecting people to act a certain way towards me like they would in Nigeria. But eventually I got used to being able to just breathe and be free.
Also, they have a system that is better built to support people. When I started to realise I was getting depressed and it was affecting my academics, I went to the campus mental health services and they really helped.
It was very one-size-fits-all. Just the generic “we are here for you” type of wellness. But it was still a lot more than I had ever gotten in Nigeria, where when I would tell my family or friends that I was feeling some kind of way, they would either ask me to pray about it or get over it.
What did you do after school?
After you graduate, you get what they call an OPT (Optional Practical Training), which allows you to work in the US for one year. Then your employer has the option to sponsor you through an H-1B work visa.
So during my OPT year, I got to feel what working full time in the US is like, and it made me see that the American dream Nigerians japa to chase is a scam.
I was earning money, but about 60 per cent was going to bills and rent, so I did not have much left over. In the end, my employer did not want to sponsor my H-1B, so I had to either leave the US or go to school. I decided to do my master’s in New York.
So you moved from Texas to New York?
Yes, I did. It was both good and bad.
It was good because I got some scholarships which helped reduce the weight of the fees. And of course, the opportunity to experience such a famous city.
But it turned out to be very expensive. I got a job as a grad student, but this time it was not just 60 per cent of my paycheck going to rent and bills, it was all of it. It is extremely expensive to live in New York.
Thankfully, after my master’s, I got out of New York. My parents moved to the US to live with my brother in Georgia, so I went to join them and got a job there.
Wow. That is three different cities.
Yes. In total I’ve lived in four cities since I moved abroad. I lived in Texas for about five years, then I lived in New York for about three years, then Georgia before moving to London.
From my experience there, I realised that even though the US is one country, each state is very different. Still, I noticed one common thread, which is that there is not that much difference between America and Nigeria. I have heard people say it as a joke that the US is Nigeria just wearing a Gucci belt. But I genuinely think there is truth to it.
The biggest differences are the basic public utilities that Nigeria lacks, and the fact that they hold their politicians to some kind of standard, or at least they used to. Other than that, the way things worked and the way people looked at life were still very similar to Nigeria.
You will see homeless people on the subway in horrible conditions, and people do not care. People just keep going about their own business the same way Nigerians ignore the beggars living under bridges and sitting on the roadside.
The things they have gotten right in the US made me realise that nobody is handed a good country or a good government. You literally have to fight for it, and I want to see Nigerians fight and hold their leaders accountable. I saw my American friends pick up their phones and call their representatives to let them know how they felt about policies. We need that in Nigeria.
I do not think I have heard anyone compare Nigeria to the US quite like this. Is that why you left?
After my master’s, I had another OPT year to get a job that would sponsor my work visa. Like I said, I got the job in Georgia. But the company is headquartered in London, so they got me a UK work visa and transferred me there. That is why I live here now.
That’s great. How is the experience in the UK?
It has been good. I definitely miss some things about America. I was there for almost ten years, so I think that is natural. I am still getting used to the system here, but honestly, it has been quite boring.
One thing I really love here is their transportation. I also love how much closer to Nigeria it is. I can easily hop on a flight and be in Nigeria in five to six hours, instead of the about sixteen-hour flights back in the US.
I also like how the Black people here are very connected to their places of origin. In the US, Black Americans have their own culture, but in the UK, Black people here identify with their place of origin. They might be Caribbean, Nigerian, Ghanaian, Zimbabwean, and so on. They are very much connected to their roots.
Generally, people here are not as open or as extroverted as they are in the US. They are much more quiet, much less likely to be very chatty. But I think my social life here is pretty good. Actually, I am probably going out a lot more here than I was in the US. I think people go clubbing so much more here, because it is much cheaper than in the US.
You mentioned flights to Nigeria. Do you come back often?
I visit as often as I can afford, but typically at least once a year. Every time I go back to Nigeria, for the first two weeks I start thinking about moving back because of the excitement and happiness of being home, eating Nigerian food again, and being with my family.
This might sound trivial, but I have gotten used to having electricity and water. So when I open my tap in Lagos and there is no water, I realise I cannot actually live in Nigeria as it is currently. My sister lives in a high-end part of Lagos, and her water runs brown.
I never actually planned to live abroad for this long. I only wanted to spend four years in the US, get my degree, and go back home. I used to think, “Why would I stay here when I have a house and a family in Nigeria.”
But every time I visited, it felt like something had gotten worse. Last December, I was shocked that our currency has gotten so bad that even with my little paycheck that I am barely managing here, I am able to live such a good life in Lagos.
It blows my mind that our currency has gotten that bad. But it also made me think that perhaps Nigerians in diaspora should realise that we have a bit more power to help change things at home.
So you would consider moving back permanently?
Certainly. I do not think people really consider what a shock it is not being in your country. Not being with your family, not being with the people that you grew up with in the places that you grew up. It is not normal.
You become so disconnected from everything, even from your own self, because when you are detached from your people, there is a kind of emotional self-detachment that happens too.
No matter how long I lived in the US, it never felt like my home and it never would, because it is just not my home. There is nothing like being at home.
A return to Nigeria would be great, but Nigeria needs to get those basic utilities working.
What has been the best part about your life abroad?
The best part has been meeting people from different places. I really enjoy learning from other cultures and seeing how they live.
That is great. What about the worst part?
The worst part is all the different ways you are reminded that where you are is not your country. You are basically a third-class citizen. People think money can insulate them, but you will always be reminded that you are not in your country.
I watched people get opportunities that I was better qualified for, simply because they were citizens, because they had papers. It is like being in a cage of your own making. You cannot even complain because you came to their country.
For example, getting a job after my master’s was incredibly hard as an immigrant. My family sat me down and advised me to maybe switch to nursing to increase my chances, but I did not want to change my entire life plan just because I wanted to get papers.
I think a lot of Nigerians that travel have this mindset where the end goal at any moment is how to secure papers. I think it is a daft goal to have, because it is like you are trying to get people in another country to give you papers, and you do not even understand the fact that they do not want you in their country.
As we are seeing all over the world now, as soon as the economy gets a bit bad, the first people they are going to blame are the immigrants. It has been that way throughout history. In the US, I started to feel like I did not have a future. I felt like all I was working towards was trying to find a way to stay.
You are always on edge, always calculating how much time you have left on your visa. Then somebody like Trump enters the government and they change the entire laws, and maybe you get deported because of your social media or something else that was not in the laws before.
It does not make sense to hinge our entire lives and goals on things that we have no control over. It is silly to expect things from another country’s government.
That makes a lot of sense. What about dating life, how does it compare?
I think dating is very similar everywhere. I feel like in the US they are a bit more shallow. Surface-level things are quite important to them. And public displays of affection are a big thing there.
When I would come back home to Nigeria, sometimes I would be open to dating, sometimes it would just happen, because you know Nigerian men do not let women rest. I would say the biggest difference is that Nigerian men are much more persistent. They pursue a lot more than American men ever do. I think that is just our culture.
But I would say our culture currently does our men a disservice, as it tells them that the only thing they need is money. I am not moved by money because I have my own, as small as it is, so I am not able to understand why they seem to only tell me about how much money they have. I really do not care.
In the UK, it is a mixed bag. You have some very lazy men just looking to leech off women, and then you get the ones with massive egos who have these long lists of demands about how they want their girlfriend to be.
Part of moving as much as I have is that it affects relationships. It is very hard to maintain friendships and romantic relationships.
That must be tough. On a scale of one to ten, how happy would you say you are, and why?
