This piece was written by a contributing writer, James Ayotundé.
The Quiet and Humbling Reintegration of a Japadarian
Let me tell you about a friend of mine, a fellow Nigerian. Let’s call him Tega. A few years ago, Tega moved to the UK for his Master’s and intended to stay after completion. However, finding a way to stay proved to be a lot more difficult than he anticipated. Sure, he knew getting another visa after his post-study visa expired wasn’t going to be a walk in the park, but things were changing… for the worse. Across the UK, even seasoned professionals in the so-called high-skill endeavours were struggling to retain the life they had built as hardworking and law-abiding immigrants. Eventually, he had to come back. For the first few weeks, most of his friends didn’t know. It was a quiet return as opposed to the heralded and much publicised exit that was complete with Twitter captions like “Welcome to a New Dispensation.” After a little while longer, he slowly emerged like a tactful turtle from its shell as though he felt showing up gradually would make the blows of pity remarks and puzzled inquisitions hurt less. “Tega? How come?!”
All of a sudden, people set higher standards for him. They assumed he could no longer get on the bus or eat at ‘Mama Put’. They called him Big Boy and assumed setting himself up in Nigeria would be a piece of cake. “You can get the bigger generator nau. Is it not you? The London Big Boy.” He knew the danger of trying to live up to their expectations, but he felt compelled to. He felt the need to convince them he was up to the level that had been ascribed to him. He had failed to remain in the UK; his ego was full of purple bruises, and his perceived financial capacity was all he had left to retain the respect of his peers and strangers. He kept up the elaborate facade… until the day he needed to borrow 3,000 naira from his friend for a haircut. The friend Ibrahim obliged, but it was obvious a shift had happened in that moment. There was an expression on Ibrahim’s face that spelt surprise but also a realisation that Tega had lost the momentum of his London adventures. Tega had fallen back to earth and was no different from the mere mortals of Oluyole.
Not Every Returnee Is a Japadarian
It is true that not everyone who comes back is full of regret and dead dreams. There is a distinction to be made between those who return with purpose and the japadarian. Some pull up with enthusiasm and a desire to fill the gaps that gape all around us. Gaps in tech, finance, the arts, healthcare, and so much more. With the exposure and work experience gained from living in a first-world country, some come back with the intention of actually employing these tools and contributing to nation-building. Purpose has a massive impact on how we interpret our circumstances. There are foreign nationals who came to Nigeria decades ago and stayed because they felt a sense of purpose in whatever it was they were doing, whether in education or ministry or otherwise. To this lot, enjoying the privileges of first-world living is not as big a priority as shaping the future of a chosen people in some capacity.
The willing returnee is often attacked with questions of why. Why come back to this hellhole? Why volunteer to return to dysfunction? Many Nigerians feel something akin to resentment towards the willing returnee as though a golden opportunity had been trivialised. This sentiment is symptomatic of a problem that has permeated the Nigerian psyche: the dearth of patriotism and social responsibility. Every day, we see our infrastructure and institutions falling apart because our people just don’t care enough about creating and preserving the things we all use. This apathy for the collective also discourages those who actually want to contribute to our advancement because their positive actions start to feel like tiny drops in an arid ocean. Shouldn’t we be encouraging those who are eager and able to make sacrifices for our common good? Why do we react like they are crazy and stupid for taking a leap of faith and ambition for future generations? Do we not realise that only a tiny fraction of Nigerians will ever have the chance to leave our country? Do we not realise that we have to make this country work for all of us?
Tightening Borders, Narrowing Windows, Reactionary Outlooks
With growing anti-immigrant sentiments across the Western world, there seems to be a brewing wave of strict measures against immigration. It’s almost as though these countries are starting to re-evaluate their open immigration policies and making a few U-turns. It’s like they’re saying, “maybe we got a little ahead of ourselves here.” How do we often react to such news as Nigerians? Panic, mostly. For those still in Nigeria, panic that the doors will close before they get to escape. For the ones abroad, panic that the visa laws will make it harder to remain over there. But the sentiment is rarely, “we’ve got to figure out how to fix Nigeria with all our might and skills.”
Due to right-wing pressure and the propagation of propaganda against black and brown people, North American and West European politicians are finding it increasingly difficult not to lean into anti-immigration rhetoric to some extent, including the supposedly left-wing allies of minorities. Due to the ultra-efficiency of social media at amplifying agendas and the ease of capturing everything on video, there always seems to be a racist narrative framed around everything negative a black person does. Narratives that are then projected on every other black person and sensationalised for the anti-immigration agenda. As we watch these things unfold as Nigerians, some are on the lookout for the next safe haven to exist peacefully, while some are inspired to transform our fortunes back home.
I understand that not everyone has altruistic tendencies and not everyone is willing to sacrifice their sense of security/stability for our nation, but we have to put all our weight and support behind those who see purpose in doing so. We have to seek them out and give them all the backing they need in the quest for a better Nigeria. There is probably a Ken Saro-Wiwa or a Dele Giwa around you. The least you could do is uplift them, give them a platform, offer moral support or guidance on how to execute their plan, and perhaps give them financial assistance when they outline their plans. It could be an Ivy League-educated lawyer who intends to set up an open-door chamber in Ajegunle for individuals of all classes who need expert pro bono assistance. Maybe this lawyer could have a division for reviewing potentially unjust detentions and convictions through a network of lawyers working earnestly for the cause. Imagine the possibilities across different professions when ingenuity meets selfless service.
What’s Next for the Heartbroken Japadarian?
There are many people scattered across Nigeria like my friend Tega. Individuals who feel detached from the reality around them, too immersed in mourning their return. They can’t see thrill and fulfilment in the things they used to before they japa’d. Now, the danfo from Obalende feels like a degrading metal cage on four wheels; the mall in Ibadan is a grimy relic with no air conditioning. Benin gangs are still being used as disposable tools by corrupt politicians to intimidate the electorate in full view of HD cameras; everybody is still engaging in an embarrassing contest for who is shinier and richer in a sea of poverty and squalor. The steep fall from first-world order to third-world dysfunction can cause a landing some never mentally recover from. Everything becomes a comparison to its equivalent in the world you were kicked out of.
Comparison, as they say, is the thief of joy. For the japadarian, I believe living in the context of where you are is the safest way to deal with this kind of change. Trust me, I know. Whether you intend to try going back or not, you still have to intentionally write on the pages of your days. Sure, keeping yourself busy, upskilling, and saving will improve your chances of returning, but you will have to liberate yourself from the cage of what could have been.
Yes, you could call 911 in Canada in case of an emergency and expect a dignifying response. Yes, you could even run to their police stations if you were in danger without being afraid that some stern-faced policeman would force you to write a statement confessing to a crime you know nothing about. But you’re not in Canada. You’re in Nigeria. You just have to do the next best thing and take it a day at a time.
Slang chain
Japa: Relocating to a first-world country from Nigeria in search of greener pastures.
Japada: Relocating back to Nigeria (unwillingly) as a result of unfavourable factors.
Sapa: Poverty or a current state of being indisposed, aka life dey show you pepper.
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