₦airaland Forum

Please dont change your mind. You will thank me later in future. God will help you. All best

Techie25:
Thanks for your feedback, I'll look into it.

So help me God

Then, look for a good schengen country to do your master....

Techie25:
Thanks for your words, I really need help, what country do you recommend?

I earn roughly $1200 monthly, working remotely for a US based company and TBH, I really don't know what to do, what you typed there really touched me, I've never really thought of Japa before but Menh, I can't continue to live like this.

What do you suggest I do? Please I need help, I'm just confused. I have like $9k saved up only.
I have a Bsc only too, I don't mind anything.
I have a passport already, my transcript and English proficiency from my uni all ready.

Please help me with what to do next.

For the love of God, leave Nigeria to the evil people and the leaders who do not wish the country well.

If you have any opportunity, do not let anyone deceive you that things will magically get better overnight. At the same time, if you choose to stay, then stay and contribute to making it better in whatever way you can. But if you have the chance to secure a better life elsewhere—for your old age and for your generation—please do not ignore it. Do it before it is too late.

Goodbye everyone, and thank you to everyone who took the time to read my ordeal, including those who disagreed with me and those who hated my write-up. I appreciate you all.

All the best.

I arrived back the next day and met an older Nigerian man staying at my apartment, as I run a hostel and several short-term rental apartments for tourists.

He came abroad in 1991, like many people who believed in investing back home. He bought land in Abuja, properties in his state, and even built a fish farm that was once well known.

Today, almost everything is gone. He told me he regrets it deeply. If he had known things would become this difficult, he said he would have stayed abroad and invested there instead. Now, he only has a small flat left to survive with his family in Nigeria.
He told me something I will never forget: back then, 80,000 naira could feed a family of six for a month. Today, 120,000 naira a week is still not enough for basic living.

He looked broken—not physically, but inside.

I am not forcing anyone to leave Nigeria. That is not my message.

But if you ever have the opportunity to experience a better system—a place where life is not constant survival—please think deeply about it. Think about your old age, your children’s future, and the future of your generation.

Don’t let anyone deceive you that abroad is boring. Peace is not boring. Stability is not boring. Dignity is not boring.

Life is not just about money.

I thought, God, this is finally the end.

But when I got to the waiting area, I was shocked to see three more groups still waiting. I just stood there in disbelief. My little one suddenly started laughing so hard that he fell beside the trolley.

Out of pity after seeing him fall, when they asked me to open my bag and if I had money, I simply removed the last 300 naira note I had and showed them. I told them that was all I had left. Of course, I still had foreign currency, but I kept it hidden.

Out of pity, especially because of my child’s fall, they eventually told us to go and wished us well.

Finally, we got to the last boarding point. I was just praying there would be no more issues. Luckily, there were no more complaints.

When I finally entered the plane, I said to myself, finally, it is over.

My little one then said, “This is a stone-age, poor country, and I will never come back again.”

And honestly, I had no words left.

I love Nigeria, but I feel ashamed to call myself a Nigerian citizen sometimes—not because of the people, but because of what the system has become.

When I arrived back home, there was no stress at all. No stops, no checks. I took a trolley for free, walked straight to my car, and everything was easy and calm. I arrived home in peace—no noise, no stress, no pressure anymore.

Then another section again, afte some mimute walk

They asked about my backpack, even though it had already been checked multiple times. They said I needed to “give something.” I told them I had no cash. I begged them, and eventually they let me go.

At this point, I was already sick—possibly from mosquito bites, street food, or even the water I drank. I was weak, stressed, and exhausted while all of this was still happening.

We were then taken to another section again. A man pointed and said, “This man.” I asked why I was being called again. He told me not to worry. The officer checking my passport was clearly frustrated and attending to us angrily, probably because he realized I had no money to give. After wasting more of our time, he eventually released our passports.

While that was happening, they said there was another luggage weight check. The same luggage I had already weighed at home was suddenly said to be overweight. I was shocked—how is that possible? I strongly believe the weight was altered, and again I was told I had to pay.

But there was one man who seemed like a supervisor, a God-sent person. He saw how they had been pushing me around and told them to accept my luggage without any charges. A woman there also helped and said I could check in some extra small luggage for free. She initially said I was not allowed to take my backpack on board, even though I had confirmed with the airline that I could. She said, “That is our rule here,” but eventually she allowed me to check in the small luggage for free.

I thought, this is finally the end.

I thought it was over. I went to get my boarding pass, and the man asked for my little one’s birth certificate, questioning why he had a different surname from mine. I explained that I am not his father, but he carries his father’s surname. The officer then said, “Wow, so he has three nationalities?”