I would say a solid five point five. I am happy in a lot of ways, and I think it is important to recognise my privilege, but it has also not been easy.
I feel like my entire life has been in suitcases. Four cities in ten years. It is not a great way to live. I have a long-term visa right now and a really good job, but I still feel very much like I am on a timer. And that is how it has always felt all my time abroad.
So it is a five point five because I still do not feel settled.
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).
Sharon* (23) moved to the UK seeking a fresh start with her family, but her uncle’s broken promise left her battling toxic living conditions, exploitative jobs, and depression as an illegal immigrant.
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 UK. I left Nigeria in 2022.
What inspired you to leave?
Honestly, I didn’t want to leave. But I had to go with my family. My mum really wanted to leave Nigeria, so she took me and my younger brother with her. I was in 200 level at the time, so I had to drop out.
What was it like when you arrived?
Mixed feelings. Like I said, I didn’t really want to leave. But things were tough back home. We were struggling a lot, so I saw it as a chance for a fresh start. I knew it wouldn’t be a bed of roses, but I hoped things would get better.
Did you have a plan for life in the UK?
Yes, we did. Before we travelled, my mum had already secured a job as a live-in minder. So once we arrived, she went straight to her client’s house.
Our aunt, who was already living in the UK, offered to house my brother and me. But my brother only stayed briefly before moving to study at a college. So it was just me, my aunt, and her young child, whom I helped look after.
Initially, everything seemed okay, then it started to go downhill.
How?
At first, my aunt was nice. She bought me clothes and gifts. But then she became controlling and abusive. I spent all day basically being a nanny to her child. I wasn’t allowed to go out or even try to find work.
I felt stuck. I wanted to live my own life, get a job, and be my own person. But she wouldn’t let me. She started insulting me and threatening to throw me out. I was dealing with all that and also facing visa issues.
Visa issues?
Yes. We came in on one-year visas. My uncle who had a sponsored work visa, was supposed to register us as his dependents. But he started dodging it. I had a limited window before I’d be too old to qualify, so we kept trying to get him to follow through while I was also dealing with my aunt’s behaviour.
He eventually agreed and registered my brother, but by then it was too late for me. I was too old to be a dependent, and my visa expired. I’ve become stuck. I can’t go back to Nigeria because there’s nothing to return to. I also can’t stay here freely because I’m now here illegally.
I’m so sorry to hear that. So what did you do?
I kept quiet about my aunt’s behaviour for a long time because I didn’t want to worry my mum. But eventually I told her, and she encouraged me to leave and move to the city where she was working. So I did.
I didn’t have a plan. I just knew I couldn’t stay with my aunt anymore. I couldn’t stay with my mum either because she was living in her client’s house. But she had met some people and introduced me to one of them, who took me to his church.
That’s how I ended up living in the church.
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Wow. What was that like?
Very uncomfortable.
There was no kitchen or bathroom. To bathe, a church member would bring me a bowl around midnight. I’d take it to the toilet and stand in it to have my bath. There was no bed. I either slept on the floor or pushed some chairs together. And it was freezing in the winter.
I was basically the church cleaner. On Sundays, people would eat and leave the place a mess, and I’d have to clean it all up.
Worse still, I had to stay under the radar because the owner of the building where the church was located didn’t want anyone living in it and didn’t know of my presence. There were CCTV cameras, so I had to be really careful. This meant I could only go out at certain times because of the CCTV cameras. Things were really tough, but some of the church members were kind. They bought me clothes and sometimes brought food. One of them told me about a cleaning agency I could work for. So I started doing that.
How was the job?
It was hell. I met a lot of difficult people. Many of the clients were rude and spoke to me in a very demeaning way. Some refused to pay me in full after I finished cleaning.
I’d clean up to three houses a day for very little money and end each day completely exhausted. I did that for about four months. It was depressing. I kept trying to find other jobs, but without a visa, my options were limited. And the church was far from everything, so even the jobs I could get were out of reach because I couldn’t afford the transport.
What do you do now?
One day, I went to visit a friend I knew from back in Nigeria. I told her I was looking for a job, and she introduced me to my current boss. I’ve been working with him for about two years now as his administrative assistant.
Does your boss know about your visa situation?
Yes, he does. And he’s taking advantage of it.
He’s usually nice, but sometimes he says things that are really demeaning. I can’t complain at work. I work every single day, yet I don’t earn enough to save anything. I don’t get leave or time off.
I feel trapped, like I’ve been reliving the same day for the past two years.
Do you still live at the church?
No, I was kicked out. They noticed my movement patterns on the CCTV and figured out I was living there. So I had to leave. I moved in with my friend, the one who helped me get the job.
What was that like?
Very uncomfortable. But I didn’t want to seem ungrateful.
I’d come back from work and still have to help around the house. I slept in their living room, so when they stayed up watching TV late into the night, I had to stay up too, even though I was exhausted.
I barely got any sleep before waking up early for work. And even when they finally went to bed, I couldn’t sleep properly knowing her husband could walk into the living room at any time.
Her husband made me very uncomfortable. He tried to touch me a couple of times, but I didn’t tell my friend. I didn’t want to cause trouble. She had helped me get a job, and I was staying in her house. I couldn’t afford any drama. So I just endured it.
I made sure I was never alone in the house with him. Sometimes I’d get back from work, and if he was the only one home, no matter how tired I was, I’d go back out for a walk or something. Anything to avoid being alone with him.
That was my life until I got my own place.
Congrats! How do you feel about your new place?
A part of me is grateful that I can at least afford my own space, no matter how small. But another part of me is worried because almost all my money goes into rent. Still, I knew I couldn’t keep staying at my friend’s place.
Can you describe the living conditions?
It’s a shared apartment. I have eight housemates, all Nigerians. I have my own toilet, but I share a bathroom with one person, and we all share the kitchen and living room.
Unfortunately, my room is close to the shared areas, so I hear all the noise. And my housemates are very noisy. I’ve complained several times, but they don’t change. They act like children, not the adults they are. And they’re all older than me.
Do you regret travelling abroad?
Yes and no. It’s a lot of things; It hurts that my classmates in Nigeria have graduated from university while I’m stuck here, but I try to shrug it off by remembering how much I struggled back home. At the same time, I remember I had the freedom to move around in Nigeria, which I don’t have here, due to my illegal status.
I don’t know, to be honest. I guess I have mixed feelings about it.
Would you consider coming back home?
There’s nothing and no one to go back to.
What about your father?
He wasn’t a good father. He still isn’t. He was abusive to my mum. I don’t really consider him part of my life. He has another family now, and he even depends on me to survive.
You send him money?
Yes. Between that and my brother’s expenses, it’s a lot. His tuition is free, but I pay for everything else. I’m the breadwinner now, and it sucks.
What are your plans for the future?
I don’t know. I’ve spoken to lawyers, but the options available to me require a lot of money. Way more than I can afford, even if I save for years.
I feel like I’m stuck in an impossible loop. To get a visa, I need money. To get money, I need a good job. To get a good job, I need a visa.
I’m just hoping God will send someone to help me, because I’m tired and I don’t know what else to do.
What are the biggest culture shocks you’ve experienced?
First, the sneakers. I see a lot of white people wearing dirty sneakers. I don’t understand it. They just wear them dirty, and when they’re as filthy as they can be, they throw them away.
Also, the zebra crossings. We have them in Nigeria, but people don’t respect them. So it shocked me a bit when I saw how much people here actually do.
Another thing is how polite white people can be, even when they’re being hypocritical. Everyone calls you “love,” “honey,” “baby,” or “sugar,” and they’ll be all cute about it, but they don’t like you. They’ll hate you and still be polite. I don’t get it. Why pretend?
