₦airaland Forum

Return at your own risk.
Them no dey telli person.

I love Nigeria but men no be childs for here

I have worked in 4 different countries in the last 10 years, India, South Africa, Malaysia and Lithuania. I do my job, when my contract ends, I pack my bags and dust my most beloved Green Passport and return to Nigeria to rest, reset and wait for the next contract.
The joy, peace, freedom I have in my home in Ibadan, Nigeria, is second to none.
God bless Nigeria.

Great write up. Sometimes, the way they carry their country and loud am as if na heaven he made me actaully believe their citizen never know what they missed. Their world is hateful and nothing they get for free. They have to bargain/earn everything/privilege they get from birth to death. They called other nations poor but they are still looking to steal from the countries they named poor. They never standalone or self-created anything until they collaborated, yet they go everywhere to self-acclaimed themselves. The way e go shock them in coming decades, they no go believe it. Now, Nigerians are started keying into buying new cars from China instead of buying their used/accidented vechicles and soon most african countries would follow. The reality of the furure they are yet to understand. Caveat: pls continue to sell your properties and fasting/prayers for their visa... i wish you good luck in your pursuit instead to quote rubbish on my thoughts here.

womilojublog:
Go home. Not in shame never in shame but in the full, unhurried dignity of one who has finally remembered their own name.

You came with your gifts wrapped in ambition, your hands carrying centuries of ingenuity that built civilizations long before they had a word for civilization. You arrived not as a beggar but as a contributor, not as a shadow but as a source of light. Yet they placed you under fluorescent lamps in cold offices, asked you to spell your name again, to explain your country again, to justify your presence again. And now, emboldened by the shamelessness of a leader whose ignorance wears a suit, they have dispatched uniformed men to remind you that you are unwelcome in the land you helped build. Do not waste your tears on them.

Do not be humiliated by a man who reads from a script he cannot understand, whose contempt for Africa flows not from knowledge but from the hollow arrogance of one who has confused loud words for wisdom. He who denigrates a continent of 54 nations, a billion souls, a thousand tongues, and the oldest human footprints on this earth he does not deserve your rage. He has earned only your pity. But pity is a luxury. Your time is more valuable than that.

Think of what you left behind. Not the poverty they zoomed into in their documentaries to justify their superiority but the real Africa: the laughter that spills out of open windows at midnight, the market at dawn that smells of groundnut oil and fresh possibility, the grandmother whose soup is a philosophy, whose hands are a library. Think of the red earth that knows your blood because it has held the bones of your people for ten thousand years. No American suburb, no matter how manicured its lawns, can offer you what the land of your origin holds in a single fistful of soil.

They will tell you their country is the greatest. Let them have that story. A nation of volcanoes and tornadoes, of mass shootings in schools and prayers that change nothing, of a healthcare system that will bankrupt you for having the audacity to fall ill this is the paradise they are guarding with such vigilance? Let them guard it. You were never meant to be kept anywhere. You were meant to move freely across a world that, at its bones, belongs to everyone.

They have no real food only the borrowed bread of other people's cultures, pressed flat between two halves of a bun and called civilization. No jollof rice smoky from an open fire. No egusi that took all morning to make. No suya wrapped in newspaper at the roadside, eaten standing up, which is how the best things in life are eaten. What they call cuisine, we call convenience. What they call fast food, we call the absence of love.

Remember Wole Soyinka that great lion of Aké, that Nobel laureate whose pen has always been sharper than any sword they could forge who looked at America and its careless talkers, its men who reduce the world to slogans and the slogans to insults, and simply said: no. Not with a fist raised. Not with a press conference. But with the calm, devastating authority of a man who knows his worth and refuses to negotiate it. He packed his conscience and his genius and he came home. And home received him as home always receives its children without condition, without paperwork, without asking him to prove he belonged.

Africa is not waiting for you with pity. Africa is waiting for you with need the urgent, electric need of a continent that is rising, that is building, that is tired of watching its finest minds water other people's gardens while their own soil goes unplanted. Your engineering, your medicine, your art, your business mind, your stubborn refusal to be diminished bring it home. The soil will know what to do with it.

They stole our gold and called it trade. They stole our labour and called it history. They stole our art and placed it in their museums under foreign names. Now they want to steal the one thing we have left our people. Do not let them have even that. Not by force, not by the slow theft of exhaustion and humiliation. Walk out on your own terms. Turn your back not in defeat but in the sovereign indifference of one who has found something better.

