By Victory Ukadike
In today’s Nigeria, many are not just migrating they’re selling their final fortunes just to reclaim their right to live with dignity.
He sold his father’s only land in Anambra. She drained the savings meant for surgery. A young man in Abuja shut down his small car hailing business just to buy a one-way ticket to the UK.
Another, facing deportation abroad, did the unthinkable he begged to serve six years prison terms just to be retained, rather than return to Nigeria.
They didn’t leave because they hated Nigeria.
They left because they were exhausted.
Welcome to the age of Japa, a generation’s last attempt to feel human again. In Nigeria today, “Japa” a Yoruba word meaning to flee or escape has become more than slang. It’s a mindset. A movement. A silent scream for help.
And for many, it is no longer just a dream. It is the only plan that makes sense.
The New Normal: Struggling in Silence
There was a time when Nigerians joked about their hustle. “We go dey alright,” we’d say. “Na condition make crayfish bend.” But these days, no one is laughing again. People are managing, yes, but not living.
We’ve normalized what should never be normal:
Skipping meals to meet rent, with the common prayer: ” God, abeg oo”, Eating three square meals with protein now feels so rare, it makes you look suspicious like you’re hiding something or connected to something, Praying the bus doesn’t break down on dangerous roads, Living each day like a coin toss between hope and hazard.
And let’s be honest: Going a full day without hearing about a ritual killing, kidnapping, terrorist attack, or another case of man’s inhumanity to man now feels like a luxury.
It’s as though the burden of Nigeria’s dysfunction has been shared from top to bottom.
Those with fortune now hold their hearts in their hands, hiding their free movement like treasure buried underground. Even wealth can’t shield them from instability.
Meanwhile, the poor and the almost poor are left at the mercy of penury, poor healthcare, insecurity, and failing institutions.
Ritual killings, cult attacks, and petty violence the “younger brothers of insecurity” roam freely, preying on vulnerable lives.
And somewhere in between, civil servants and those who genuinely want to serve, add value, and earn honest pay are now personified as poverty itself. It’s no longer just about low pay—it’s about low dignity. “This type of food? Not for civil servants.” “This kind of car? Ah no, that one is for ‘big men,’ not civil servants.” “That fabric? Accommodation? Lifestyle? Civil servants no dey reach there.”, has become a new slogan of a country where working for the public is almost synonymous with hardship.
Salaries go unpaid for months. Allowances vanish into excuses. And those who once saw public or private jobs as a path to purpose now whisper a different truth: “It’s another word for slavery.”
Worse still, even the proposed minimum wage between ₦70,000 to ₦100,000 is beginning to look like mockery. Imagine earning ₦70,000 per month when a litre of PMS is ₦1,000, 50kg of rice is ₦80,000 and above, and a single loaf of bread for a family of three, now sells for ₦3,500 or more.
How does a civil servant or anyone survive with dignity in this reality?
When Salary Work Feels Like Slavery
Among today’s youth, salary or wages based jobs whether in government offices or private companies are no longer seen as ambition. They’re increasingly viewed as modern day slavery.
It’s not just about the work it’s about the return.
Stagnant wages, delayed or unpaid salaries,
toxic work environments, zero growth and
no safety nets.
Young Nigerians are watching their parents age without rewards, their mentors burn out with no wealth, and their peers waste away on desks earning less than their transport fare.
So, they opt out emotionally, mentally, and sometimes completely.
Many would rather risk instability chasing freelance gigs, or even shady alternatives just to stay afloat while waiting for their Japa ticket. To them, “stability” has lost meaning. It no longer means having a job to contribute value. It now means doing anything for survival, until the day they will hear “fasting your seat belt”
When Japa Becomes a Career Dream
It’s not just desperation anymore it’s direction. Children are catching the fever, ask a Nigerian child today, “What do you want to be when you grow up?”
And don’t be surprised when an 8 year old replies:
“I want to travel to obodo oyibo.”
Yes, Japa has evolved from an emergency escape into a career goal. A life blueprint. Children are growing up not with dreams of fixing Nigeria, but of fleeing it. They see those who leave as the “luckiest ones.” They don’t want to become lawyers or doctors in Nigeria anyone, they want to become anything elsewhere.
And their parents? They’re no different. Many now see their children’s migration as a breakthrough and a spiritual win.