And thanking the driver when you get off the bus. That really surprised me when I first arrived. I do it now, too, but it was a big shock at first.
You’ve been through a lot, but which would you consider your worst experience in the UK?
It would have to be the period I lived in the church and had the cleaning job. I was still very young, just transitioning from a teenager to an adult; that was a very difficult way to do it.
And the best experience?
Watching the Tina Turner Musical. I’ve always wanted to see a musical theatre show, and this year was my first time. That was fun. I think so far, that’s been my favourite experience.
Did you go with anyone?
Yes. It was actually a surprise. I had mentioned to a friend that I love theatre and would love to see a show. So he surprised me by taking me to see it.
What about romantic relationships?
The dating pool here has shown me shege. The men who approach me are either married, single dads, or way older than I’d like. The young ones are broke and unserious. They don’t want to settle down. They just want to hit and go.
Those are the options. There’s no in-between. It’s either young and broke, just looking for fun, or old and married. They’ll be married with kids and still want to chase you.
It’s been mad. So I’ve just put that aside for now. I don’t think I’m even in the right mental state to be in a relationship. There’s no point thinking about it, to be honest.
Do you still feel depressed?
I was diagnosed with depression earlier this year, and I’ve started group therapy sessions.
Is therapy helping?
I’ve only just started, but I enjoy the sessions. I feel seen, like I’m not alone in this. It helps me understand that my feelings actually make sense. But after the sessions, it’s like I’m back to real life again. I feel like it’s not really solving my problem.
I’m sorry you feel that way. I understand this might be a difficult question to answer given your situation but on a scale of one to ten, how happy would you say you are in the UK, and why?
I’d say two. The visa situation is always hanging over my head, so I can’t enjoy moments. No experience feels genuine because that worry is always at the back of my mind.
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).
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.
Nneoma* (29) had a job, a car, and her own two-bedroom apartment in Enugu. She was saving up to open a school, but instead chose to use the money to pursue a Master’s degree abroad. In this story, she shares her experience of betrayal, heartbreak, and homelessness in the UK.
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 UK, and I left Nigeria in 2023.
What inspired you to leave?
I had completed two degrees in Nigeria and was looking to open a preschool or crèche. I had always wanted to work in the educational sector. I had saved up a little money for it, but my market survey showed it wasn’t enough capital for what I wanted to do.
So, I decided to go abroad for a Master’s degree. I planned to work there for a few years, and then save enough to return to Nigeria and open the school.
Did you get a scholarship?
No. I paid my tuition and all other expenses.
I initially wanted to travel to Denmark, but a friend who lived in the UK told me it was cheaper there than in Denmark, so I chose the UK. But I ended up in a really dark place.
What happened?
I was paying for all my travel expenses and tuition myself so I didn’t have enough money for rent and I didn’t know anyone in the UK. I shared these concerns with my friend, Betty*, who encouraged me to choose the UK, and she offered to house me.
She said I could stay for three months so I would have time to find a job and then rent my own place. That was what really spurred me to leave Nigeria.
When I got there, she welcomed me really well. But I only stayed with her for about a week before her attitude towards me changed. It was really bad.
She told me she was married, which I hadn’t known before. She also said her husband would be coming to join her in the UK in two weeks’ time, so I needed to leave her house.
I was shocked. She hadn’t told me any of this when I was in Nigeria. I wouldn’t have even made the mistake of leaving Nigeria for the UK, where I didn’t know anybody except her.
She didn’t kick me out or tell me directly to leave, but the attitude she gave me made it clear.
What did you do?
I reached out to friends and family. My dad hadn’t supported my decision to leave Nigeria, so he wasn’t helping me financially. But my mum and a friend in Nigeria sent me ₦300,000 each, which I used to rent an apartment. But I still had an accommodation problem.
What was the problem?
My school and Betty’s apartment were in two different cities. While I was staying with Betty, I applied for jobs in her city and got a job as a carer. But I rented an apartment near my school with the money my mum and friend sent me.
The apartment was an eight-bedroom shared flat. We were all Nigerians and Ghanaians living there. But the town was actually more like a village, so there weren’t really any jobs there.
I had already used Betty’s postcode on my job application. I really needed the job because I needed money, so I didn’t tell them I no longer had accommodation in their city.
The job I got is what they call “domiciliary care.” That means instead of working in a care home, you go to the patients’ own houses to care for them.
It was really difficult jumping buses all day, and when the buses came late or I missed them, I had to walk or run. I also got a second job as a mail sorter. I worked the night shift there, sorting mail.
How did you manage going back and forth between the cities?
It was very difficult. The transportation costs were too expensive for my financial situation at the time. So I didn’t return to my apartment on the days I worked.
While I attended lectures, I stayed at my apartment from Monday to Thursday. On Thursday morning, after lectures, I made the journey to the city where I worked to start my caring shift at 2:00 p.m. I finished at 9:00 p.m., then headed to my second job as a mail sorter to start my shift there at 10:00 p.m.
My shift ended at 6:00 a.m., so I would run to the bus station to use the restroom there. I wash my armpits and my face, then rush to resume my caring shift at 7:00 a.m.
On the nights I didn’t have a night shift at my sorting job, I slept outside.
I’m so sorry to hear that! How did that happen?
There were many of us who did this. After work, we would go to the bus station and sleep on the long benches there. The sleep was barely enough, though, because the bus station closes at 12:00 a.m. and we were expected to leave by 11:50.
So we would all leave the bus station and head to this open space where people could set up tents and sleep. That was how we did it.
That must have been really difficult. You had no one to assist you?
Through some other Nigerians I met, I was introduced to Kola*. He lived in a different town, but it was only about a 25-minute drive from my work and he agreed to let me stay with him on the days I was working.
I only stayed with him for two days. The second day was a very horrible experience.
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What happened?
He started pressuring me to have sex with him, saying he was giving me free shelter and I needed to pay him back. He said it was the least I could do to repay his kindness.
I refused, and he left the apartment that night to go to work. He had a night shift.
Around 2:00 a.m., he called my phone. By the time I got up to answer, it had stopped ringing. But then he sent me a text message. It read:
“I know you’re looking forward to something like this. Please take all your belongings and leave my apartment. You have been ungrateful to me. You can leave before I come back, or you can wait for me to drop you off at either bus or train station. I will not slave myself for someone who doesn’t have sympathy. Actually, just pack your stuff and leave right now. I do not want to see you in my house again.”
So I left his house to go sleep outside while it was snowing.
I’m sorry you had to go through that.
I was in a really dark place mentally. I felt alone and my ex-boyfriend only made things worse.
Oh! You were in a relationship?
Yes. I had a boyfriend, Peter*.
When we were living in Nigeria, he travelled often on business to places like Turkey, Indonesia, and other Asian countries. But he had never been to the UK. When I told him about my plan to travel, he said he would like to come with me.
Our relationship was pretty serious. My parents knew about us, and we had the whole thing planned out—how our lives would be in the UK. But his attitude changed almost instantly.
My visa came out first, so I went ahead. On the day I arrived in the UK, when I got to Betty’s place, I immediately went to have a shower. I missed his call while I was in the shower, but when I came out, I called him back straight away.
When he answered, he said, “Oh, you neva even reach UK, you don dey buga. How many times should I call you before you pick up my call?”
I was shocked, but I tried not to think too much of it. That was how the whole issue started, and I think it just escalated into hatred. I tried to understand that he was frustrated because his visa was denied and he had to reapply.