You are not leaving because you failed. You are leaving because you are finished with them. There is a difference as wide as the Atlantic that same ocean your ancestors crossed in chains, which you will now cross in a plane, with your passport and your pride and your future folded neatly in your carry-on bag. Let that crossing be a reclamation.

Let your departure be as deliberate as Soyinka's. As quiet as dignity always is. As final as a door closed gently not slammed, for slamming is for those who are angry, and you are not angry. You are simply done. Done with the cold weather that never agreed with your bones. Done with the food that has no memory, no ceremony, no love in its making. Done with proving yourself to people who decided before you arrived what you were worth. Done with a nation that has made enemies in every corner of the world and cannot understand why.

Come home to Accra's golden corridors of ambition. Come home to Lagos, that furious, magnificent beast of a city that never sleeps and never apologizes for its hunger. Come home to Nairobi's skyline lifting itself taller each season. Come home to Dakar, to Kigali, to Addis, to Abuja, to Johannesburg and her complicated, beautiful soul. Come home to the village too do not be ashamed of the village for the village is where the roots go deepest and where the stories are truest.

Their America was never yours. You leased it with your labour and your loneliness and your Sunday phone calls home and your silent endurance of a thousand small degradations. The lease is up. You are not renewing. Collect yourself. Collect your children. Collect your name say it the way your mother says it, the full version, all the syllables, without apology and walk.
Walk the way our elders walked out of their colonizers' offices: slowly, deliberately, with the knowledge that history is long and the last word has not yet been spoken. Walk knowing that the same sun that rises over their skyline rises first over ours earlier, warmer, and with the full approval of a sky that has always loved Africa best.

The continent did not forget you while you were gone. It kept your place at the table. It kept the fire low, but burning.

Leave their America. It was never yours to lose.
Africa calls her children home and she is not asking twice.

Womiloju. blog

I love the fact that your piece is not AI generated.

womilojublog:
Go home. Not in shame never in shame but in the full, unhurried dignity of one who has finally remembered their own name.

You came with your gifts wrapped in ambition, your hands carrying centuries of ingenuity that built civilizations long before they had a word for civilization. You arrived not as a beggar but as a contributor, not as a shadow but as a source of light. Yet they placed you under fluorescent lamps in cold offices, asked you to spell your name again, to explain your country again, to justify your presence again. And now, emboldened by the shamelessness of a leader whose ignorance wears a suit, they have dispatched uniformed men to remind you that you are unwelcome in the land you helped build. Do not waste your tears on them.

Do not be humiliated by a man who reads from a script he cannot understand, whose contempt for Africa flows not from knowledge but from the hollow arrogance of one who has confused loud words for wisdom. He who denigrates a continent of 54 nations, a billion souls, a thousand tongues, and the oldest human footprints on this earth he does not deserve your rage. He has earned only your pity. But pity is a luxury. Your time is more valuable than that.

Think of what you left behind. Not the poverty they zoomed into in their documentaries to justify their superiority but the real Africa: the laughter that spills out of open windows at midnight, the market at dawn that smells of groundnut oil and fresh possibility, the grandmother whose soup is a philosophy, whose hands are a library. Think of the red earth that knows your blood because it has held the bones of your people for ten thousand years. No American suburb, no matter how manicured its lawns, can offer you what the land of your origin holds in a single fistful of soil.

They will tell you their country is the greatest. Let them have that story. A nation of volcanoes and tornadoes, of mass shootings in schools and prayers that change nothing, of a healthcare system that will bankrupt you for having the audacity to fall ill this is the paradise they are guarding with such vigilance? Let them guard it. You were never meant to be kept anywhere. You were meant to move freely across a world that, at its bones, belongs to everyone.

They have no real food only the borrowed bread of other people's cultures, pressed flat between two halves of a bun and called civilization. No jollof rice smoky from an open fire. No egusi that took all morning to make. No suya wrapped in newspaper at the roadside, eaten standing up, which is how the best things in life are eaten. What they call cuisine, we call convenience. What they call fast food, we call the absence of love.

Remember Wole Soyinka that great lion of Aké, that Nobel laureate whose pen has always been sharper than any sword they could forge who looked at America and its careless talkers, its men who reduce the world to slogans and the slogans to insults, and simply said: no. Not with a fist raised. Not with a press conference. But with the calm, devastating authority of a man who knows his worth and refuses to negotiate it. He packed his conscience and his genius and he came home. And home received him as home always receives its children without condition, without paperwork, without asking him to prove he belonged.

