"I didn’t want my daughter to shout “Up Nepa” as I did," Nigerians on why they Decided to Japa

People often assume Nigerians who want to japa are either unemployed, broke or chasing a bigger salary, but that isn't always the case.

Some have good jobs, thriving businesses and comfortable homes. Some have spent years building careers they are reluctant to abandon. Others are simply tired of negotiating with a country that seems to make ordinary life unnecessarily difficult.

For some, the decision comes after one particularly unpleasant experience. For others, it is the result of years of quietly wondering whether life could be easier somewhere else.

We spoke to Nigerians whose experiences explore some of the less conventional, uncomfortable and sometimes controversial reasons people decide to leave the country.

"I Was Earning Good Money. I Just Couldn't Enjoy It" — Tunde, 34

I was earning close to ₦2 million monthly as a product manager in Lagos. I had a decent apartment in Lekki, drove my own car and could afford to eat out whenever I wanted.

On paper, I was doing well. My friends considered me one of the lucky ones, but I was constantly exhausted.

Simple things required too much planning. Going to the supermarket, getting somewhere on time or arranging a doctor's appointment could become an entire project.

One evening, I sat in my car and wondered whether this was what I had worked so hard for.

I wasn't poor. I wasn't unemployed. I simply didn't enjoy the life my money was buying me.

When I eventually got an opportunity to relocate to Germany, I took it. My friends thought I was being dramatic.

Perhaps I was. But I wanted a life where earning a decent salary also meant having time and energy to enjoy it.

"I didn’t want my daughter to shout “Up Nepa” as I did" — Bisi, 38

My daughter was five when she asked me why the lights always went off whenever she wanted to watch television.

I laughed and told her that was how things worked sometimes. She looked at me and said, "When I grow up, will I still have to wait for light?"

I didn't know what to say.

I had spent most of my adult life adjusting to things I shouldn't have had to adjust to. Buying fuel before it ran out, arranging my day around traffic, worrying about security, and constantly finding alternatives when basic services failed.

I had normalised so much that I barely noticed anymore, but watching my daughter grow up, I began to wonder what she would consider normal.

I wanted her to have access to good schools, safe public spaces and an environment where childhood didn't involve learning how to manage adult frustrations.

I started researching relocation options and eventually moved to the Netherlands with her. I would rather give my daughter a different set of problems to navigate.

"After the EndSARS Protests, I Stopped Believing Things Would Change" — Femi, 32

I used to be the person who argued that Nigerians should stay and build the country.

I voted, followed political conversations, and genuinely believed that young people could make a difference if we became more involved.

Then EndSARS happened.

I remember watching young Nigerians organise themselves, raise money, provide food and medical supplies, and demand something as basic as an end to police brutality.

For a moment, it felt like we were finally getting somewhere. I wasn't even at the Lekki Toll Gate that night, but watching everything unfold changed something in me.

I began asking myself what exactly I was waiting for. Another election? Another protest? Another promise?

I had a good job in Lagos, and my family thought I was doing well, but I had become increasingly uncomfortable planning my future around the hope that Nigeria would eventually get its act together.

I relocated to Canada to study.

I still follow Nigerian politics, but I no longer feel responsible for staying to witness every episode.

"I Didn't Know Whether the Police Would Protect Me or Become Another Problem" — Emeka, 35

I used to enjoy driving at night. It was one of the few times Lagos traffic wasn't trying to ruin my day.

Then I had an encounter that changed how I felt about moving around the country. I was returning from a friend's wedding when some officers flagged me down.

They asked where I was coming from, what I did for a living and why I was driving a relatively expensive car.

The questions quickly became accusations. They suggested I was involved in internet fraud and insisted I follow them to their station.

I tried explaining myself, showing identification and answering their questions. Nothing seemed to satisfy them.

Eventually, I paid money to leave. It wasn't the first time I had experienced something like that, but it was the first time I genuinely felt afraid.

I began thinking about how easily an ordinary evening could turn into something much worse.

When an opportunity came to relocate to Australia, I accepted. I just wanted to stop worrying that the people who were supposed to protect me might become another source of danger.

"I Was Ready to Abandon My Profession If It Meant Making a Decent Living" — Stella, 30

I studied pharmacy because I wanted a stable career. My parents were proud, my relatives celebrated my graduation, and everybody assumed I was set for life.

My salary was barely enough to cover transportation, food, and other basic expenses. I eventually took another job, hoping that working longer hours would improve things.

It didn't. I had dreams of opening my own pharmacy, but saving towards it became increasingly difficult.

At some point, I began applying for jobs abroad that had absolutely nothing to do with pharmacy.

I applied for care jobs, administrative roles and anything that looked like a realistic route out.

My father was offended. He couldn't understand why I would spend years studying pharmacy only to consider working in a completely different field, but I had a question for him: what was the point of having a prestigious qualification if it couldn't afford me the life I wanted?

I eventually relocated to Ireland.

I still hope to practise pharmacy again, but for now, I'm more concerned about establishing myself and building a financially stable life.

"I Was Tired of Watching People Get Ahead by Cutting Corners" — Emmanuel, 33

I used to think that being hardworking and honest would eventually pay off.

I followed instructions, paid my taxes, submitted the necessary documents, and tried to do everything properly, but sometimes it felt like the people who knew how to bend the rules were the ones getting ahead.

I watched people secure contracts through connections, bypass procedures and make money through arrangements they couldn't explain.

The frustrating part was that nobody seemed particularly embarrassed. It became normal to hear someone say they knew somebody who could help move a file, speed up a process or make something disappear.

I didn't want to spend the rest of my life learning those tricks. I know corruption exists everywhere, and I don't believe any country is completely free of it, but I wanted to live somewhere where integrity wasn't a competitive disadvantage.

"I Wasn't Running Away. I Just Wanted to See What Else Was Out There" — Stephanie, 31

I didn't have a reason for leaving Nigeria. I had a job, a good social life, a supportive family and friends I genuinely loved.

I wasn't struggling to feed myself, and I wasn't desperate to escape anything. I had simply become curious about what life looked like elsewhere.

I had travelled several times and realised that I enjoyed experiencing different cultures, meeting people and discovering new environments.

I also started questioning why relocating was always discussed as though something had to be wrong with your life before you could consider it.

Why couldn't I leave simply because I wanted to? I eventually moved to Kenya, and later considered other countries as well.

My family still asks when I'm coming home permanently. I don't have a straightforward answer.

I love Nigeria, but loving somewhere doesn't mean you have to spend your entire life there.

Sometimes, you just want to experience a different kind of life, and I don't think that needs to be a controversial decision.