He started misbehaving—talking to me rudely, transferring his aggression—and I wasn’t really having it. I was already getting attitude from Betty, and now I was getting it from him too. It really affected our communication.
It was a hard time for me. I felt alone, still trying to adjust to this new environment in the UK. I didn’t have any emotional support. It was mentally draining. And I was asthmatic, so I kept having episodes. I had to go to the hospital.
I told my mum to let him know I was in the hospital. She did. He promised her he would call me back, but he didn’t. I told my mum to tell him that if he didn’t call me back, I would kill myself. It was that bad.
And even after hearing that, he didn’t call me.
Wow.
He knew I was sleeping outdoors. I told him about my situation and how the guys who offered help were asking for sexual favours. I didn’t directly ask him for money, but I dropped hints.
There was a time he said he would send me money for an Airbnb, but he never did. I’m a very shy person when it comes to things like that, so I couldn’t bring myself to remind him about the money he’d promised.
For about three months, we had no contact. Then, out of the blue, he called to say he’d finally gotten his visa and was coming to the UK.
When he arrived, we met. He apologised and offered to get an apartment for us. I told him I had already moved past waiting for his help. I said I would rather sleep outdoors in my tent. I told him I didn’t hold any ill will towards him, that I wished him well, but I didn’t want to be in a relationship with him anymore.
He went back to Nigeria about three months later. He said the UK didn’t suit him.
Could you compare your life in the UK with your life in Nigeria?
In Nigeria, I had a two-bedroom apartment, a car, and a job as a marketing manager for a real estate company in Enugu. My life wasn’t perfect, but it was okay. I had my friends around me, and I had a really stable, happy life.
And then when I got here, I started chasing after buses and sleeping outside. It really made me sad.
But at the moment, I feel my life here in the UK is better.
When Jennifer Okpechi (31) moved to the UK in 2023, she had no idea that the stock market would become her lifeline. What started as a side hustle back in Nigeria has now grown into a full-time career that has grown her money by almost £100,000 in just two years. Here’s how she made it work.
Living in the UK as a Full-Time Stock Investor
I moved to the UK in 2023 for my master’s degree. The plan was simple: come here to study and then return home. But after settling in, I decided to stay a bit longer. I often describe it as being on an extended holiday.
I started out in Portsmouth, where I completed a postgraduate degree in Digital Business Management. Like many other immigrants, I worked in healthcare support jobs before securing a full-time consulting role, which I eventually quit when sponsorship wasn’t forthcoming. In April 2025, I relocated to Manchester, hoping it would expose me to bigger opportunities and, ideally, a job with visa sponsorship.
That hasn’t happened yet. I’ve been without a 9-to-5 for four months now. Instead, I doubled down on investing, trading stock options and steadily growing my portfolio. Since moving to the UK, I’ve built my stock portfolio to nearly £100,000.
It may look like a sudden leap, but it’s really the product of years of practice and discipline. I’d been learning about investing since I was 16, when my parents drilled the habit into me. Money working for me always felt natural because I grew up watching it happen. My dad was deeply invested in real estate, while my mum preferred financial instruments.
That curiosity led me to experiment early. In my first year of university, I got into fixed-income products like treasury bills, eurobonds, and FGN bonds. The returns were high, steady, and reliable. Those investments became my foundation, bringing in a stream of passive income I could count on, and partly funding my relocation alongside my parents’ support.
Becoming a full-time investor in the UK wasn’t the original plan, but it became the most practical one. My attempts to secure sponsorship at my former company failed, and job applications were exhausting. Recruiters only seemed interested in my visa status, and the constant rejections wore me down. Job hunting felt like a job in itself, only without the paycheck. And I knew I had skills I could monetise without waiting for anyone’s approval.
So I made a choice: stop chasing jobs, refine my trading skills and rebalance my investments, while establishing my presence as an investment thought leader online. When I ran the numbers, I realised I could live comfortably if I consistently made £100–£200 daily from the market, mostly through stock options trading. That became the goal.
It wasn’t easy. I had to unlearn and relearn strategies and commit fully. But it’s finally paying off. Now, I earn up to £200 or more daily from trading.
Since quitting my job in February, this has been my reality. If I keep going at this pace, I can eventually sponsor myself — in UK terms, that means proving I can fund my stay without an employer. I still have about a year left on my visa, but the consistency of my income, from both trading and the fintech AI startup I’m building, puts me in a strong position.
That stability also gives me options: I could apply for a Global Talent Visa, set up my startup to sponsor me directly, or even explore opportunities in other countries. Either way, I won’t be boxed in.
₦700k spread across Okomu Oil, Dangote Cement & tier-one banks
Back then, I was a business development manager for a luxury goods company, earning about ₦500,000–₦700,000 a month plus bonuses. Almost everything I earned went into investments.
At first, stocks were just one slice of a larger portfolio. But soon, I realised their unique edge: unlike treasury bills or bonds, they gave me two returns — capital gains when prices went up, and dividends when companies paid them out. That combination hooked me. Stocks became the centrepiece of my investment journey, not just a hedge against inflation but a vehicle where money could multiply faster than I had ever seen.
But when I moved, I had to start building my portfolio almost from scratch.
My old Bamboo account still holds about $14k worth of stocks I’d built over the years, but I leave that largely untouched to grow long-term.
In the UK, I manage my portfolio through platforms like Trading 212, eToro and Robinhood, which offer commission-free trading and instant buying and selling. For the first time, investing felt less like a side hustle and more like a full-fledged commitment.
These platforms also introduced me to stock options trading, which I never had access to in Nigeria.
Stock investing involves buying and holding shares to grow wealth over time, while stock options trading is short-term. I trade on the rise and fall of stock prices, and that’s how I currently make around £200 a day.
When I moved to the UK, I didn’t arrive with a big pot of money to throw into the stock market. I started with about $2,000 and topped up month after month.
Where The Money Came From:
My previous 9-to-5 as a digital business consultant
I don’t leave money lying around. Even £20 sitting in my account for a few days feels wasted; I’d rather put it in the market. My friends joke that if I say I’m broke, it just means I’ve invested all my money. They’re not wrong.
That discipline helped my stock portfolio reach £100k in over two years — not just from what I put in, but from capital gains, reinvested profits, and steady growth.
My Current Portfolio (2025, £100K)
Right now, I balance between growth and income stocks:
75% Growth Stocks: Palantir, Tesla, Nvidia, Broadcom, Netflix, Meta
25% High-Yield Income Stocks: REIT funds, ETFs, Index funds
Options trading has been another big part of my growth. I don’t trade every day, but I aim to make £100–200 when I do. That consistency, dollar-cost averaging, and avoiding greed have kept me profitable.
Key Wins in 2025
This year, my biggest stock market wins came from Palantir and Netflix:
Palantir: I put in £5,000 last year and made £30,000 when the stocks surged
Netflix: I bought during a dip in early 2025, and made over £10,000
Last year, I invested £5000 into PLTR stock. Today that £5,000 is now worth £30,000.
The best part is if I want to Sell it today, it will only take seconds, and the cash will be in my bank account within hours. No stress. pic.twitter.com/EjW59RYIIP
My portfolio is at its peak this year. My strategy is simple: keep rebalancing, buy good companies’ stocks at the right time, and never panic sell. Losses are temporary; the value always comes back if you hold strong stocks.
I’ve seen firsthand how fast money can grow once it’s working for you. Over time, investing has shifted from curiosity to obsession, and now it’s the backbone of my dream to retire early and live free.