After that, he asked if I had a yellow card, saying it would be required in the country I was travelling to. I said I didn’t have one. At that point, I was already extremely stressed and I started crying. He told me to calm down and relax, saying his friend could arrange it for me—for a price. I told him I had no cash. He said I should go and withdraw money. My family member had to go out again to withdraw cash.

Another section called me and said I should come this way again. I asked, “For what again?” They had already scanned all my items. The man said this was different and showed me a banner stating that vegetables and similar items were not allowed. He insisted he was sure I had some inside, so I had to pay.

I told him I had no such items or case against me, but he said I should go and withdraw money outside. We went out to withdraw cash, paid them, and they allowed us to leave.

Lastly the airport departure nightmare.

I weighed my four large bags at home using my own airport approved scale, something I have used many times without issue. Everything was fine. But the moment I arrived at the airport, it began.

They made me open a sealed bag—palm oil, properly packaged. They said I couldn’t take it. I tried to explain, calmly at first, that the airline allows it. They didn’t listen. They took both containers and placed them aside like they belonged to them now.

I got upset. Maybe I shouldn’t have. Later, people told me I should have just “begged” and “settled” them. That word—settle—it says everything. So I begged and begged. I had to and paid them in cash. And suddenly, one was allowed. The other? Promised to be “returned” to my family member outside.

Then they tried to take my child’s noodles, his favorite food. He started crying. That moment broke me. Watching a child cry, not because of hunger or pain, but because someone wants to take away something so small, so innocent.

They gave it back eventually, and they angrily ask us to go. I thought it was over. But it was not.

But what broke me even more was my little one. He kept seeing children on the streets, selling, begging, carrying loads heavier than themselves, walking around late into the night when they should be at home, safe, asleep. And he kept asking me, over and over again, “Why? Why are they there? Why are they not in school? Why are they working?”

And this time, it wasn’t just a question—it felt like an accusation. Not from him, but from innocence itself.

Because there is no good answer. How do you explain to a child that this has become normal? That a government can watch this happen every single day and do nothing meaningful about it? That a country blessed with so much wealth, resources, and potential can still allow its children to grow up like this?

We are not a poor country. That is the truth people don’t want to face. What we are seeing is not lack, it is failure. Failure of leadership. Failure of priorities. Failure of humanity.

I did not see real improvement, at least not in Lagos, where I experienced all of this. And it is painful to say that.

Every single child deserves proper education. Not just access, but quality. Every child deserves a monthly support system, access to free and reliable healthcare, safety, dignity, and a real chance at life. No child should be on the street selling. No child should be begging. And definitely no child should be outside at night trying to survive.

And then I ask myself, what happens to these children when they grow old? Who takes care of them? Who protects them then?

And what about the elderly now? Who is looking after them? Why is dignity in old age treated like a privilege instead of a right?

Care is work. Raising children is work. Surviving without support is work. Whether you work for the government, private sector, or you are self-employed—you deserve security in old age. You deserve pension. You deserve peace after a lifetime of effort.

But instead, people are left to struggle from childhood… all the way to old age.

And what makes it even more painful is seeing people defend this. Normalize it. Justify it. Support leaders while children are on the streets and families are barely surviving. This is not normal. This is not culture. This is not something to accept at all

I remembered Tejuosho Market. Not long ago, there was a fire there. And honestly, it didn’t surprise me. That place is a nightmare, no air, overcrowded, no structure, no safety. Yet people work there every day, moving, sweating, surviving. Maybe they are used to it. But that does not make it right. That is not how human beings should live.

Another day, I bought crayfish from a woman in the market. I left peacefully, thinking everything was fine, only for her to come after me later, harassing me, preaching word of God to me like am a sinner, and even complaining about my shorts. I stood there in disbelief… how is that her business? I wasn’t disrespecting anyone, I was simply minding my own life. In that moment, it hit me again how people feel entitled to control or judge things that should be personal. I stood there confused—what just happened?

I went back to read the comments on my write-up, and honestly I will say, it broke me a little. Not because people disagreed, but because so many have been conditioned deeply, painfully conditioned to believe that this is normal life. When your mind, your expectations, even your sense of dignity have been shaped to accept struggle as standard, you stop questioning what you deserve. And that is the saddest part.

I don’t blame anyone. How can you blame people who have never experienced anything different?

