When Faith decided she wanted Canadian Permanent Residency (PR), she booked her English test and weeks after she had her Invitation to Apply.

In this story, she shares how she skipped the agents entirely, the exact strategy that got her PR in under four months, and the one thing sheā€™d tell anyone drowning in online migration advice.

Where do you currently live, and when did you first leave Nigeria?

Well, that’s a pretty layered question. I left Nigeria for Dubai in November 2020. I later moved to the UK in December 2022 for my master’s, and I got my Canadian permanent residency this year. I travelled to Canada on April 2. I’m currently splitting time between the UK and Canada, but Iā€™ll be moving to Canada for good pretty soon. 

Wow! That’s a lot. Before we get into Dubai, take me back to what life was like for you in Nigeria

Way before any of this, I wrote my General Certificate Exam (GCE) at 13. I think I was the youngest person I knew to write it at the time. I then finished secondary school at 14. 

I was too young to be admitted to a Nigerian university, so I completed a French-language diploma at the Nigerian French Language Village to buy time. But when I tried to get into a Nigerian university afterwards, I ran into the usual admissions frustrations; one school’s deadline closed the day I submitted, and another just mishandled my application without telling me what else I needed to do.

At that point, I decided I wasn’t going to wait around anymore. Looking back, I genuinely believe it was God at work. When He wants to push you somewhere, He just lets things happen the way they do, so you end up moving in that direction. 

My parents couldn’t afford to send me to school in the United Kingdom (UK) or the United States (US) for school, so I found out about universities in the Benin Republic through a friend, applied entirely on my own and didn’t tell my parents until I had gotten in. My mum funded it after they found out. 

I graduated at 18 and returned to Nigeria to serve in the National Youth Service Corps (NYSC).

Thatā€™s really interesting. So,  what were you doing before you left for Dubai?

After NYSC, I moved to Abuja to work as a restaurant manager. I specifically asked to be posted there instead of  Port Harcourt because I wanted to be somewhere I didn’t have too many ties, so I’d be forced to figure things out on my own.

That job ended up being huge for me. It’s where I did restaurant consulting, operations management, sales, and recipe compliance, and it’s honestly where my love for hospitality and food businesses really started.

After a while, I moved to Lagos and entered the oil and gas industry as a business development executive. I was earning well, living comfortably on the island, and meeting great people. But I got bored fairly quickly, which happens to me a lot. I loved my boss and the company, but I realised I was chasing someone else’s dream, not mine. My dream was to eventually own a chain of contemporary restaurants, and I wasn’t going to get there sitting in oil and gas.

So what took you to Dubai?

I applied for a hospitality master’s in Spain first and got a partial scholarship, but I realised the school was far from town and I wouldn’t be able to work while I studied. 

Around the same time, Dubai was preparing to host , and it was the biggest name in tourism. So I thought, why not go get hospitality experience there first, build some bragging rights, and then apply for my master’s after?

How did you actually get into Dubai? What was the visa process?

I applied for a visit visa. I found an immigration company online, and they handled my visa application. What I submitted was fairly straightforward: bank statements, proof of funds, passport details, and information about my job at the time.

I actually got the visa and bought my flight before COVID hit, so my trip was delayed. I flew out of Abuja to see my parents first, and that’s when the lockdown happened. I got stuck in Port Harcourt with just a handbag while all my luggage was still in Abuja. Dubai’s borders eventually reopened, and I landed in November 2020.

The visit visa was renewable, so you could just keep topping it up, no physical stamp needed except at the airport. The important thing was staying legal in the country. Once I found a job, the company would sponsor a full work visa.

What was life in Dubai like for you?

The first three months were tough, especially because I wasn’t working. 

I had to set a photo of Dubai’s skyscrapers as my phone’s screensaver, as a reminder every time I unlocked my phone that God’s promises for me were true and that I was going to make it happen.

I started selling Nigerian food to other immigrants I met around, going from shop to shop with a little trolley. Eventually, I landed a restaurant job doing customer service and online orders.