The Future
I’m not where I want to be yet financially. I think big and like chasing big things; that’s why I’m still hustling. People think because I don’t have a 9-to-5, I must have it all figured out, but honestly, I’m still working towards my FIRE number — the amount of money I need invested to cover my living expenses indefinitely without working. In other words, the point at which my investments generate enough passive income to fund my lifestyle comfortably. I don’t have a specific amount in mind, but I know I’m not there yet.
If I moved back to Nigeria today, that number would already feel within reach; I’d probably be living like a baller. But in the UK, the bar is much higher. Lifestyle costs, taxes, and inflation all push the target further out, making the journey more demanding.
For me, success is simple: peace, freedom, happiness, good food, and the ability to sleep without stress. That’s what I’m chasing.
When I pick stocks, I keep it practical. I only buy companies backed by strong products, services, and leadership. If a company isn’t adapting to new technology, especially AI, it’ll fall behind. I ask: Does this company solve a real problem? Even if I don’t need the product, do others rely on it? That mindset has paid off, but investing isn’t about greed. It’s about conviction, patience, and discipline.
In the next 3–5 years, I want to be job-optional, living off my portfolio as a full-time investor while scaling my startup. I’m building Money Bestie, an AI-powered financial coaching app. It’s the tool I wish I had when I started, giving people personalised, practical financial advice.
At the end of the day, life itself is one long gamble. Investing taught me that while you can’t escape risk, you can decide the kind you take. Learning to choose my risks with intention has transformed my life in ways I never imagined.
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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.
Ugo*(25) was the kind of person who’d move mountains for the people she loved, but meeting Tobi, her ex-boyfriend, changed her in the worst way possible. In this story, she shares how helping Tobi relocate to the U.K. turned out to be the most toxic and damning mistake of her life.
Where do you live now, and when did you move out of Nigeria?
I live in the United Kingdom (UK) and moved here in 2017. It’s been almost eight years. I didn’t intend to leave Nigeria initially, but my mother has always been a dreamer and never saw the country as her final stop.
After she and my dad separated around 2013, she got serious about her plans. She had tried things like the American visa lottery a few times, but those didn’t work out. Eventually, she was introduced to the student route and left for her first master’s abroad, leaving me and my sister behind.
She kept saying we’d join her, but when the first and second year passed, I stopped taking her seriously. Then in 2016, I got into university and had just started my first year when she suddenly started applying for me to study in the UK. That’s how my sister and I eventually joined her in 2017 as her dependents.
How was it reconnecting with your mum and adjusting to life in the UK?
It was a surreal experience. One minute, I was making new friends in Nigeria, and the next, I was on a plane to the UK.
Also, I didn’t grow up with my mum. Her elder sister raised me, so living with my mum was a big adjustment. My younger sister had lived with her a bit longer, but I hadn’t. My mum is very career-focused, so even during holidays, I only got to spend a short time with her. So, moving in together as a teenager was new territory.
I was 17, living with a mother I barely knew in a new country. Naturally, we clashed a lot. We were learning each other’s personalities, which wasn’t smooth. I wasn’t that bad, but the tension was real.
One major factor leading to constant disagreements between us was my education. My mum applied for Software Engineering on my behalf even though she knew I wasn’t passionate about coding. That course was heavy, and the university wasn’t diverse—I was one of three black students. I felt out of place.
Eventually, I told her I couldn’t continue. She initially didn’t take it well and brought people to talk sense into me. After my first year, I stood my ground and changed my course.
It caused constant disagreement between us. It was so bad that she slapped me once while we were on a bus. But we’ve come a long way since then. Now, we’re like sisters. The struggles brought us closer.
She was doing her PhD while paying my school fees and hers. It was a lot, and I had to give her grace. At 18, I started working and helping with bills. We picked our lives up a few years later, and life in the UK started looking great until I made a mistake that would haunt me for years.
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What happened?
I helped a man move to the UK. His name was Tobi, and I met him during my first year at the university before I moved to the UK. We were coursemates, and we grew close. After I moved, we kept in touch. He was one of the few friends I didn’t lose touch with.
In 2020, Tobi decided to move to the UK. I helped him with the process because we were close. However, the first time he applied, he made a rookie mistake of using a microfinance bank for his proof of funds, and the visa was denied.
He tried again in 2021/2022, and I helped him with everything from school admission to visa processing. We grew even closer and started spending longer hours talking on the phone. Tobi suddenly started calling me “babe.” Then, one day, he said, “I love you.”
I didn’t take him seriously at first because we were friends and hadn’t known each other on that level. He eventually moved to the UK and asked me to be his girlfriend. I said yes. That’s when everything started falling apart.
How so?
At first, I struggled to respect the relationship. I still saw Tobi as a friend and didn’t treat him the way one would treat a partner. I spoke to him like a sibling and didn’t filter my words. He was older than me, so it didn’t sit well with him. It naturally led to arguments between us.
Another big issue was his smoking. He never smoked around his parents, so I couldn’t understand why he’d smoke around me, even after I had made it clear that I didn’t like it. I consistently talked about the smoking thing, and eventually, he started pulling away.
We had a big fight one day, and when I called to apologise, I couldn’t reach him all day. I hate malice, so I texted him saying, “If you don’t reach out by this time, we’re done.” He didn’t, so I ended the relationship.
My friends told me I overreacted, but I stood by my decision. We broke up for about two weeks. Eventually, I reached out to Tobi, apologised, and we got back together. But things didn’t really go back to normal. I think I’d done too much damage.
What damage did you do?
I hooked up with someone else three times during the two weeks we broke up. I didn’t think much of it then because we were over. I was sad, the guy was there, and it happened. I didn’t even feel bad at the time because we weren’t together.
After we got back together, I archived the chat with the other guy. But Tobi searched my phone, found the archived chat, and got suspicious. The messages weren’t even flirty, just basic stuff like “Are you upstairs?” because we worked together. Still, he figured everything out.
That night, he confronted me. I denied it at first, but he later called me and said, “Tell me the truth. I saw the chat.” So I admitted that I hooked up with the other guy during that breakup. He didn’t take it well at all.
He started asking for unnecessary details like, “How many times? What position?” I didn’t answer because I didn’t know how those answers would have helped him heal. But he wanted to know everything, and when I explained that we weren’t together then, he got even angrier. He started seeing me as “loose,” which hurt because anyone who knows me knows that’s not who I am. But I was vulnerable and hurting, and the guy was there.
Did you still want to work things out with him after that?
Yes. I apologised and told him I still wanted us to make it work. I admitted I was wrong, but I didn’t cheat. We were broken up. I was the one who even reached out to reconcile, so clearly, I was serious. He forgave me, but just shortly after, we found ourselves in another mess.
Before all this, we had planned to pay his school fees for the second year. He needed to pay about £13,000. I got him a job in my town where he’d be paid £500 monthly. I even gave him the first £5,000 from my savings. Then I sourced an additional £5,000 through work connections. Out of that full £13k, I helped him raise £10k, which he was supposed to pay me back at some point. At that point, I was still dealing with the guilt of hurting him and just wanted to make our relationship work. I thought helping him would also soften the blow of everything that had happened. I was wrong.
It didn’t?
Not even close. After helping him raise his school fees, things got worse. He’d throw jabs, bring up the past out of nowhere and shame me for something I’d already apologised for. One minute we’re talking normally, the next he’s saying things like, “What kind of girl are you? You go to church and do these things?” And it would always go back to me hooking up with someone else.