Some people said the hotel I stayed in was “cheap.” That one hurt me, because it wasn’t. A single night there costs more than mimimum salary wages in Nigeria. And yet, despite everything, the staff were incredible, kind, hardworking, respectful. Security was solid. The people are not the problem. They never have been.

My purpose for writing is simple, even if only one person reads this and makes a better decision for themselves or their family, then it is worth it. I am not here to be liked. I am speaking from what I have seen, what I have lived, and what I know life can be.

People keep saying, “There is money in Nigeria.” But I keep asking myself, is life really just about money? What is the value of money if your daily existence is stress, fear, discomfort, low quality life and uncertainty? What is wealth if your environment drains your spirit?

We decided to take an old bus for the sake of adventure, for my little one. At first, it seemed okay. Then the rain started. And suddenly, it felt like we were sitting outside in the storm. Water poured in from the roof, the sides, everywhere. People just… endured it. As if it was normal. As if this is what transport should be.

Most of the vehicles on the road should not be there. They are accidents waiting to happen. Not “if”—when.

Now, back to the main reason I am writing all of this.

What I experienced has deeply affected me. To be honest, I feel ashamed to call myself a Nigerian citizen right now. This journey has opened my eyes in a way I cannot ignore. I now truly appreciate the countries abroad that have given me opportunities, stability, and a better quality of life. Things I once complained about, I now see differently. May God continue to bless those nations.

What I saw was in Lagos—I cannot speak for other states—but what I witnessed there was overwhelming.

I visited both wealthy and poorer areas, and I was left speechless. This is 2026, yet there is still no reliable 24-hour electricity. The roads are even worse than how I left them many years ago. Everywhere, I saw young children selling goods on the streets—even inside buses. These are children who should be at home, resting or in school, not out working in unsafe conditions, day and night.

Seeing them broke my heart.

The transportation system was another shock. Many of the buses on the road are in terrible condition and should not even be operating. On one occasion, we entered a bus during the rain, and water was leaking heavily inside onto passengers. It felt unreal—like something out of a nightmare.

The constant noise—especially in the markets—was overwhelming. It was nonstop, from morning until night. At times, it felt like my head couldn’t rest, as if there was continuous drumming around me 24 hours a day.

I also noticed exposed wires along the roads, and it wasn’t even clear whether they were live or not, yet people walked around them as if it was normal.

Crossing the road was another challenge entirely. I stood at pedestrian crossings expecting cars to stop—but they didn’t. Sometimes, we were nearly hit. I even saw a zebra crossing connected to a raised concrete divider so high that it made no sense—how is anyone supposed to cross safely?

I tried using pedestrian bridges instead, but many of them were damaged, poorly maintained, or completely abandoned. It honestly felt unsafe to use them. I just kept hoping no one would fall or get seriously hurt one day.

When it rained, the flooding was everywhere. Roads became almost impassable.

One day, I decided to go alone to Yaba Market. That experience was overwhelming. I could barely breathe. The area around Tejuosho Market felt extremely congested, loud, and chaotic. The noise, the crowd, the heat—it was too much. I honestly don’t know how people cope working in those conditions every single day. No one should have to live or work like that.

I also couldn’t ignore the sheer number of people struggling—working tirelessly, carrying heavy loads under intense heat, just to survive. It made me wonder how much the population has grown, because the pressure on daily life is clearly immense.

And then I thought about the elderly… where do they fit in all of this? What support is there for them? It seems like once you grow old, the system expects your children to take full responsibility. But what happens to those who don’t have that support?

The reality is painful. There is little visible structure to support the most vulnerable—children, the elderly, and those who are sick.

It is deeply concerning.

There is still so much more I want to say… I will continue later.

But one thing is clear: please, do not be misled into thinking everything is working. There are serious challenges that cannot be ignored.

The heat in Nigeria was extremely intense for me—I’m no longer used to that kind of weather. I couldn’t wear anything heavy, so I was constantly in light clothes, mostly shorts, and often pouring water on my body just to stay cool.

I enjoy walking as a tourist, so I was happy to explore on foot. We went out almost every day, and in many ways, it was enjoyable. We tried a lot of local and street food. Unfortunately, some of the street food didn’t sit well with me, and I ended up getting sick—which I’m still dealing with as I write this. I’m planning to go for a proper medical check-up.

Despite everything, many people we met were kind and welcoming—especially the market women. They showed so much love to my little one, often giving him small gifts. People began to recognize us in the area. It felt safe overall, and the community was warm. Some people would stop and stare, others would greet us, shake hands, or ask my child questions. Even some bus conductors were friendly.

My little one especially loved the old buses. He found them fascinating and enjoyed riding them just for the experience.

