Two years after he left Nigeria, Mujeeb* still marvels at the change of circumstances that made his relocation possible.
He shares how an old friend was instrumental to his relocation journey and how he plans to pay the kindness forward to friends who are still trying to japa.
As told to Adeyinka
It feels like a dream whenever I think about how I made it out of Nigeria. How do you explain someone you haven’t seen in over 20 years giving you money to support your japa plans and pulling strings in your favour?
Tunde and I went to the same secondary school. He was my seat partner for most of my senior secondary school years, and I won’t say I liked him much. When we were in SS1, I thought we could be friends, but we had different interests. He loved football and always taunted me, calling me a “woman” because I didn’t like any sports.
He was also part of a clique that considered themselves the school’s “big boys”. Whenever he was with them, I couldn’t relate to him. So I decided there was no need to pursue a serious friendship.
We graduated from secondary school in 2009, and he moved to the US. He constantly shared pictures on Facebook. I went through his timeline, but I never sent a friend request. I assumed he wouldn’t accept or be condescending towards me because I was still in Nigeria.
I didn’t want anyone to make me feel that way, so I observed from a distance. As the years went by, he didn’t post about his life as much, and I also wasn’t as interested in keeping up with him. I had my life to live in Nigeria.
In 2017, I got a WhatsApp notification that I’d been added to an alumni group. Honestly, I wanted to leave the group immediately because the previous alumni groups ended in disaster. Some people were still as shallow as they were in school; some just wanted to brag and others were there to observe.
However, there was an interesting conversation in the group that morning about one of our teachers, and everyone had funny memories to share. I had my share of experiences, so I stayed back and joined the conversation. It was hard to say who was who because most of us didn’t have our numbers saved, but you could tell some of the numbers were international.
Then, out of the blue, one of the international numbers asked, “Is Segun Oni in this group?” I checked the display picture to see who it was, but the person’s profile picture was an artwork. So I responded with, “Who’s asking?”
The response was, “Your seat partner.”
Then he sent me a personal message. Even though it had been years, my memories of Tunde from school came rushing back, and I was somewhat guarded in our conversation. It also didn’t help that he asked questions like, “So what do you do now?” “Are you married?” “Where do you work?”
The questions felt intrusive, and a part of me assumed he was trying to size me up. I answered as honestly as I could without sharing more than necessary. He went on about life abroad and shared more than I asked. I was thankful when he said he had to go to work.
After that interaction, I kept my distance because my memories of him were still tied to how he treated me in school. We bantered occasionally in the group, and sometimes, he diverted the conversation to our personal chat.
The truth is I didn’t understand where the sudden overfamiliarity came from. Did he forget how annoying he was in school? Did he think we were buddies? I couldn’t tell, and I was getting tired of playing along.
Meanwhile, I actively pursued my japa dreams. Two of my friends from uni had relocated to the UK through the education route, and another had gone through the job route. Other friends were in various stages of planning their relocation, and it was only a matter of time before I caught the japa fever.
The problem was I didn’t have the money to cure the fever. My mum had retired and couldn’t sponsor a master’s abroad on her monthly pension. My job at the time paid ₦120k, and I had a strict ₦80k monthly savings goal. Friends said they spent around ₦3 – 5m. Twitter japa influencers constantly put out scary figures, and I only had ₦1.6m saved.
But it didn’t stop me from applying to schools. I was always posting Twitter japa content on my WhatsApp status and lamenting the financial implications. When I wasn’t posting about japa, I lamented Buhari’s government and how the rest of us in Nigeria were in trouble.
One day, Tunde responded and seemed genuinely concerned. He asked how bad the situation was. I went into a full-on epistle about it. His genuine interest soon turned to monosyllabic responses, and I thought I’d messed up. The thing with people abroad is when you talk about problems too much, they assume you want to ask for money. And the smart ones know how to cut you off before you get to that point.
I cringed at the thought of Tunde putting me in that box, so I blocked him from viewing my status. With him blocked, there was hardly any opportunity for random conversations.
Fast forward to 2021, we had one of those random moments on the alumni WhatsApp group, and Tunde was in my DMs again. We texted, and he asked how my relocation plans were going. I gave a “We thank God” type response because I didn’t see how it was his concern. I’d secured a UK admission at the time and was actively looking to pay the £4,000 deposit. I think it was around ₦2.2m.
Even though I didn’t give him any important details, something about him asking about my plans seemed genuine, so I unblocked him on WhatsApp. Besides, I’d stopped talking about japa because I wanted to move in silence.
One day, Tunde called on WhatsApp. He must’ve been bored, but the call came when I could also use some banter. We reminisced about school, and he had a lot to say about the times I came through for him during exams. Until that call, I didn’t remember that part of our history. Tunde wasn’t the brightest student in class, but it hardly reflected in his grades because I didn’t have issues helping him out.
The conversation eventually turned to relocation again. I needed help at that point even though he was the last person I wanted to unload my financial burdens on. But since he was asking and had asked before, I gave him a rundown of everything. How I’d used up all my savings to pay the deposit, how I needed Proof of Funds and didn’t know how to sort the rest of the tuition, accommodation or flight tickets. It was a lot to dump on someone abroad who’s probably avoiding billing, but I spared no details since he was bent on knowing.
What happened in the weeks that followed still blows my mind. Like how Portable says, “Who go help you no go stress you.”
Tunde spoke with his dad on my behalf, and the man funded my account with the ₦10m POF I needed without any charge. That was a huge relief because individuals were asking for ridiculous sums. But that wasn’t what blew my mind. After that call, Tunde asked for my bank account and continued to ask for updates. I’d share the latest with him, and he’d offer to help seek second opinions from his network.
Then one weekend, two months before I travelled, I received a ₦3.5m credit alert on my phone. I’d been expecting something from Tunde since he asked for my account, but the amount drove me mad with excitement. Almost immediately, I got a message from Tunde on WhatsApp. It was a transaction receipt and an apology for not doing more. In my head, I was like, “What do you mean not doing more?” ₦3.5m in Buhari’s economy? That’s still the highest sum I’ve gotten from anyone, and I don’t know if anyone can top it.
After the huge donation, he helped with other things until I arrived abroad. Honestly, I doubt my relocation would’ve worked out that year if he hadn’t come through at the exact time he did. I would’ve most likely deferred to another year.
Weirdly, I can’t say our friendship has moved from point A to B. I tried to invest more time and energy in the friendship after he came through for me, but he’s not been forthcoming. We text haphazardly and have occasional lengthy calls. Whatever the case, I’m indebted to him.
A lot of my friends are still in Nigeria, and I know relocation has become more capital-intensive. Hopefully, I can pay the kindness forward in the future.
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