I never denied it happened. I explained that during our break, I was heartbroken, and the person was there. But he never let it go. I still tried. I didn’t want to be the person who walked away again, so I fought for us. But it started feeling like I was fighting alone. He called me a gaslighter. He made me feel like I was the worst person alive.
I’m sorry about that
I never judged Tobi for being who he was. In fact, I wanted to be more open-minded, so we could grow stronger. Remember his smoking habit? I tried meeting him halfway. I baked edibles for our first anniversary getaway. We went to an amusement park in London. I only ate one, but I don’t smoke or take weed, so that one edible completely messed me up.
I was dazed, couldn’t see properly. On one of the rides, the edibles kicked in. Everything spiralled and I ended up throwing up in a restaurant. I could barely function. Instead of helping me, he got irritated. On the train home, I had a scarf and a long skirt on, but he claimed I was “intentionally” opening my legs to show people my thighs.
I was not even aware of what was going on. But rather than helping me or covering me, he sat far away and used it later to shame me. That moment, I mentally checked out of the relationship.
Later that evening, he wanted to get intimate, but the bed was squeaky, and I wasn’t in the right headspace. After I said no, he went to masturbate in the bathroom, knowing fully well that I could hear him. That was the last straw. I just cried the whole way home. I didn’t recognise the person he’d become. He wasn’t the friend I once had.
That’s horrible. I’m so sorry
That’s not the worst of it. Tobi betrayed me again in the worst way. Before we officially broke up, I got into a fight with my sister. It got physical. I was vulnerable and told him about it, thinking he’d comfort me.
He called my sister behind my back to “fact-check” my side of the story. I don’t know what led to that, but he also told her everything about our relationship—things I had only ever confided in him. He painted me as a manipulative, toxic person and convinced my own sister that I was the villain.
For a whole month, my sister didn’t speak to me. Meanwhile, he called her every day, feeding her all the worst bits of our relationship. The betrayal of that broke me. From that point on, I stopped telling my family anything about my personal life.
He also spoke to our mutual friends in parables, using them to shame me and stir drama indirectly. All of this was happening before the official breakup. He had already started painting me as “the crazy ex” even though we weren’t broken up yet.
At some point, I just couldn’t understand what was happening anymore. He kept saying, “People think you’re so perfect.” Eventually, we called it quits.
Did you make up with your sister?
I made peace with her, and that’s when she finally opened up and told me everything. She said she had to block him at some point because he was calling her every day. At first, she said she entertained it a bit because we had just fought, but it quickly became clear that his calls were not about reconciliation. He just wanted to cause a rift between my sister and me.
I didn’t know at the time, but he was sending my friends messages on Snapchat too. Almost as if to turn everyone I loved against me. All this while, he was still owing me money.
Oh…
He paid some part of his debt, but he still owed me £5,000. When I asked for it, he said he had lost both of his jobs. I was confused. He had two good jobs. Everything started falling apart for him after the breakup. He said he owed people money and couldn’t keep up with anything.
It’s been over two years, and he still doesn’t have a job. I’ve had to go through his father to try to get my money back. In February, I had a whole conversation with the man begging to tell his son to pay me what he owes.
At one point, I wanted to file a County Court Judgement (CCJ) against him, but I couldn’t because he refused to give me his new address. If you file a CCJ in the UK, your credit will be ruined. You can’t open a bank account, get loans, or do anything financially significant for years. But he knew that, so he didn’t give me his address.
At this point, I’ve left it to God. If I get it back, fine. If I don’t, it is what it is. The funniest part is that this guy still tried to come back into my life.
No way
Yes, he tried to come back. He reached out, saying he wanted to talk to clear his mind. I said, “Your mind can never be clear.” Whatever is disturbing you now, it’s your karma. I won’t take credit because life probably just handed him what he deserves.
Let’s talk more about you. How have you been since all these happened?
My life is great. I have a great job. I’m saving for my own house and can afford anything I want. Yes, my £5,000 is still outside. But I make enough to never care about it again.
I’ve learned my lessons. I won’t be quick to involve family in my relationships anymore because that experience taught me that some people will use your vulnerability against you. And even though she’s my sister and I love her, I now know there are boundaries I have to keep for my peace.
On a scale of one to ten, how happy are you in the UK?
A solid eight.
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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Fatimah, 23, moved to the UK for school in 2021. Three years later, she launched a snack business, even though her student visa didn’t allow it. She grew fast, sold out, and built a loyal customer base. But within seven months, the business crashed. In this story, she shares how she navigated visa restrictions, lost it all, and is now rebuilding legally, sustainably, and with full control.
As told to Aisha Bello
When I launched “MyChips.ng”, my plantain chips brand, from my small apartment in the UK, I knew I was taking a risk. I was a 22-year-old Nigerian student navigating a new country on a restricted student visa, and technically, I couldn’t register a business here. But I had a fire in me and £2,500 in savings from part-time jobs I juggled as a student. That was enough to get started.
What I didn’t realise was that starting the business would be the easy part. The real challenge was surviving everything that followed.
The Hustle Before My Chips
I moved to the UK in 2021 to study Hospitality Management. To make ends meet, I picked up hospitality shifts with an agency: waitressing, bar backing, and food running. If I clocked enough hours, I could earn up to £440 every two weeks. On the side, I cooked for Nigerians in the diaspora: birthday parties, christenings, and private dinners. One time, I made £1,300 from a single buffet gig.
I also poured my love for food into content creation. Through cooking videos and traditional Nigerian recipes, I grew a community, over 26k followers on Instagram and nearly 13k on TikTok. The response was overwhelming. My dishes went viral, and people kept asking me to turn the creativity into something tangible.
So, in my third year of university, I launched my own chips brand — nostalgic, homegrown plantain chips made without preservatives or additives. I infused traditional spices and bold flavours like cinnamon, lime and spicy saffron mix. My dream was simple: to give Nigerians abroad a taste of home, while building something that was entirely mine.
A Business Built in Two Countries
Because I was on a student visa, I couldn’t legally register the business in the UK. So I registered it back home in Nigeria, even though I was based in the UK. The plan was to handle production entirely from Nigeria. I leaned on a friend-turned-sister to manage things on the ground, vetted and hired vendors to fry and pack the chips, brought on a graphics designer, and handled everything else, branding, marketing and sales remotely.
Every detail mattered, from sourcing materials and spices to opening a business bank account. My goal wasn’t just to sell snacks; I wanted to create something meaningful and different. We pledged to donate 10% of our monthly profits to charity. The plan was simple: produce in Nigeria, ship to the UK, and sell directly from my apartment.
In August 2024, I got my first real validation. MyChips.ng was the second-fastest-selling brand at a UK trade fair. Even after the event, orders kept flooding in. We made over £1,300 in sales and completely sold out. For the first time, it felt like this wasn’t just a dream. There was real demand, and I had found my market.
Then Everything Crashed
We sold out the first batch quickly and shipped another one by October. Sales continued, but profit margins were tight. Still, the business felt stable until it wasn’t.
I had partnered with an African grocery store in the UK to help manage inventory, sales and distribution. In November, I sent her a second shipment using Royal Mail express delivery, a service I had used many times without issue. A few days later, she posted a photo of my chips on Instagram, so I assumed the new shipment had arrived.
I was wrong.
17 days later, when she paid for the earlier batch I had sent, I asked about the second. She said she never received it. When I checked the tracking, Royal Mail had marked it as “presumed lost.” I couldn’t file a claim for compensation because I wasn’t a registered UK business. If they found out I was a student operating a business, I could face serious legal consequences. So I had to walk away quietly.
