It is much easier to leave Nigeria that returning to settle down again permanently, no matter the anguish you endured to obtain a visa. When you left Nigeria about 10 or 30 years ago, you were probably alone. You owned one piece of luggage, had no wife or children; you were probably in your mid to late 20s. If things were so bad, you were in your 30s. Your friends are your age. You live with your parents or other relatives. And if you were not so lucky, you rented your own place. Your friends also lived with their parents, relatives or they rented a house of their own. You didn’t have a car. If you did, it was a clunker. Now fast forward to 30 years later; because, that’s the amount of time you need to achieve some meaningful life (a worthy career, your own home, kids in college) in the UK or the US if you don’t make any money from the lottery and that you are not a credit card fraudster or a drug dealer. Forget 3, 10, 15 or 20 years ago someone told you that you need to have a settled life here.
At that time, until the late 1970s, Nigerians (mostly) came to the UK to study. And when they graduated, they went home, got a job in the government or private sector, took out a car loan enough to buy a Volkswagen Beetle or Volkswagen Igala or Lada, and settled into a happy life. The majority of those leaving at this point were the children of wealthy people whose parents had money to sponsor them. Others had been lucky enough to win scholarships from multinational corporations or missionaries. In both cases, they went abroad on student visas and knew that a job awaited them back home after graduation. So, when they were in the UK (usually in London), they lived the life of a student. If they had a part-time job, it was only to supplement the allowance they received from their parents or godparents. If they had a fiancé or fiancée before traveling, in most cases lovers were guaranteed that the relationship would materialize.
But today’s immigrants belong to a different group. The exodus of Nigerian intellectuals and non-intellectuals, minds and muscles to live permanently abroad has not stopped. Furthermore, the destinations where Nigerians immigrate are no longer just the UK and the United States. I am very disappointed, Nigerians are currently emigrating (family and others) to South Africa, Republic of Sao Tome and Principe, Kiribati and Ghana! Ghana?
In my 25 years in the US, I have never met anyone who came here to study and then returned home. I have heard of several people who have the means to do this; I just NEVER met such people. In fact, most people nowadays go abroad to find work. If they study (and many do), they will settle here and vow never to return to Nigeria. Those who did not study also settled and vowed never to return to Nigeria. Why do many Nigerians do not want to return?
There are a number of questions you need to find answers to when you plan to return home. Do you have a place of your own that you can go back to? If so, does this meet the standard for someone who has lived abroad for 30 years? What will you do for a living in Nigeria? Look for a job in public service? Get a job in the private sector? Start your own business? Is your wife (if male) Nigerian? Is she a black stranger? Is she white? Is she Hispanic or Asian? (These are related questions as each of these ethnicities reacts differently to “Nigerian Situation.”) Is she eligible to work or do business in Nigeria? And children? If you’ve lived abroad for 30 years, your oldest child is probably 25 years old and is fresh out of college. Did the child return to Nigeria with you or did he stay? (The child is likely to stay in the US.) If you spent 30 years abroad after leaving Nigeria when you were about 30, what can you do at 60 to make a good living in Nigeria? How exactly do you re-enter the Nigerian labor market at 60? And the friends you left behind 30 years ago; where are they? Sure, some are now general managers. Others are now very high-ranking officials. However, others are now university professors. And oh, because this is the age of politics, some people are now legislators, special counsel, and commissioners. You might even find a few who are governors! You have to ask yourself what position in society you fit into.
Of course, a successful return to Nigeria and reintegration into society depends on how often you have visited the country in the past 30 years. Are these visits easy? When, since you left your country, did you start visiting Nigeria? Two, five, 10 years? It depends. It depends on when you have “normalized” your stay. It depends on when you get your residence permit, also known as green card. How did you get this Green Card? Let’s see.
Thirty years ago, you couldn’t win the visa lottery (the residence permit was found almost instantly) because there was no lottery system back then. You had to travel on a student visa or a visitor visa. If you had relatives living in the United States, they may have applied for an immigrant visa (another form of residence permit) for you. But if you were traveling on a nonimmigrant visa (student or visitor visa), the most likely route you have to “normalize” your stay is to marry a US citizen. Sounds simple, doesn’t it… getting married to a US citizen?
Well, not only is it as simple as that but it is illegal and unethical to marry one just for the sake of normalizing your stay. What woman (or man, as the case may be) would think well and want to marry someone else for fraudulent reasons? That’s not to say people didn’t do it (or are not still doing it), but you can rest assured that this “marriage” will be the worst nightmare of your life. Real marriages in the United States break up at a rate of about 50% within the first two years. And these are marriages between Americans who share a common culture. Now, add a sham marriage between a natural-born “authoritarian” and “chauvinist” Nigerian and a born “free” American, and you may have devised a recipe for chaotic marital turmoil.
As your fake marriage progresses (it takes about two years to get a green card and another three years to get US citizenship), you find yourself a job, a mediocre job. And there are many. Forget your first-class degree in any subject from UI, UNILÄG, ABU, UNN or UNIFE (30 years ago the most prestigious schools in Nigeria), you will still get a mediocre job as a construction worker, taxi driver, newspaper boy, security guard, floor and toilet cleaner, landscaper, fast food cashier, airport porter, hotel picker, dishwasher or bus drivers (table cleaners in restaurants). Name any manual work, that’s what you’ll get as a newcomer to the United States. With the green card you get around your sixth or seventh year in the US (if you’re that nimble), you’ll be at a lower level in that manual job unless you go back to school here and get training in another profession or profession. Nursing is one of the popular options of Nigerians. Unlike in Nigeria, nursing is a highly respected profession and can pay more than a doctor if properly exploited. Of course, if you’re not in the medical field, you can pursue any other field that interests you.