Wait! You actually turned down a work visa sponsorship?

Yes! The restaurant wanted to sponsor my visa, but that came with a two-year commitment to the company, and I just knew that wasn’t what I was meant to do. I kept telling myself, “God, this is not what you’ve brought me to do.” 

My friends thought I had gone mad. People were literally praying for the kind of opportunity I was turning down. But I stuck to my decision. Not long after, a friend connected me to a high-end sales role selling skincare with gold and diamond infusions, plus non-surgical facelifts. That job changed everything. I was earning up to 15 times what I made at the restaurant job.

Love that for you. So how did the UK come into the picture?

At some point, I wanted more immigration stability, so I looked into Canada. That’s when I found out (WES) no longer evaluates degrees from most schools in Benin Republic, and my first degree was from a school there. Instead of fighting that, I decided to do a master’s in the UK, since a fresh, recognised qualification would help me build a stronger case for Canada afterwards.

I made the decision, applied three days later, got admitted three days after, and paid my full fees within a week. I entered the UK in December 2022, and my course started in January 2023.

What was life like while you were studying?

I worked part-time in education as a teaching assistant in a special-needs school and as a support worker in healthcare. That healthcare experience ended up mattering a lot later; it contributed to my Express Entry eligibility. 

I was very intentional about never applying for a job with a Certificate of Sponsorship (CoS), even when people around me were chasing those roles, because I didn’t want to start conditioning myself to stay in the UK long-term.

Nice, now let’s get into the Canada process. Walk me through it.

In August 2025, I was in church, and my pastor was preaching about not procrastinating on the things you’ve set your mind to do. That same day, I booked my International English Language Testing System (IELTS) exam, exactly one month before the test date, and I hadn’t studied a single day yet. 

Between a full-time job, running my own business, and recovering from surgery two months prior, I didn’t start proper studying until about two weeks before the exam and didn’t get serious until three or four days before.

Oh wow! Did that affect your results eventually?

I got a perfect score. I sat for the exam on September 28, and the next day at church, I asked God to change that score if it wasn’t what I needed; some people would call it delusion; I call it faith. 

When my results came in the next day, I screamed in the Uber I was in. I maxed out every section. The moment my score came in, my Comprehensive Ranking System (CRS) score shot up. I entered the Express Entry pool the very next day, September 30, created my profile with all my experience, and got my Invitation to Apply exactly (ITA) two weeks later, on October 15.

What documents and timeline did the PR application involve?

I submitted my application 19 days after getting my ITA, on November 3, and they confirmed receipt within an hour. I did my medicals as part of the process. One thing that mattered a lot was my letter of explanation; I ended up writing about 16 pages, explaining everything clearly, including explaining my proof of funds.

My money was spread across a few different accounts, including some newer banks so I moved everything into my HSBC account and included proof of that transfer to show the funds were genuinely mine. You don’t need six consecutive months of savings sitting untouched,you just need to show the funds are legitimately available to you.

It took exactly four months to get from submission to approval. I got my PR confirmation, sent in my passport, and got it back with my PR stamped in about a week. I landed in Canada on April 2.

What did the whole process actually cost you?

From start to finish ā€” IELTS, Express Entry, the application itself ā€” I spent under Ā£1,800 total for the entire process. I know people who’ve been charged Ā£3,000 by agents for the same process.

You’re clearly not a fan of agents.

Not at all, specifically for this process. I did everything myself ā€” no agent, ever, for Canada. It took a lot of research, filtering out wrong information, outdated advice, and other people’s bad experiences. I now run to help people build their own Express Entry profiles, plus an IELTS strategy ebook and boot camp classes with mock tests. 

There isn’t a one-size-fits-all pathway; some people qualify through the Canadian Experience Class, some through a Provincial Nominee Program, and others because they have family in a specific province. It really depends on your individual profile.