That lost batch cost me over £1,250. I had spent £700 on production (₦1.4 million at the time) and £520 on shipping. Before it even left Nigeria, my manager sold a few packs locally. But between those and what we managed to sell in the UK, we barely made £500.
I had lost money, the business was clearly spiralling, and it didn’t stop there.
I soon discovered that the woman I’d commissioned to handle production in Nigeria was overcharging me, inflating raw plantain prices with outrageous margins because “she’s in the UK; she can afford it.” Then my packaging vendor tried to steal my signature cinnamon-flavoured spice blend from her to enhance his own plantain chips brand. I was heartbroken. I’d built MyChips.ng on trust and intention, and now it felt like everything was falling apart.
The Cost of Carrying Too Much
I was in my third year, juggling internal pressure to graduate with a first-class, fulfil business orders, maintain a curated social media presence, and run a cross-continental business while pretending I was fine.
But I wasn’t. I couldn’t sleep. I lost weight, then gained it back unhealthily. My once-vibrant personality dulled. I disappeared from social media for six months, and my follower count on social media dropped. My business decline had taken a toll on me physically, mentally, emotionally and financially.
So, after seven intense months of operation, I shut everything down. I paused the business, stepped away from content creation, and focused on two things: finishing with a first class and staying afloat.
The Break That Changed Everything
During that break, I joined a six-week enterprise programme hosted by my university. They trained participants in business development, pitch strategy, and delegation. I made it to the semi-finals and didn’t win, but the experience shifted my mindset.
One thing a mentor said stuck with me: “Your job is to work on the business, not in the business.”
That hit hard. I’d been running the business blindly — without structure, proper financial records, or clear systems. I was operating on passion and the thrill of bringing something new to market, which alone wasn’t enough to sustain a real business. I realised I had to step back and rebuild effectively.
A Legal Pivot and a Second Chance
After graduating in July 2025 with a first-class degree in hospitality management, I switched to a Graduate Route visa. It allowed me to work full-time and finally register my business legally in the UK.
But because another business had already taken my brand’s original name, I rebranded from MyChips.ng to MyCheeps.uk, registered as a limited company, got a GS1 barcode for product tracking, and opened a business bank account with Revolut.
I wasn’t just rebranding; I was reclaiming control. After everything I’d been through, I knew I could no longer entrust the fate of my business in anyone else’s hands. The betrayals cut deep, from recipe theft to inflated costs and zero accountability. I built my chips business on trust, and it almost broke me.
So this time, I’m doing it differently and doing it all in the UK. I’ll oversee every aspect of production, finances, management and distribution, so nothing slips through the cracks again.
The data also backed my decision. About 80% of our previous sales came from the UK, even though my manager had sold several packs in Nigeria. The market was clearly here, and this is where I’m choosing to build and scale my business.
We’re planning a soft relaunch at the same trade fair that changed everything last year. This time, they gave us a free stall. If the reception is strong, we’ll relaunch fully by December 2025.
Things already look promising. Over 10 African stores and restaurants across the UK have shown interest in stocking MyCheeps.uk. My current workplace even wants to carry them as bar snacks. I’m pricing strategically: £2 per pack wholesale, with enough margin for retailers to sell at £4 or £5.
The Lessons That Matter
I learned the hard way that dreams without systems collapse and that trust without structure is just hope in disguise.
Now, as I prepare to relaunch legally as MyCheeps.uk, I carry the weight of those lessons — the sleepless nights, the vendor betrayals, and the moment I had to choose between my visa and filing a claim for a £1,250 loss. It’s all part of who I am now as a founder, building with intention.
The business was never just about plantain chips. It’s about building a proudly Nigerian, culturally rooted, health-conscious snack brand created legally, ethically, and sustainably in the UK. The vision hasn’t changed. I still want to give Nigerians abroad a sense of home and community. But this time, I’m doing it with structure, clarity and a deeper understanding of what it takes to grow something that lasts.
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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.
Oba* (34) gave up a six-figure salary and a fancy apartment in Lekki to start his life from scratch in the UK. In this story, he shares why he has no regret paying off a £27,000 MBA debt in return for a life free of Nigerian struggles.
Where do you live presently, and when did you move out of Nigeria?
I left Nigeria in 2021 and live in the United Kingdom now.
What motivated your move?
Honestly, I just wanted a better life. Here’s the thing: back in 2019, a few of my uni friends were getting married. One was having her wedding in Nigeria, but lived in the US. So, all my other friends came in from the US and UK for the wedding, and I thought, “If my brother decides to do his wedding in South Africa today, I probably won’t be able to afford to go. And even if I manage to go, when I come back, I’ll be drinking garri for six months straight.” At that moment, I knew I had to leave.
So, I decided that I would leave in 2020, but then COVID came and scattered all my plans. That’s why I eventually left in 2021.
Thanks for sharing that. What was your life like in Nigeria?
Before I left in 2021, I already had two degrees, one from the US and another from the UK. I was living in one of the fanciest sides of Lekki.
I was earning about ₦750k monthly at the time, so I was comfortable. To the average Nigerian, it looked like I was living the dream. But it didn’t feel that way to me.
You mentioned schooling in the US and the UK. Why did you come back to Nigeria in the first place?
It was supposed to be a quick move that started and ended with NYSC—at least, that’s what my parents said.
My brother came back to Nigeria, too, but he returned to the UK, got a job, and everything was fine. Like me, he studied in Nigeria, too. I also knew plenty of people who studied abroad, returned for NYSC, did their one year, and then left again. That motivated me to come back, but my stay ended up lasting longer than a year.
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How come?
Honestly, it just kind of happened. But staying in Nigeria for as long as I did just solidified my decision to return to the UK.
Gotcha. How were you able to return to the UK?
I went back to School because it was the fastest way out. I also felt that pursuing an MBA was the next practical thing to do with my eight years of work. It just felt like the most practical escape route, so I went for it.
What was it like moving back to the UK, since you’d lived there before?
It was super smooth for me. I’d lived here before, my brothers live here, and I have friends here. It wasn’t my first rodeo.
I’ve lived in four countries — the US, Dubai, Nigeria, and the UK. And by “lived,” I mean lived, not just visited. I’ve basically covered everywhere except Australia and South America. So relocating wasn’t a big deal for me. I settled in easily without any issues.
Did the UK meet your expectations, considering you lived quite well in Nigeria?
Absolutely. No matter how much you have in Nigeria, you’ll still need a generator. You’ll still be stressing over nonsense. Your brainpower will be spent on things like, “Did I refill the generator?” “Is the mechanic coming today?” “My car just started making that same noise again.”
You’ll waste so much energy trying to survive instead of progressing. I don’t listen to Nigerians who complain about the UK.
Before I left, I worked full-time for a tech startup in Nigeria and had a remote job in the UK. But no matter how much I earned in Nigeria, it still wasn’t enough once I converted it to pounds.
When I moved here, the naira was ₦691 to £1. Now it’s over ₦2,100. That’s almost a 300% increase in just four years.
The naira devaluation almost cost me my admission when applying for my MBA. Between when they gave me my offer and when I tried to pay my fees, the naira had dropped by 47%. I emailed them to renegotiate my scholarship because of the exchange rate, and they almost revoked my offer. The MBA director later told me she thought I was lying because a 47% devaluation in six months sounded impossible. It wasn’t until they started seeing news about Nigeria’s forex crisis that she realised I wasn’t lying.
That’s insane. Can you share some of your biggest highlights since moving to the UK?
