In this session with FunTimes Magazine, Matthew talks about the realities of immigrant life in the UK, and what he wishes Nigerians understood about survival and starting over.
There’s a moment familiar to every Nigerian. You’re stuck in traffic, scrolling through your phone, and then you see the WhatsApp status of one of your friends who “japaed”.
When Itunu left Nigeria for her master’s degree in the UK, she imagined a smooth transition, school, part‑time work, and a fresh start. Instead, she found herself battling depression, debt, and the harsh reality of starting over in a new country. This is her story.
Chinyere Luke’s relocation journey started with a scroll on Facebook, and then a short post – “Nigerian teachers are moving to Japan to teach,” which piqued her curiosity. In 2024, she packed her bags and bade farewell to the place she had called home all her life.
Henrrietta Chima, a Public Health Professional and the Founder & Global Institutional Strategist for Women Advance, poured everything into a business in Nigeria, her savings, her time, her assets, and watched the system swallow it whole. That was the moment she discovered that the problem wasn’t her hustle; it was the ground she was building on. In 2025, she found new ground, very far away in Canada.
This week, FunTimes spoke with a Nigerian man who moved to the UK in January 2025 as an international student. Chuks’s experience has been eye-opening and humbling. Here’s what he wishes he knew before relocating.
For Harrison, who relocated to the UK, the 2023 election result was what finally moved this thought to reality. What started as a carefully planned escape from Nigeria’s uncertain future has turned into a race against time, visa rules, and a system that keeps changing the rules.
In an exclusive conversation with FunTimes Magazine, Juliet Ezinne Onah, who left Nigeria in 2024 and currently resides in Germany, opens up about the moment that changed everything, what it really feels like to start over in a foreign land, and why, even after all of it, she still believes there is no place like home.
For many in the diaspora, home isn’t just a place on a map. It is a persistent ache; the longing for your people and your culture. Years of longing turn into plans for a “japada” (a return to the motherland), the soil that raised your parents.
When Tricia, 40, decided to pursue a Master’s degree, she thought it was going to be an easy ride. She soon realised that juggling school, taking care of kids with no nanny or help, and working was not for the faint-hearted. In