They are ready to sell property, mortgage land, beg connections, or even borrow heavily just to fund a visa, school abroad, or secure a work permit.
Those that was once admired with tangible values, qualifications, mind blowing intellectual, ranks and excellent work experiences in different sectors, are ready to drop all, in exchange of mineal jobs abroad, below their distinguished work experience and position in Nigeria
In some communities, the new prestige now, isn’t graduating with honors, it’s having a child in the UK, Canada, Germany, or Australia. And when a neighbor’s child Japas successfully, the parents are treated like demi-gods. It’s no longer just about raising good children. It’s about raising migrants.
The Final Price: Selling Everything to Leave
This is not migration in the usual sense. This is sacrifice. People are selling everything, Land, Generational savings, Wedding funds, Investments and Hopes, Why?, Because the goal is no longer luxury it’s normalcy. A decent roof. Safety on the road. Three basic meals. Access to healthcare. Clean air. Legal rights. Nothing extravagant just the chance to feel human again. This is the heart of the Japa wave. For many Nigerians, Canada, the UK, Germany, or anywhere else offers just that: a taste of peace.
The Nation’s Brightest Minds Are Leaving
Teachers. Doctors. Developers. Engineers. Fashion designers. Cleaners. Graduates. Students.
Everyone is leaving. And the effect?, Schools are empty of skilled teachers, Hospitals are short of nurses and specialists, Businesses collapse mid growth, Innovation halts, Communities are left without direction. We are watching a slow bleeding out of the nation’s brain and yet, it is met with silence at the top.
Japa Is More Than a Trend, It’s a Statement
Every visa stamped is a quiet declaration of no confidence, Every goodbye to a homeland is a whispered protest. Not loud, Not angry, But deliberate. People aren’t just running, they’re retreating from a country that forgot how to protect, provide, and care. And when citizens start fleeing not for dreams, but for basic survival, a nation must ask itself: What have we become?
Beyond Broken Promises, What Now?
Let’s be honest: This isn’t the first article written about Nigeria’s brokenness. And it won’t be the last.
We’ve prayed, We’ve spoken, We’ve protested, We’ve made art. From poetry to Nollywood, from fashion to hip hop, from graffiti walls to hashtags, we’ve tried to say it every way possible: Nigeria is bleeding!
But the truth?
Even “Pray for Nigeria” now sounds like mockery.
Mentioning “our leaders” in a prayer feels like a curse waiting to be returned.
Say “Nigeria will be great,” and you might get a side eye damaged or worse, silent rage. Because for many citizens, those words now feel like a mask for ongoing destruction, a hymn used to silence grief, a slogan used to cover failure.
The country that once inspired pride is gradually becoming a punchline. People now say things like:
“May Nigeria never happen to you.” And someone once joked, half in jest, half in pain, that if things get any worse, foreign judges might start sentencing their worst criminals to 10 years in Nigeria instead of prison. That’s how far we’ve fallen! In a land where a pack of cigarettes, imported wines, or a lifeless monument receives more protection than a school child or a struggling mother, how do we convince anyone that human life still matters?
Once upon a time, Nigerians turned on their TVs to hear from their leaders during moments of national pain hoping for direction, comfort, or courage.
Now, even the upper and lower chambers once seen as sacred seats of law and national will, have become a national memes. Clips of lawmakers sleeping, shouting, or misfiring go viral faster than any policy. And when your parliament becomes a punchline, what hope is left in public trust?
The real question is no longer: “What is the way forward?” That question has been asked a million times. In churches, mosques, classrooms, town halls, campaigns, and beer parlours. And let’s be honest again: No strong decision has ever followed.
Why? Because what’s missing isn’t intelligence.
It’s not resources. It’s not even faith.
What’s missing is patriotism among the powerful,
interest for the people over pocket,
and the sincerity to take the truth seriously.
So maybe it’s time to skip the question.
Maybe it’s time we stop begging for answers that those in charge are not interested in giving. Maybe what’s next…is action. But here comes the harder truth: What does that action look like?
Because if we don’t define it, someone else will and history has shown us what that can become.
So the next time we feel the urge to ask, “What is the way?”Maybe we should ask instead:“Who has the courage to act beyond talk, beyond hashtags, beyond hope?” Because time is ticking.
And if we wait too long, the only thing left to rebuild may be the memory of what Nigeria could have been.
