Taking A Leap of Faith

“I’m never going back to that hell hole!” Those were my own words only two years ago at the prospect of moving back to Nigeria. It’s funny how things change. Let me give you the background story. I moved to England when I was 17 years old, all bright eyed and bushy-tailed ready for a new adventure. I started off at a boarding school and took to British life pretty quickly, I mean who wouldn’t? It was the first time I experienced social order and an almost corruption-free environment. Everything was a bus or train ride away and there were lots of things to do to while away the time.

As the years went by, I was certain that I would never live in Nigeria again...at least not in my youth. After graduation I got a job, which wasn't my dream job, but you have to work your way up, right? I figured I'd gain some work experience and keep pursuing what I really wanted. I had it all planned out and it looked like it would all work out my way. Boy was i wrong!


I enjoyed being a working gal, waking up early running to catch the bus, having a productive day at work (not to mention the free tea and coffee!) and having extra money to spend on clothes and concerts (my two favourite things). It was all hunky dory before the credit crunch knocked on my door and double-slapped me.


My contract with the company was up for renewal but they couldn't afford to have two temps so it was decided that the foreign chick had to go. It made more sense to keep the person who was British and didn't have any issues with work visas. My situation: I had the right to work in the UK for another year and a half on my post-study work visa and I would need a company to apply for a work visa on my behalf if i was to continue to work after that period.

I was upset but stayed optimistic. "Ah! This is my chance to find that dream job". I spent most of the summer applying and interviewing for jobs but the work permit issue seemed to be a hurdle I couldn't get over.

Recruiter: "I'm sorry we can't afford to employ you for just a year, we'd rather train someone who will stay with us for a long time"
Me: "Doh! Get me a work permit after a year then"
Recruiter: "Er..I'm afraid that's against our policy"

This was the story for several months. I was beginning to lose confidence in myself with each application. It was so disappointing. I kept thinking 'Dammit! I have a degree and masters for God's sake'. My parents had spent over 70,000 pounds on just tuition alone in the past 7yrs and I had no job to show for it.

The days began to blend into each other. A typical day was like this.....

12.30pm - Literally drag myself out of bed and turn on my computer to see his i had any responses on the job front

1.00pm - Have lunch (or should i say Breakfast!) and then take a shower
1.30 - Send out some more CVs or go to an interview
3.00pm - Watch TV, eat, eat some more or fall asleep
6.00pm - Get the usual worried call from mum and pretend I'm alright
7.00pm - Chat with my best friend (SongSmith) in the US who knew exactly how it felt cos she was going through the same thing
8.00pm - Call my sis and gist for like an hour courtesy of Vodafone 'stop the clock'. Lol.
9.00pm - Look for more vacancies to apply for
12 in the morning - Eat some more
2am - Cry and call my friend again
3am - Go to bed, the bed i hardly got out of! I would toss and turn till about 7 or 8am


With all the eating and weird sleeping patterns, it doesn't take a genius to figure out i was deeply unhappy and turning into a hermit! I didn't have a lot of friends around after Uni ended because most of them were foreign and had the good sense to go back to their respective countries. The others lived too far away for me to hang out with them on a regular basis.

Eventually my parents told me "If you ever want to have a real career, you had better come back home to Lagos! What EXACTLY are you doing there? Even if you get a permit, there is only so much you can achieve in another man's country."

It was one of the hardest thing I've ever had to do and sometimes i still wonder if i made the right decision. I didn't want to leave my sister and the comforts of Jand but I had to trust that God was in control. It was like a bungee jump...I just shut my eyes and Jumped! And here I am in Lagos doing my NYSC. I've been here for almost eight months and its been....different! Lol! I can't think of a better word.

Having called somewhere else home for over seven years, it was like being in a foreign country again. It's different when you come to Nigeria for school holidays. You'll experience culture shock like you did when you first went away and re-adjusting takes time. I'm not going to lie. You'll probably hate the first few months and resent the fact that you are back (depending on the circumstances in which you came) . It's frustrating to go from an ordered society with 24hr electricity to NEPA, where you'll be lucky to get two hours per day if at all, heavy road traffic, armed robbery and corruption.

You have to have your wits about you. You have to become a 'type A personality' because having any other personality will surely ensure that you always finish last. Nice means push-over here! It's a trait that should only be shown to close family and friends. Lol! I'm working on it.

Also, if you're female, you'll probably find it difficult living under your parents roof again because it's unsafe for a lady to live alone in Naija. It was a shock to go from practically answering to no one and then all of a sudden have some of that independence taken away from you.

At least for now I'm living a life and not existing in a land called LIMBO! It's better to move forward however challenging it may be.

Homeward Bound

I made the decision to return to Nigeria last Tuesday. I was sitting on a couch with my brother-in-law in Brooklyn and he asked me a simple question I couldn’t answer. “What are you doing here?” Simple as that. “What are you doing here?” You’re allowed to be uncertain about a lot of things in life but I’m fairly confident that your reason for being shouldn’t be one of them.

I’ll give you some background. America, in its infinite wisdom, decided that the most sensible basis upon which to award work visas was a lottery. And as with every other lottery I’ve ever entered into, my name was conspicuously absent from the shortlist when all was said and done. I hung around the US for a year after that hoping for – I dunno – a visa to fall out the sky or something. I worked a couple of odd jobs here and there and got by on my swiftly diminishing savings and the kindness of strangers. Finally, that afternoon on the couch, I was forced to own up to the fact that I was killing myself to stay in a country that, by all appearances, no longer wanted me. It had given me no job. It had given me no money. It had given me no joy. I was in a relationship that was well past its sell-by date. In fact, I was no longer in a relationship; I was in a relation-shit and it was time to end it.