One of my biggest wins was paying off my MBA. The program cost £50,000. Thankfully, I got a scholarship of £22,500, but that still left me with £27,500 to pay myself. That wasn’t small money, especially in 2021. I had to keep working remotely with that Nigerian tech startup and take another job here to raise the funds. But I paid it off before graduation. I graduated in September 2022, and by then, I’d cleared everything.
Getting a job here, passing all those online exams, meeting my wife, and getting married were also major highlights.
Did you experience any culture shocks when you moved back?
Not really. I was born in the UK, so there isn’t anything that surprises me about this place. I didn’t stay in the UK because my parents didn’t sort out my British citizenship before taking me back to Nigeria. The UK has interesting immigration laws that make these things tough. I can’t blame my parents for that mistake because they did their best.
Fair enough. Since you mentioned immigration laws earlier, what’s your take on the UK immigration restrictions?
I wouldn’t outright discourage anyone from coming here. I’d still advise you to come if you have a solid job offer with visa sponsorship. But studying here is no longer the easy relocation route it used to be. It’s ten times harder to get a job after studying, especially if you’re not in tech or finance. You’ll likely find work if you’re a software engineer, product manager, or in investment banking or auditing. But it’ll be extremely hard if you’re doing HR, marketing, or other soft disciplines.
That’s interesting. On a scale of one to ten, how happy are you in the UK?
I would say a 10.5! Look, I won’t lie. I miss wearing shorts and walking around freely in the sun. I miss seeing my siblings and friends regularly— we barely see each other now, maybe once every one or two years— but I wouldn’t trade my peace of mind here for anything.
I don’t see myself retiring in the UK, but won’t return to Nigeria. When you leave Nigeria, you realise how much space you have in your mind to think clearly about your life. That’s when you realise how much you were suffering before.
I’m not rich here either because I make around £50k yearly, which is slightly above average in London, but I’m comfortable.
I’m happy with my life here, and I know it’ll only get better if I keep working hard.
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.
Ebere* (28) had her life figured out in Nigeria, but her father forced her to start over in the United Kingdom. In this story, she shares how she found herself working as a caregiver and how she got stuck with a terrible roommate whose boyfriend was abusive.
Where do you currently live, and when did you leave Nigeria?
I left Nigeria in 2022 and live in the United Kingdom (UK).
How did you end up in the UK?
It was totally unplanned, and I was mentally detached from the whole process. I had just settled into Lagos and was working at a job that I really loved, so I wasn’t keen on leaving at all, but my dad made it happen.
That’s interesting. What exactly happened?
My dad had this friend who had been in the UK for years and was running a business there. The plan was that I’d move to the UK to work with that friend, but I wasn’t interested at all because I was really into my job.
My disinterest made my dad angry, so I had to give in at some point. When we started the relocation process, his friend (whom I now call my uncle) called me, asked for my passport, and told me to take the IELTS, and I just did everything without putting much thought into it.
Sorry about that
I was so unbothered that I even registered for the wrong IELTS. It wasn’t until they were submitting my visa application that they realised it wasn’t the right one. That’s how detached I was mentally from the process. My uncle had to pay for another process where they evaluated my degree for English proficiency instead.
One day, I got the news that I had been granted a visa, but my reaction was different from what people expected. I wasn’t thrilled or particularly excited about a future in the UK.
The uncertainty must have bothered you a lot.
Yes. At that point, I still didn’t know what kind of job I was moving to the UK to do. My uncle simply sent me courses to complete, and I just clicked through everything without reading. After arriving in the UK, I realised I knew nothing about my job.
It turned out that the job was with an agency my uncle was helping to run. They were recruiting care workers from abroad to take care of the elderly because of post-COVID staff shortages.
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How did you feel when you found out?
On my first day at work, I was like, “What have I done?” I spent months preparing to come here, and somehow, I didn’t even know what I’d signed up for.
I had a job I genuinely loved in Lagos. I had friends and a whole life there, and suddenly I was here, in freezing February winter, doing a job I couldn’t have imagined in a million years. I was deeply sad. My uncle couldn’t console me. I was angry every single day.
Eventually, I realised I had to take responsibility for my life. I couldn’t just sit there feeling sorry for myself. I knew I needed to figure out my next step, so I started taking courses and certifications to make life here worth my while.
Things were finally looking up, until life happened. Some unexpected personal things came up and completely distracted me from my goals. Everything hit me at once, and I was fighting for my life, mentally, throughout 2023.
That year, I couldn’t focus on anything apart from surviving emotionally. Even though it took time, I’m in a much better mental space. The truth is, I’ve spent most of my three years here just trying to stay sane and adjust.
Can you tell me more about your life in Nigeria before you left, and why the move hit you so hard?
Life in Nigeria was typical—nothing extraordinary, but it was good. I had a remote job that allowed me to work from home. I had amazing work friends that I’m still close to, and I lived very close to my family. My sister and I practically lived next door to each other. It was easy to see my family anytime.
Lagos itself was fun. It was easy to have a good time. I could sit on my balcony, watch people move up and down, and feel entertained. It felt very communal because there was always something happening, always someone to see or somewhere to go.
That sense of community was the hardest loss I dealt with when I moved here; The UK is the exact opposite of Lagos. Here, people keep to themselves so much that neighbours don’t know each other. Everyone just minds their business.
You said “life happened” after you moved. Are you comfortable sharing what you meant by that?
I lived with the wrong housemate. She was a girl I met through my uncle. We moved in together to split rent because living alone on minimum wage is impossible here. At first, everything was fine; We had boundaries, and though we weren’t close friends, we got along well enough.
Then, out of nowhere, she told me she was bringing her boyfriend to live with us. I already had issues with this guy because he seemed abusive from the little I knew about him.
That’s insane
I was shocked. I asked her why she thought bringing a man to live with women in the house was okay. The worst part was that she didn’t even give me proper notice; she just called on the night he was arriving, saying she was on her way to the airport to pick him up.
How bad was it?
It was chaos from the first day he moved in. They’d fight and shout so violently that I started feeling unsafe in my own home. It was so bad that I started avoiding the house altogether. I would take extra shifts, go to the gym, and do anything to avoid them.
I didn’t want to tell my family because they’d worry, but I was in a terrible mental space. Everything ended when I eventually opened up to my parents, but I was already pretty messed up by then.
How long did this go on?
That situation lasted almost a year. My roommate’s boyfriend moved out before our lease ended, but my relationship with her was already ruined by then. She apologised later, but honestly, the damage was done. I was already struggling in the UK, but that messed me up more than you can imagine.
I’m so sorry you went through that. I hope you’re in a better place now
I’d say I’m in a much better place mentally and emotionally. I’ve adjusted to life here, even though it took time.
I’ve learned that even jobs I never imagined doing can have silver linings if I keep an open mind. I’m still working toward my long-term goals, but I now approach things differently.
Financially, I’m not where I expected to be at this point. If you had asked me in 2022 where I’d be by now, this wouldn’t be it. But I don’t regret how I’ve spent my money so far. The things I’ve invested in were necessary. So overall, I’d say I’m in a better place compared to when I moved.
I’m glad to hear that. Have you experienced any culture shocks in the UK so far?
The driving here makes no sense to me. They drive on the left, and the steering wheel is on the right. It’s so confusing, and I still find myself trying to enter the driver’s seat from the wrong side.
Also, people here smile at strangers on the street, but not in the friendly Nigerian way. It’s an awkward, polite smile that doesn’t feel genuine. It weirds me out sometimes.
Another big shock is how people here split bills. If you invite someone out, you both still pay separately. Like, why did you take me out only to make me pay?
On a scale of one to ten, how happy are you in the UK?
I’d say six because life can be better.
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