However, after many mosquito bites, I decided to buy a mosquito cream from a pharmacy—but surprisingly, it didn’t work. In fact, it felt like the more I used it, the more we were bitten.

One night, I had a truly frightening experience. My child woke up crying in pain, holding his head. I was terrified—I had never seen him like that before. I immediately called the hotel reception to ask for the nearest hospital or an emergency number, but I was told there was none nearby.

At that moment, I felt completely helpless. I started praying, hoping nothing serious would happen. I even thought that if things got worse, I would have to contact his country’s embassy in the morning for help.

Thankfully, I managed to calm him down. I placed ice on his head and gave him some medication I had brought with me. After some time, he began to feel better and eventually fell asleep.

That experience broke me.

It made me think about how many children go through situations like this every day, without access to immediate healthcare, and how many parents cannot even afford basic medicine.

I was already planning to leave the next day if his condition didn’t improve. But thank God, by morning, he was okay.

Still, that night is something I will never forget…

We stayed at a hotel for the duration of our trip. I must say, the staff were incredibly kind, respectful, and made us feel safe at all times. That was one of the few truly positive parts of the experience.

However, there were several issues that made our stay uncomfortable.

First, the mosquitoes were unbearable—they bit us constantly. Then there was the noise. The street was very loud, and at night it became even worse. Churches nearby would start loud prayers and drumming in the middle of the night, sometimes around 2 a.m. Honestly, it was very disturbing. People are trying to sleep—why not pray quietly? Why does it have to involve loudspeakers and drums at that hour?

When we first arrived at the hotel around 2 p.m., our room was not ready. They had to rush to clean it before we could settle in.

The next day, the kitchen sink had no running water, so they moved us to another room. Unfortunately, the new room had its own problems—the bathroom water system was faulty. The water was either extremely hot, almost like fire, or completely cold. There was no balance.

Another major issue was the constant smell of weed throughout the building. Even though there were signs stating that it was not allowed, the smell was everywhere—from the corridors to inside our room. It felt like we were constantly surrounded by it. I complained multiple times, but nothing meaningful was done. Eventually, I just gave up.

After one week, I decided to check out another hotel I had seen online before traveling. When I got there, I was completely shocked. That place should not even be operating—not even as a one-star hotel. It looked rundown and unsafe, almost like it could collapse at any moment.

The receptionist seemed completely disengaged, as if he wasn’t even paying attention. He gave us a key to check a room on the third floor—there was no elevator. I couldn’t even make it halfway up the stairs before turning back.

I also saw the pool—it was a nightmare. The water had a strange color and was filled with insects. It was completely unusable.

Honestly, I have nothing positive to say about that place. It should be shut down by the authorities.

In the end, I had no choice but to remain at the first hotel I booked. Compared to others, it was considered “five-star,” but in reality, even by international standards, it would not qualify as a two-star hotel without serious renovations.

This experience really opened my eyes…

Let me begin my story.

My flight arrived in Nigeria, and I was traveling with my little one—his first time in the country. He was so excited, expecting a beautiful experience like what he is used to abroad. Sadly, that expectation didn’t last long.

We arrived at Murtala Muhammed International Airport in Lagos. I had heard that the airport had improved and that corruption had reduced, but what I experienced was worse than what I saw many years ago. Honestly, it’s not just about renovating the airport—the entire system and the people working there need serious reform. I will come back to that later.

At immigration, they started questioning my child’s nationality. Thankfully, I had already obtained a Nigerian passport for him, which reduced the stress a bit. Still, the process felt unnecessary and uncomfortable. Officers kept referring to him as “oyinbo,” and he was just smiling innocently, thinking he was in a welcoming place.

Then came the luggage situation. We waited for over an hour—along with many other passengers. It honestly felt like the staff handling the luggage had gone on a long break. While we were waiting, different people kept approaching me, offering “help” I didn’t ask for.

At the baggage area, it felt more like a marketplace than an airport. Trolleys that should be free were not. You either had to pay to use one or pay someone about 2,000 naira to help you carry your bags. Imagine that—inside an international airport.

At some point, a kind fellow traveler gave me an extra trolley ticket for free—God bless her. Meanwhile, one man kept insisting on helping me despite me clearly saying I could manage on my own. It started to feel like harassment. I had no freedom of movement. At one point, I even lied that I needed to use the restroom just to get away from him. I moved to another area, but after 40 minutes of still waiting for my luggage, he found me again.

Eventually, after more than an hour, the luggage arrived. I carried everything myself.