So, it was with this understanding that I made the decision to go back home. I use this term ‘home’ loosely because we are talking about a place that I haven’t been to, or really wanted to go to in seven years. I’ve done all my growing up in Washington DC; went on my first date, went to my first concert, got my first job, bought my first home. Sure, Lagos was where I was born, but how would I fit in there as a fully-formed, incredibly opinionated woman? How would I live in a city where you have to drive everywhere when I’ve spent the last seven years living in one with a subway stop on every corner? How would I live in a city where a good day means you got two hours of constant electricity instead of one?

They say you can never go home again? Well, for my sake, let’s hope that’s not true.

Gasp! What have I done?!

I remember the day I was moving back home.

I had been booked on a BA flight. I got to the airport about 3hrs ahead of time with three weighty bags and sweaty palms. It was going too smoothly to be true. And then of course, I hadn't thought I'd need a transit visa to go to Lagos through London, but with the new Terminal at Heathrow... 'Sorry Ma'am, you won't be able to travel today, or anytime in the next few weeks because you have to get a transit visa'. See crying... I think the tears were really because of the uncertainty I was feeling; they were just masked in the uncomfortable situation at the time. It was all fixed somehow, and I still travelled that day.

Wait, why did I start this epistle... Oh yes! The day I moved back home... So, I called my 'sisters' to say good bye, and it was time to switch off all electronic devices and I was like, 'Shit, what have I done?'. At that point, it had all come to an end. There was no turning back, I couldn't pull a 'Stop the plane, I can't leave the love of my life' stunt, like in the movies.

I started school in Chicago at the age of 17. I was so excited. My family friends had been at the same school, and there was so much to look forward to. I had been itching for my freedom, and I finally had it. Whoa! I didn't become a wild child, but I definitely enjoyed the liberty of going out without permission, and doing my homework when I felt like it, not when Daddy ordered for it to be done. School was fun! (Not needing permission to hang out with boys too was a blast! Lol)

I did two interships in my Junior and Senior years, and I somewhat established myself in the industry, so I had to reason to think there wouldn't be any glitches when it was time to get a job. Right? Wrong!

Finals ended on the 14th of December, 2007. I gave myself a two month holiday, anticipating that the offer letters would pour in, and I'd be confused about which job to choose. How foolish. By the time my family came to celebrate my graduation the following May (2008), I was still waiting to be confused, and the recession was getting fatter. Did I mention being broke? Meeeeen! I was the definition of broke. My folks had stopped sending me pocket money when I got my first on-campus job. At this point though, they knew I was struggling, so they helped out once in a while. It was not a pretty sight. I braided hair, did flower arrangements, catered for my friends' get-togethers, did administrative work at my church and all other sorts to make sure I didn't see red in my bank account.

The companies were not excited about hiring this intelligent black female engineer (sorry, I had to toast myself a lil), cos she was a foreign student. They would have to prove that there was no American citizen who could take up the job she was to be hired for. Plus, they would make this huge investment to get her a work wisa, without a guarantee that she would get it. It wasn't worth the hassle, as far as they were concerned. Meanwhile, my work permit was wasting away. It was valid from February 2008 to February 2009.

I got fat because I cooked for therapy. I was very excited about feeding people, and myself of course. It was pretty much the only feeling of fulfilment I got. I remember picking up my phone one day after talking to God, and sending a text: "Mummy, I want to come back home". She called me immediately because she thought I was crying. I was so calm about it, that I was sure I was doing the right thing.

Somehow, I found myself in New Jersey for three months that I dreaded with all my life; living in a village and working as a sales personnel at Joyce Leslie.

I think the best thing about being back home for me is that I am doing something. I've been called a busybody many times, so that's not suprising actually. I mean, it's not been a jolly ride all along. I miss the CTA. I miss going out because I want to, not because Daddy finally allowed me. I miss my church.

Though I wake up some days longing for the security and irresponsibility that a classroom allows you, and though I haven't the faintest idea what I'd have done with myself in the next year or two, I love that I'm at home. I love that this is my own land of opportunity.

I'm just as excited as you to see where my life goes from here.

About Us

Foreign Exchange gives you a unique look at life in Nigeria from the perspective of four young individuals who have lived abroad for most of their adult life and have now moved back home for one reason or the other.

We started this Blog as a resource for anyone faced with the question “Should I move back to Nigeria?”. For most, this is probably one of the hardest decisions you'll make in life depending on your feelings about Nigeria. We hope that through writing about our experiences, we might help someone make that decision. We'll tell you EXACTLY how it is (no sugar-coating) so you'll know what to expect. We are all at different stages....one of us is already in the process of moving back, two of us are currently on the NYSC program and the last person recently completed the NYSC service year and is working.

Foreign students now living in Nigeria are viewed as the ajebotas. So, though we beg to differ, you can accept our P.O.V. as 'the worst it can be'. If that makes any sense. (You get? As in, it can't be worse than these Ajebotas think it is).

Each one of us will follow this post with introductions to help you familiarize yourselves with the characters. We're so excited about this movement, I think mostly because we also are excited to see the lengths and breadths that this blog will attain, if it will get anywhere at all.