One of the benefits of being a green card holder, or a US citizen, is that you can get financial assistance in the form of a loan or even a grant (you don’t have to repay the grant), so to pay for your research grants and various issues. Remember, nothing is free in the US. In America today, you would expect to pay between $20,000 and $50,000 (per year) in college tuition. It won’t surprise you that 25 years after you graduate, you’re still paying off that loan.
So, while you pay off your student loans, it stands to reason that you’re probably paying off your car loan as well. If you have lived in this country for 12 years and you don’t own your own house, your fellow Nigerians start looking at you strangely because of your rent (because you will start earning more money and of course you will want to upgrade your life) will be equivalent to the amount you would pay on a mortgage if you owned the house. Why not buy then? Depending on your credit score and tastes, you could borrow hundreds of thousands of dollars to buy a home. So, at some point in your life, you’ll need both a student loan, a car loan, and a mortgage. These payments are usually due on a monthly basis. Unlike your village in Nigeria, you will also have to pay for gas and electricity. God help you if you have a phone because along with your gas, electricity and water bills, your phone bill is due every month.
Did I mention that you will also have a wife and children? Well, along with those monthly utility bills, there are indeterminate bills and daily (if not hourly) surprises to be paid to the kids. While in your village you can send your wife to her parents and your children to their aunts and uncles for help, here you are practically alone. And while you try to balance your checkbook by accepting a second job, you learn from your village that either mom or dad is sick; or your sister’s child has just been admitted to a university; or that grandfather just passed away; or his business needs financial rejuvenation. You look at your bank account and see just enough money to pay your bills at the end of the month (or no money because you just paid your bills). You decide to ignore the call from home because self-preservation is a sacred order. But your conscience goes on knocking; you remember that dad had to sell part of his farm to allow you to go to the village school; you remember your mother spending countless nights in the hospital when you were dying of malaria; You think about your best friend (who has now joined the choir of people in need of money at home) who contributed his food allowance to cover your visa expenses. Even if you wanted to lie to them and say you went bankrupt, you wouldn’t be able to present a convincing case. What about the photo you sent home showing you standing in front of a big house with two nice cars in the garage? What about that photo of you, your wife, and kids standing in front of a fireplace in a fully furnished living room? What about the image of you at the park, swimming pool, beach playing carefree? What about the last time you visited Nigeria and called a village meeting in the village square, where you gave money to everyone, including those who didn’t even ask? Now you are in a dilemma: industrious but broke. You consider all your options: Are there any issues that require your physical presence in Nigeria? Or can you just borrow more money and send it home? If you send money home, how much is too much? How much will reinforce the misconception in your people’s mind that you are rich?
You consider your entire life in the United States that at 60, you’re still taking out the trash; you always wash your own car; you always wash your own clothes; you always sweep and vacuum your own home; you still mow your own lawn; You’re still grocery shopping. You consider the fact that for 30 years you haven’t really had any real friends here. Somehow, you find yourself caring more about the people you left behind in Nigeria than making new friends here. You discover that weekend outings with your friends, family, and extended family members in Nigeria cannot be replicated in the United States. Yes, social life in London and New York may closely resemble social life in Lagos or Enugu, but not all Nigerians here are from Lagos or Enugu.
At work, you discover that you have reached an impenetrable glass ceiling. Your employer won’t promote you anymore because… uh… you “look different and talk different”, even if you are still the most valuable professional in the office. You find yourself falling into a rut, doing the same thing over and over again for years. So, you are seriously considering moving back to Nigeria, going back to your village, back to the “owambe” and “isi ewu” parties you missed. You make an “exploratory” visit to Nigeria, deftly testing the waters before diving in. People tell you that owning your own house before you get home is a no-brainer. You start looking for land. God help you if you come from Lagos “village” and want to build there. Land prices in areas of Lagos would buy 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue, Washington DC, USA or 10 Downing Street, London, UK.
Either way, you find land in Akure, Ilorin, Benin, Owerri or Port Harcourt. You jump through hoops to get a certificate of ownership and create a building plan. Now, will you stay in your village until the house is completed or will you return to your base here? Of course, you will have to return to your family and work abroad while your house is under construction. Would you entrust the construction of your house to a friend or relative? God help you if someone else oversees the construction of your home. You can be sure to pay double what you would normally pay to build this house. And it may even have structural flaws!
After building your own house, you now return to the questions raised earlier: When and how do you leave the UK or USA for Nigeria? What will you do to earn a living in Nigeria? Then you start thinking about the idea of leaving Nigeria in the first place. Was it really worth it? Yes, it may have given you a head start when you first left… at least you left behind extreme poverty and a seemingly insurmountable poor standard of living, and at the same time found richer quality of life in her new home. But isn’t the law of “reducing returns” established? The family and friends you left behind in Nigeria, some of the people who sent you money, didn’t stay where you left them. You find out that they have also built their own house. If they worked in the public sector, they would have accumulated a large pension. If they’re in the private sector, they’ve also set aside enough assets for their retirement years. All have risen to positions of power and influence and contributed to the development of their communities in one way or another. Their kids went to college and moved on to bigger and better things. Your family and friends did all this without leaving Nigeria except on vacation (if at all). They have achieved a lot while enjoying the euphoric effect of being surrounded by childhood friends and family members. They have achieved a lot by attending the same church or mosque. Again, you ask yourself: Was worth it? And while you were thinking about this question, your nephew called from Nigeria and asked for help to immigrate to the UK. You consider the options: Do you tell him it’s not worth it? If so, won’t he accuse you of not wanting him to do “as well as you did”? You decide to give him just enough pros and cons and let him make the decision. And you pray that he decides to stay home and keep looking for that job.