The two biggest factors for PR success are a high CRS score and working in an in-demand job category. Your CRS score comes down to age, academic credentials, and your language test results, which is why I stress the IELTS so much. I didn’t need French for my application; my score was already high enough from my healthcare experience and academic background.

What’s life actually been like so far, between the UK and Canada?

The UK was a big culture shock after Dubai. In Dubai, everything was delivered to your door; I once asked a friend in Sheffield to have a painkiller delivered to me, and he looked at me like I was mad. In the UK, I had to get used to paying council tax, doing things myself, and a much colder social culture generally. I was low for the first four to six months after moving.

Canada, so far, feels like the closest thing to Dubai I’ve experienced ā€” modern buildings, condos with pools and gyms, and a genuinely warmer culture. When I arrived at the airport, a stranger helped me lift my suitcase onto the train without me asking. Someone even walked me to my platform. That kind of thing just doesn’t happen in the UK, in my experience.

What’s your favourite thing about Canada?

How multicultural and warm it feels. People seem genuinely happier; restaurant staff, strangers on the street, everyone. When I joined a Toronto neighbourhood Facebook group, over a hundred people responded with tips on where to live, whether I had a car, walkability, all of it. It doesn’t feel like survival mode the way it does in the UK.

On a scale of one to ten, how would you rate life in the UK and life in Canada?

UK ā€” I’d say four out of ten, and I’ll be honest that I’m biased. I’ve tasted a more disposable-income, higher-quality lifestyle in Dubai, so the UK will always feel like survival mode to me by comparison. People here eat and sleep so they can work, instead of working so they can live.

Canada ā€” six or seven out of ten so far, based on visits rather than living there long-term. It feels multicultural, less toxic, and people are far more willing to help each other out.

Any advice for someone considering this exact route?

You can do whatever you set your mind to; that’s actually a tattoo I have. Don’t let other people’s negative experiences become your excuse before you’ve even tried.

The Canada PR process isn’t as complicated as people make it seem. Read, research, use the resources available to you, and only pay for guidance if you genuinely need pointers, not because you’re too scared to try.

Any mistakes you’d tell people to avoid?

Worrying too much during the waiting period. I paused parts of my own life while waiting for my application to come back, and it left me overwhelmed, almost depressed. What eventually got me through it was telling myself that everything was in Godā€™s hands. 

I submitted a clean application, checked everything, and there was nothing left to do but trust the process. Once I actually settled into that and moved on with my life, I got my PR two days later.

This has been such a good conversation. Anything you want to add?

Just that everyone’s timeline and pathway is different. Don’t compare your process to anyone else’s. Focus on your own situation and what’s actually available to you.

Want to share your japa story? Please reach out to me here.

°Õ³ó±šĢżĀ is returning on August 22, 2026, in Lagos! Come learn from finance experts and industry leaders, and partake in unfiltered conversations about building wealth and diversifying your income stream in a country like Nigeria.Ā Real stories, expert advice you can actually use, and a community ready to build wealth together.Ā .

Tinubu responded with disagreement and a face, Onaiyekan later said, clearly wasn’t pleased. That single meeting has since spiralled into a between the presidency and other religious leaders.

Besties forever

If there was ever such a thing as a groupie award, someone should hand it over to Tinubu’s aides, because he can trust that they’ll always be there to defend him. 

After the cardinal’s interview, they issued statements of their own, refuting the cardinal’s comments and justifying the Tinubu administration’s reforms.

Temitope Ajayi, the special adviser to the president on media and publicity, the cardinalā€™s comments an “abuse of clerical privilege,” saying it was wrong for him to publicly give his account of the closed-door meeting with the President.  

Daniel Bwala, the Special Adviser to the President on Media and Policy Communications, politics had clouded the Cardinal’s judgment, alleging that he had openly supported the former Labour Party (LP) presidential candidate, Peter Obi, during the 2023 general elections.

