Real Story: I Sold My Father’s Land to Japa, Now I Just Want to Come Back Home
In 2018, I lost my father — but today, I believe I lost him again through my own choices. The land he left behind in Ikorodu was his pride. He spoke of it like it was treasure. “This land will be your shield in tough times,” he used to say. I never imagined I’d one day sell that very shield to escape Nigeria. Eyes Of Lagos reports,
At the time, I was 27 — unemployed, frustrated, and drowning in rejection. Every job application ended in silence or offers that insulted my qualifications. My mum was running a small shop, my younger siblings looked to me for hope, and all I could offer was disappointment.
Everywhere I looked, people were leaving. Japa fever had gripped Nigeria — Canada, the UK, Germany… former classmates were posting snow selfies and graduation pictures. Meanwhile, I was surviving on gala and Indomie, scrolling job boards endlessly.
That’s when the idea came: sell the land. The one still in my late father’s name. No one in the family was monitoring it. I told my mum I needed it for a “business plan.” I even forged a fake loan rejection letter to back up my story. Eventually, I sold the land for ₦7.8 million.
Out of that, I paid an agent ₦2.5 million to process my Canadian study visa. The rest went into proof of funds, flight, clothes, laptop, and getting “packaged” for a new life abroad.
I cried tears of relief the day my visa was approved. I thought my breakthrough had come. But I quickly learned: Canada is not the dream Instagram promised.
A Cold Reality in a Foreign Land
I landed in Ontario in January. The cold hit like a punch. My school turned out to be a small, unheard-of college tucked away in a forgotten corner of town. I shared a cramped basement with five other Nigerians. Finding work was hard — my study permit limited how many hours I could legally work, and all I found was a graveyard cleaning job from 11 p.m. to 4 a.m.
Some nights, I walked home in the snow because I couldn’t afford bus fare. I longed for my mum’s food. I missed her calls. I missed the very Nigeria I once swore to leave at all costs.
Then came the agent’s call: “Your balance is due.” That’s when reality truly hit. My funds were finished. I was broke. I was alone. I was stuck in a place I no longer romanticized.
Regret That Won’t Let Me Sleep
Now, I think about that land every single day. The same land my father cleared himself. The one he’d walk through with his hands behind his back, proudly saying, “This is for my children.”
And I sold it… for a dream that became a debt.
I want to come home. I want to breathe Nigerian air again. But how do I face my mother and siblings? How do I admit that I traded their inheritance for what feels like a failed escape?
I left to chase a better life. Today, all I want is the one I left behind.
A Cautionary Tale for Anyone Planning to Japa
This is not a post to shame those chasing opportunities abroad. Many Nigerians have built beautiful lives outside the country. But not every story ends in success — and not every japa route is paved with gold.
Before you sell that property, borrow heavily, or deceive your family for a visa, count the cost. Research the reality, not just the highlights. Plan for the worst, not just the best-case scenario.
And if you’re already abroad and struggling, know this: you’re not alone. Many are quietly carrying the same weight.
Final Thoughts
Not every land is greener on the other side. Sometimes, the soil we abandon holds the roots of our future. My father left me a legacy. I traded it for a passport stamp.
Now, more than anything, I just want to go back… and start again.