When Moving Abroad Means Losing Self

The airport has always been a fancy place for me growing up. It was absolutely glorious. I remember jumping at every opportunity to walk the grounds of the sanctuary that housed the majestic big birds. It didn't matter if I was the one travelling; in fact, my feet never walked the aisle of an aeroplane until much later in life.

I wonder why the airport held such fascination for us. Was it the allure of experiencing life inside the big bird that sparked curiosity? Or perhaps because we believed that at the end of the journey, a magical world awaits?

As a Nigerian who grew up in Nigeria, I am genetically wired to think we are a broken nation. I would often hear my elders use phrases such as "Nigeria jagajaga", "e no go better for this government", "this country is useless", "our leaders are corrupt", "this country nawa" and so on.

As a people, we have been ingrained with the belief that boarding the bird across the Atlantic holds the key to our salvation. Regardless of the destination or the sacrifices required, leaving becomes a symbol of hope and the promise of a better life, akin to having our names inscribed in the Book of Life.

I'm not sure where my wanderlust behaviour originated from, but I reckon I've always had it in me somewhere. I travelled a bit before relocation and my elders didn't lie. Naija “jagajaga” indeed! It does look like a wonderland in the few countries I visited before relocating, and it only made my desire to relocate even more.

I am human and so, therefore, I am wired to think that something is missing in my life and that if only I worked more or did more, then I would be happy. We say to ourselves, "I will be happy when I...I will be free when I...if only...if I just ..." I thought my happiness was waiting for me on the other side of the world, and if only I could get on the big bird then I'll be free.

Relocation is probably the hardest thing I have ever done in my life. It means starting over, leaving familiar faces and places, and venturing into the unknown. We get too caught up in the excitement of leaving—a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, we call it. So we tell ourselves it's worth everything, even if it means not looking back. We think, "...What could be worth more than the purchase of our own freedom?"

I didn't have high expectations about relocating; I simply liked the idea of spending a few years in a different country. With all the necessary financial resources provided, I believed I wouldn't have much to worry about. However, reality turned out differently.

No one prepared me for the sadness, the cultural shock, the endless longing for acceptance, embracing mediocrity, the loneliness, the loss of identity, the constant desire to return home, the feeling like a third-class citizen, the immigrant title, and the stereotypes I'd encounter. Just when you think you are capable in your own lane, you soon realise that you have to be twice as good to meet the bare minimum

There's a lot to miss about home, and no, it's not just the food or the lifestyle. It's an all-encompassing sentiment—the culture, the people, the weather, the ambience, the perception, the love, the harmony—the feeling of belongingness, and the weightlessness of not having to look over your shoulder. We take for granted what we have and who we are as a people. To miss home is not just about the physical comforts but also about the intangible aspects that make a place feel like home. So when we say we miss Nigeria, we do not say we miss the bad roads, the mismanagement of funds or the incompetence, we are simply saying we miss who we are as a people, we miss our identity on the soil of our father land.

You don't tell us to return as if it's such a profound revelation, the idea already lingers, and some of us yearn for it. The price we pay for this pursuit is too steep. We sacrifice making memories with our loved ones, and we learn to live without them. We construct bridges to protect ourselves from hurt, in solitude. We are lost, wandering on soil that isn't ours. Yet, amidst it all, we manage to capture fleeting moments beneath an unblemished sky, basking in a radiant glow fine-tuned by our iPhones, and posing near sky-high buildings—enough to make anyone believe, believe that we are happy.

In all, we remain put, because if only we get the golden booklet, we are whole and we are redeemed of the sins of our ancestors. It is worth it, we tell ourselves, but we never consider if maybe we are running the wrong race. Maybe we tread a misguided path, opposing the marathon's flow.

Allow me to clarify, I genuinely appreciate my life abroad; it's a unique experience, in a beige way. I am fully conscious of the privilege I've been granted. My relationship with Nigeria feels toxic, and yet, I yearn for her to be a place where I can flourish. Sometimes, it's okay to walk away, even if it means your feet will be sore from the burn, and the road will be lined with spikes, you have to put yourself first. Always!