My family was waiting outside. I had intentionally kept my arrival low-key, otherwise friends would have come to pick me up. I assumed I could simply order an Uber or Bolt, or perhaps take an airport shuttle or government bus like I’m used to abroad.

But that wasn’t the case.

Instead, I was told I could only use the private taxis available at the airport. The price? Starting from 40,000 naira for just a 30-minute trip. I was completely shocked. We had no real choice—the heat alone was overwhelming, almost unbearable. It felt like standing in fire. We were literally pouring water on ourselves just to cope.

In the end, we entered the taxi, and it took us to our hotel—which was also very expensive compare to smiliar ones around same area.

And that was just the beginning of our experience...

Hello everyone,

I recently took a short trip to Nigeria, and I feel deeply saddened by what I experienced. I want to speak honestly to young people, middle-aged individuals, married couples—everyone. Please, don’t let anyone deceive you into thinking that “there is nothing abroad.” That statement is simply not true.

It’s difficult for me to even talk about this because of how heavy it feels. In Nigeria, there is a strong belief that money is everything. But I’ve come to realize that true quality of life goes far beyond wealth. Things like security, basic amenities, good healthcare, and decent roads—these are fundamental human needs, and they matter more than just having money.

Millions of people in Nigeria are struggling every day, and it’s heartbreaking. What makes it even more painful is that many of the leaders travel abroad, see better systems and living conditions, yet allow their own citizens to endure such hardship.

My brothers and sisters, think about your future. Think about your old age and the generations that will come after you. Try to find opportunities in places where you can build a better life. Nigeria, as it stands, is not working the way it should, and we must not ignore that reality.

Let me share my experience with you…

I am sharing this to alert others about an individual who scammed my business.

Name: Gideon Nzubechukwu Aleke
Contact Numbers: 0037069257701, 0031686132191
Nationality: Nigerian
Residence: Lithuania

Summary of Incident:
Gideon Aleke booked a hostel stay for 4 days. On the day of checkout, he claimed to have lost his luggage (including his ID) at the airport. Despite initially agreeing to pay in cash, he did not. He later transferred payment for only one night via Revolut and promised to pay the remainder.

Over the following days:

He stayed extra 6 days in total without payment.
He made excuses about waiting for funds to arrive.
When I told him I would post this on the internet and label him as a scammer, he did not care.
He then packed his luggage and run away without paying. He used all the amenities in the flat, 24 hour light he do left on, with no payment, cooking with electric cooker, water etc. And he ran away, am speechless.

My business policy is strict: guests must pay through booking.com. I made an exception out of goodwill, which he exploited.

This is a serious case of fraud. I urge anyone who interacts with Gideon Nzubechukwu Aleke to exercise caution.

People really need to have regular check-ups and monitor their blood pressure all the time. Last year, I had a guest who stayed for two weeks in one of my short-term rental places. He had come to visit his son. On the morning before his checkout, when he was supposed to travel to another country, I saw him on the camera in the kitchen. He had already prepared his tea, even though he was about to go out for the day. He looked completely healthy.

After that, he went to the bathroom — and that was the last time he was seen alive.

Later in the evening, when someone wanted to use the bathroom, we discovered what had happened. It was a very sad and shocking moment. The ambulance came, then the police. They contacted his family, and eventually his body was taken away. The doctor later confirmed that he had suffered a cardiac arrest.

It was heartbreaking. One minute a person is fine, and the next minute they are gone.

Just for laugh.
8 years old white girl, make a drawing of me. I ask her yesterday if she can draw me and she said yes. Behold, this evening, she gave me this, i was shock, because I only ask as a joke, plus she has no picture of me, just the memory of how I look in her brain.

NOTE: This is not exactly how I look, but the braid hair makes me laugh so much, so I just have to share for others to laugh.

10 years ago, I applied as a student for Master, during the interview, I was ask if I knew anyone i USA. I was honest, i told them, a friend we study together (semi europe country), apply and got visa, so I applied to the same school, why answering the question, my confidence is so low. Got rejected.

Fast forward, 10 years after I applied as visiting, sponsor by me (in europe), been many country. And with P.R . Interviewer ask only 5 question, they even mention the country I was denied visa 12 years ago, and I never put it in my.application, i was shock, but I answer all question honesty and confidence like I dont care if they give or not, am over qualify base on my status in my home country. But at the end I got my 5 years Visa. No documents ask, I fill it by myself. We are just 7 at the embassy waiting to be interview, as the citizen dont need visa to travel to America.

Instead of you guys going to America, why not do Zigzag route, that america you will still visit one day.