Africa is not waiting for you with pity. Africa is waiting for you with need the urgent, electric need of a continent that is rising, that is building, that is tired of watching its finest minds water other people's gardens while their own soil goes unplanted. Your engineering, your medicine, your art, your business mind, your stubborn refusal to be diminished bring it home. The soil will know what to do with it.

They stole our gold and called it trade. They stole our labour and called it history. They stole our art and placed it in their museums under foreign names. Now they want to steal the one thing we have left our people. Do not let them have even that. Not by force, not by the slow theft of exhaustion and humiliation. Walk out on your own terms. Turn your back not in defeat but in the sovereign indifference of one who has found something better.

You are not leaving because you failed. You are leaving because you are finished with them. There is a difference as wide as the Atlantic that same ocean your ancestors crossed in chains, which you will now cross in a plane, with your passport and your pride and your future folded neatly in your carry-on bag. Let that crossing be a reclamation.

Let your departure be as deliberate as Soyinka's. As quiet as dignity always is. As final as a door closed gently not slammed, for slamming is for those who are angry, and you are not angry. You are simply done. Done with the cold weather that never agreed with your bones. Done with the food that has no memory, no ceremony, no love in its making. Done with proving yourself to people who decided before you arrived what you were worth. Done with a nation that has made enemies in every corner of the world and cannot understand why.

Come home to Accra's golden corridors of ambition. Come home to Lagos, that furious, magnificent beast of a city that never sleeps and never apologizes for its hunger. Come home to Nairobi's skyline lifting itself taller each season. Come home to Dakar, to Kigali, to Addis, to Abuja, to Johannesburg and her complicated, beautiful soul. Come home to the village too do not be ashamed of the village for the village is where the roots go deepest and where the stories are truest.

Their America was never yours. You leased it with your labour and your loneliness and your Sunday phone calls home and your silent endurance of a thousand small degradations. The lease is up. You are not renewing. Collect yourself. Collect your children. Collect your name say it the way your mother says it, the full version, all the syllables, without apology and walk.
Walk the way our elders walked out of their colonizers' offices: slowly, deliberately, with the knowledge that history is long and the last word has not yet been spoken. Walk knowing that the same sun that rises over their skyline rises first over ours earlier, warmer, and with the full approval of a sky that has always loved Africa best.

The continent did not forget you while you were gone. It kept your place at the table. It kept the fire low, but burning.

Leave their America. It was never yours to lose.
Africa calls her children home and she is not asking twice.

Womiloju. blog

We don hear, we're coming back nisinsin yi.
Infact their America don tire us sef.
Make sure you welcome as wellu wellu for airport, and I can drive to Ogbomosho safely.

MIKOLOWISKA:
Yup
Ani was caused by Tinubu
Maitasine
1 million boya
Shina Rambo
Boko started under Tinubu
Nigeria was perfect before Tinubu came

And you sef go claim say you go school fa

una dey reason like corn fr
See wetin adult With 🧠 dey talk
Naso una ppl dey always dey do
never accepts their failure always looking for who to blame
It doesn’t matter whose regime it originated from
Security should be way better than it is in the previous government
But just look how it’s gotten worse under your messiah
Ire oo
Hey wu

Omoreal01:
Great write up. Sometimes, the way they carry their country and loud am as if na heaven he made me actaully believe their citizen never know what they missed. Their world is hateful and nothing they get for free. They have to bargain/earn everything/privilege they get from birth to death. They called other nations poor but they are still looking to steal from the countries they named poor. They never standalone or self-created anything until they collaborated, yet they go everywhere to self-acclaimed themselves. The way e go shock them in coming decades, they no go believe it. Now, Nigerians are started keying into buying new cars from China instead of buying their used/accidented vechicles and soon most african countries would follow. The reality of the furure they are yet to understand. Caveat: pls continue to sell your properties and fasting/prayers for their visa... i wish you good luck in your pursuit instead to quote rubbish on my thoughts here.

Hahahaha, come swear say you never entered American embassy for visa, no vex

Nice poem

Schooljob1:
The hypocrisy of many Nigerians is appalling. I stand to be corrected, but I’m about 75% certain that this writer would jubilate if offered the opportunity to relocate to the West.

That’s how one of them was preaching while secretly processing her japa. When she eventually moved and was confronted, she claimed to have the right to change her mind anytime. Meanwhile, the japa process isn’t a one-day thing. That means as she was preaching, she was working on it deeply.
SMH.

