Imagine Raising Money To Japa And Getting Deported Right After. The shame from that day still follows me.
In 2019, Kunle (36)* believed leaving Nigeria would fix everything in his life. He sold almost everything he owned, emptied his savings, and borrowed money from anyone willing to help — all to start a new life abroad.
But less than 24 hours after landing in another country, immigration officers placed him on the next available flight back to Nigeria.
Seven years later, Kunle says the emotional scars from that experience still haven’t fully healed.
As Told To Ayo Adeyemi
Seven years have passed since my attempt to relocate abroad failed in the most humiliating way possible. Even today, it’s difficult for me to talk about it without feeling a deep sense of shame.
Back in 2019, I was 29 years old and completely convinced that leaving Nigeria was the only way my life could improve.
At the time, I worked as an administrative officer at a small insurance company in Lagos, earning around ₦65,000 a month. The job itself wasn’t terrible, but the life it could afford me was depressing.
I lived in a cramped one-room self-contained apartment in Ikorodu, and my routine rarely changed: work, church, sleep, repeat. I could barely save anything at the end of the month.
Owning a car? Impossible.
Starting a family? Not even something I could think about.
Meanwhile, it seemed like everyone around me was moving forward.
A childhood friend relocated to Canada and kept sharing pictures of his snowy neighbourhood on Instagram. A cousin travelled to the UK for a master’s degree and was already working part-time in a restaurant. Even two people in my office were discussing plans to relocate through study programs.
Everywhere I looked, people were leaving Nigeria and “making it”.
Meanwhile, I felt completely stuck.
That was when the thought first entered my mind: Maybe I should leave too.
The Plan That Sounded Too Good
A colleague at work eventually introduced me to a travel consultant who claimed he specialised in helping Nigerians relocate.
He explained a route that involved travelling to an Asian country using a short-term visa, then finding ways to extend your stay after arriving.
According to him, many people had successfully used the same method to settle abroad.
He sounded confident and convincing.
The only problem was the cost.
He quoted ₦15 million for the entire process — covering visa processing, flight tickets, accommodation arrangements and settlement support.
To someone earning ₦65,000 monthly, that amount felt almost insulting.
But the moment the idea of leaving Nigeria entered my head, it refused to leave.
For weeks, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I started imagining what life abroad would feel like — steady electricity, working systems, and finally earning in foreign currency.
At some point, I even caught myself daydreaming about miraculously receiving millions in my bank account.
Eventually, I decided to research things myself.
That’s when I realised something: if I handled most of the process without an agent, I might be able to relocate with about ₦8 million or ₦9 million.
That discovery gave me hope.
Selling My Life to Fund the Dream
Once I convinced myself it was possible, I became obsessed with raising the money.
The first thing I did was empty my entire savings, about ₦650,000, to begin the visa process.
Then I made a decision that caused serious problems in my family.
After my father passed away years earlier, he left a small piece of land in our hometown in Ogun State. I sold my share of it for ₦2.8 million without informing some of my relatives.
When they found out, they were furious.
But at that point, I didn’t care. All I could think about was leaving Nigeria.
Fortunately, the visa application worked on the first attempt. I was granted a six-month visa, which made everything feel real.
At that moment, I believed the hardest part was already over.
I was wrong.
Borrowing From Everyone I Knew
After selling the land and using my savings, I still needed about ₦5 million.
So I started borrowing.
At first, it was from people close to me — my elder sister, two cousins and a church member who ran a small thrift contribution group.
Then I started asking friends.
Eventually, I was even borrowing from colleagues at work.
Before long, I owed money to more than 10 different people.
I promised everyone the same thing: once I settled abroad, I would start sending money back immediately.
At the time, everyone believed me.
Back then, travelling abroad almost felt like a guarantee of success.
When the loans still weren’t enough, I began selling everything I owned.
My television, refrigerator, generator, wardrobe, even my mattress.
For weeks, I slept on the floor using folded clothes as a pillow. I told myself it didn’t matter because I would soon be leaving anyway.
The Last Desperate Move
As the months passed and my visa expiry date drew closer, I became desperate.
One of my biggest risks was subletting my apartment secretly.
I collected ₦900,000 for advance rent from someone who wanted the space and told him to pretend he was my relative if the landlord ever asked questions.
By the end of five stressful months, I had managed to raise ₦8 million.
But by then, my visa was already close to expiring.
Because of the delay, flight tickets were also extremely expensive. I eventually paid ₦2.7 million for the trip.
I also transferred ₦3 million to someone in the destination country who had promised to help me secure accommodation.
After all those payments, I had only about ₦250,000 left.
Still, I believed everything would work out once I arrived.
The Day I Thought My Life Was Changing
The day I travelled remains one of the most emotional days of my life.
My siblings followed me to the airport. We took pictures, recorded videos and joked about how I would soon start sending them foreign currency.
My mother called several times to pray for me.
Inside the plane, I got a window seat and spent most of the flight taking pictures of the clouds.
I remember whispering to myself:
“This is the beginning of my new life.”
I had no idea that my dream was about to collapse.
Immigration Saw Through My Story
After two connecting flights, I finally arrived.
At the immigration counter, the officer stared at my passport for a long time.
Then he began asking questions.
Why was my visa nearly finished?
How long did I plan to stay?
How much money did I bring?
I panicked and told him I was visiting for a short holiday.
Looking back now, that explanation didn’t make any sense.
What tourist travels with three heavy suitcases for a two-day visit?
The officer called another officer.
Soon, I was taken into a separate room where they began asking deeper questions. At one point, they even asked if someone was planning to help me disappear after entering the country.
That night, they placed me in an airport detention room with a few other travellers.
No one explained anything.
The Next Morning, My Dream Ended
The next morning, immigration officers handed me a document and informed me I would be returned to Nigeria immediately.
According to them, my travel plan looked suspicious, and they believed I might overstay my visa.
Less than 24 hours after arriving, I was escorted back onto a plane.
Everything happened so quickly that I barely processed it.
Returning With Nothing
The real pain began when I landed in Lagos.
I had no apartment, no belongings and almost ₦3 million in debt.
I had sold my entire life for a dream that collapsed within one day.
For weeks, I avoided everyone.
When relatives started calling to ask how life abroad was going, I had no choice but to tell them the truth.
The news spread quickly.
Soon, creditors began calling.
The shame was unbearable.
I eventually switched off my phone and left Lagos for my village, hoping to hide from the embarrassment.
But even there, the gossip followed me.
People believed I had simply run away with their money.
At my lowest point, I tried to take my own life twice.
Thankfully, family members intervened.
Slowly Rebuilding
Seven years later, I’m still rebuilding my life.
For a while, I worked with a cousin who owns a building materials shop. Last year, I returned to Lagos and found a more stable job.
I’ve managed to repay some of the money I owed.
A few people eventually forgave my debt when they realised what truly happened.
Financially, I’m not where I hoped to be in life, but at least I’m surviving.
The Trauma Still Remains
Even today, the experience still haunts me.
Sometimes I have nightmares about it.
In my dreams, I’m walking through an airport, and suddenly immigration officers appear and drag me back onto a plane.
I often wake up sweating.
Whenever I hear people discussing their japa plans, I usually keep quiet.
I understand why people want to leave Nigeria — I wanted the same thing.
But after everything I went through, I’m not sure I can ever risk going through that kind of pain again.
For now, I’m trying to build the best life I can right here at home.