On another note, the emphasis is to leave. Leave and to settle at where? Was it not something that prompted them to leave Nigeria in droves? Has the country become better or worse since then?

Gerrout.

You have no clue his achievements, his sojourn, status or experience.

Most of you assume you know people who are writing from the comfort of their place of domicile.

No surprise, though.

2fine2fast:
I have worked in 4 different countries in the last 10 years, India, South Africa, Malaysia and Lithuania. I do my job, when my contract ends, I pack my bags and dust my most beloved Green Passport and return to Nigeria to rest, reset and wait for the next contract.
The joy, peace, freedom I have in my home in Ibadan, Nigeria, is second to none.
God bless Nigeria.

Many people would not understand.

You've been noticed. Now, run along.

Flangelo12:
Gerrout.

You have no clue his achievements, his sojourn, status or experience.

Most of you assume you know people who are writing from the comfort of their place of domicile.

No surprise, though.

Return home to where?
To bad government?
To insecurity?
To politicians play ping-pong with children's life?

To no light? To The president and his city Boys running the country amok?

To what exactly?

America is not the only country in the world, if it is not conducive, they same way you migrated out of Nigeria, do the same to another country.

Just come home once in a while. When you died, make share you're buried here, because here is a burial ground.

A father that cannot protect his own children. Is that one a father. If you be a president why not live

ColdHunter:
An impressive piece of literature and that, really is where it ends.

The United States will remain one of the greatest symbols of modern civilisation long after our generation is gone. Regardless of criticism or bad press, America continues to represent aspiration, opportunity, and ambition on a scale few nations can rival no matter how much they try.

For people across the Middle East, Asia, Latin America, Europe, and Africa, the American dream still carries a unique global appeal. To many, it remains the ultimate destination for opportunity, innovation, influence, and personal advancement.

Even among its loudest critics, if presented with a choice between American, Russian, Iranian, Saudi Arabian, or Chinese citizenship, many would still choose America without hesitation.

So, you can keep conjuring grammar all you want, America has come to stay and even the children of their adversaries are living in the American dream.

You get sense. He is just wasting his ink

No one is leaving their america for them same way america has refused to leave the rest of he world sooner.

They woke up bombing some countries cos their president in on their period, now I have to be paying extra for gas in Nigeria.

Schooljob1:
You've been noticed. Now, run along.

E pain am.

womilojublog:
Go home. Not in shame never in shame but in the full, unhurried dignity of one who has finally remembered their own name.

You came with your gifts wrapped in ambition, your hands carrying centuries of ingenuity that built civilizations long before they had a word for civilization. You arrived not as a beggar but as a contributor, not as a shadow but as a source of light. Yet they placed you under fluorescent lamps in cold offices, asked you to spell your name again, to explain your country again, to justify your presence again. And now, emboldened by the shamelessness of a leader whose ignorance wears a suit, they have dispatched uniformed men to remind you that you are unwelcome in the land you helped build. Do not waste your tears on them.

Do not be humiliated by a man who reads from a script he cannot understand, whose contempt for Africa flows not from knowledge but from the hollow arrogance of one who has confused loud words for wisdom. He who denigrates a continent of 54 nations, a billion souls, a thousand tongues, and the oldest human footprints on this earth he does not deserve your rage. He has earned only your pity. But pity is a luxury. Your time is more valuable than that.

Think of what you left behind. Not the poverty they zoomed into in their documentaries to justify their superiority but the real Africa: the laughter that spills out of open windows at midnight, the market at dawn that smells of groundnut oil and fresh possibility, the grandmother whose soup is a philosophy, whose hands are a library. Think of the red earth that knows your blood because it has held the bones of your people for ten thousand years. No American suburb, no matter how manicured its lawns, can offer you what the land of your origin holds in a single fistful of soil.

They will tell you their country is the greatest. Let them have that story. A nation of volcanoes and tornadoes, of mass shootings in schools and prayers that change nothing, of a healthcare system that will bankrupt you for having the audacity to fall ill this is the paradise they are guarding with such vigilance? Let them guard it. You were never meant to be kept anywhere. You were meant to move freely across a world that, at its bones, belongs to everyone.

They have no real food only the borrowed bread of other people's cultures, pressed flat between two halves of a bun and called civilization. No jollof rice smoky from an open fire. No egusi that took all morning to make. No suya wrapped in newspaper at the roadside, eaten standing up, which is how the best things in life are eaten. What they call cuisine, we call convenience. What they call fast food, we call the absence of love.

Remember Wole Soyinka that great lion of Aké, that Nobel laureate whose pen has always been sharper than any sword they could forge who looked at America and its careless talkers, its men who reduce the world to slogans and the slogans to insults, and simply said: no. Not with a fist raised. Not with a press conference. But with the calm, devastating authority of a man who knows his worth and refuses to negotiate it. He packed his conscience and his genius and he came home. And home received him as home always receives its children without condition, without paperwork, without asking him to prove he belonged.

Africa is not waiting for you with pity. Africa is waiting for you with need the urgent, electric need of a continent that is rising, that is building, that is tired of watching its finest minds water other people's gardens while their own soil goes unplanted. Your engineering, your medicine, your art, your business mind, your stubborn refusal to be diminished bring it home. The soil will know what to do with it.

They stole our gold and called it trade. They stole our labour and called it history. They stole our art and placed it in their museums under foreign names. Now they want to steal the one thing we have left our people. Do not let them have even that. Not by force, not by the slow theft of exhaustion and humiliation. Walk out on your own terms. Turn your back not in defeat but in the sovereign indifference of one who has found something better.

You are not leaving because you failed. You are leaving because you are finished with them. There is a difference as wide as the Atlantic that same ocean your ancestors crossed in chains, which you will now cross in a plane, with your passport and your pride and your future folded neatly in your carry-on bag. Let that crossing be a reclamation.

Let your departure be as deliberate as Soyinka's. As quiet as dignity always is. As final as a door closed gently not slammed, for slamming is for those who are angry, and you are not angry. You are simply done. Done with the cold weather that never agreed with your bones. Done with the food that has no memory, no ceremony, no love in its making. Done with proving yourself to people who decided before you arrived what you were worth. Done with a nation that has made enemies in every corner of the world and cannot understand why.

Come home to Accra's golden corridors of ambition. Come home to Lagos, that furious, magnificent beast of a city that never sleeps and never apologizes for its hunger. Come home to Nairobi's skyline lifting itself taller each season. Come home to Dakar, to Kigali, to Addis, to Abuja, to Johannesburg and her complicated, beautiful soul. Come home to the village too do not be ashamed of the village for the village is where the roots go deepest and where the stories are truest.

Their America was never yours. You leased it with your labour and your loneliness and your Sunday phone calls home and your silent endurance of a thousand small degradations. The lease is up. You are not renewing. Collect yourself. Collect your children. Collect your name say it the way your mother says it, the full version, all the syllables, without apology and walk.
Walk the way our elders walked out of their colonizers' offices: slowly, deliberately, with the knowledge that history is long and the last word has not yet been spoken. Walk knowing that the same sun that rises over their skyline rises first over ours earlier, warmer, and with the full approval of a sky that has always loved Africa best.

The continent did not forget you while you were gone. It kept your place at the table. It kept the fire low, but burning.

Leave their America. It was never yours to lose.
Africa calls her children home and she is not asking twice.

Womiloju. blog

cope till you begin recite poem for bandit camp

Nice.... but if only security is really good to come home to 🤔

See how school teachers and students were abducted in bright daylight!

How can one enjoy coming home to insecurity?

How can one enjoy coming home to suffering people all around?

Nonsense talk, talk to your leaders to make the country conducive for growth and let the youth have a future that isnt just about paying house tent

lagonovo:
So it is people living abroad that will come home and fix insecurity, the same factor that drove many of them abroad with some having lost precious family members while everyone around them saw it as business as usual?

who is your slave that will fix it for you
Better stay in the abroad o
Tinubu came from abroad
He could've stayed where it's comfortable

White ppl don't run from their problems

Do as you please

That is none of your business.

Are people abroad your slaves as their remittances often exceed Nigeria's annual foreign direct investment? Or you want to count the number of SMEs established in Nigeria by those in diaspora? The funding of various alumni and community projects while most of those at home still use the slightest opportunity to sabotage and defraud them?

I don't expect someone that spewed such rubbish above to acknowledge those. Tinubu is the son of Iyaloja of Lagos, his story is different. A multinational oil sector job was waiting for him in Nigeria. Common sense should tell you that his scenario does not apply to most people.

When those abroad come to Nigeria that they keep investing in, go to the airport and stop them.

MIKOLOWISKA:
who is your slave that will fix it for you
Better stay in the abroad o
Tinubu came from abroad
He could've stayed where it's comfortable

White ppl don't run from their problems

Do as you please