Sunday Dare, the Special Adviser to the President on Media and Public Communications, put out a full titled saying that Onaiyekan acted in bad faith when he publicly discussed what happened during the meeting between President Tinubu and the Catholic Bishopsā€™ Conference of Nigeria.

A Catholic priest, Reverend Father John Chinenye Oluoma, popularly known as Fada Oluoma, to the comments from Tinubu’s media team, saying they were acting like attack dogs, responding to criticism with insults rather than answers or solutions.

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Right, but at what cost?

Here’s where the story stops being about who hurt whose feelings. That same weekend, at least 52 people, including children, in an overnight raid on Kasuwar Daji village in Zamfara state,  after first overrunning a military base and seizing weapons from it. A coordinated raid on a community and the soldiers meant to protect it, and the Presidency was busy drafting statements about clerical privilege. 

That’s the reality the aides spent their weekend denying. It’s also the reality behind the growing numbers of insecurity and inflation in the country. About a million people are in the Northwest by banditry, food inflation has been climbing since April as insecurity chokes supply routes, and 34.7 million Nigerians are to face food insecurity by this year’s lean season.

Donā€™t you listen?

At this point, if a pothole criticised Tinubu’s road policy, someone in Aso Rock would accuse it of siding with the opposition. This government has one move for anyone who points out a problem: question their motives, never the problem.

In 2024, when the Nigeria Labour Congress (NLC) over unimplemented wage agreements, Tinubu the union of playing politics with the country’s hardship and told them to wait for 2027 if they wanted a say. The NLC wasn’t after his job. It just wanted the government to honour an already signed deal. 

Months earlier, when thousands of young Nigerians to protest hunger and hardship, the President that his government wouldn’t “stand idly by and allow a few with a clear political agenda to tear this nation apart.” 

A government that treats criticism as betrayal will keep getting the criticism wrong, and Nigerians will keep paying for that miscalculation in rising insecurity occurrences and increased food prices.

You don’t need a media aide’s permission to say what you’re living through. Say it anyway, to your ward, your local rep, on your social media.

°Õ³ó±šĢżĀ is returning on August 22, 2026, in Lagos! Come learn from finance experts and industry leaders, and partake in unfiltered conversations about building wealth and diversifying your income stream in a country like Nigeria.Ā Real stories, expert advice you can actually use, and a community ready to build wealth together.Ā .

In June 2026, a bus ride in Lagos turned into a kidnapping incident. He was beaten, robbed, and used as bait to extort ā‚¦500,000 from his family, while the police station where the incident was reported stood by and did nothing.

This is Albert’s story, as told to Orame.

I left Calabar for Lagos on June 5, 2026. I needed to attend a friend’s birthday and reconnect with old classmates. I also wanted to try my hand at content creation and job hunting.

While in Lagos, I stayed with my friend on the mainland, and he pushed me to learn the roads myself rather than hide inside Ubers like every other newcomer.

One rainy evening, around 5:30 PM, I mistakenly dropped off at the wrong place. I had gone to the Island and was trying to head back to the mainland. I took a train from Mile 2 to Oshodi, but I had miscalculated. I tried calling my friend, but his line wasn’t going through.

It was all so confusing, for me and the rain at the same time. I asked a market woman for directions, and she calmly pointed me to a spot where I could board a bus to my destination. A younger guy stood next to me, and we both boarded together.

When I stepped inside, there were about six other men scattered across the seats, along with an elderly woman in the front.  Seeing that woman gave me a sense of safety. The bus wasn’t full, but I didn’t think much of it.

I sat down, put on my AirPods, and focused on my phone, editing a video and finishing a job application.

A few minutes later, the woman got off. Soon after, the driver pulled over near a secluded area with bushes and unfinished buildings. He stepped out, claiming he was going to buy fuel. That was the last time I ever saw him.

With the driver gone, one of the men sitting in front of me turned around and faced me.  “Guy, make I see that your phone,” he said.

I paused my music, confused. He repeated himself and reached out to grab it. I pulled my phone back and asked why he was trying to take it. I tried to slide the phone into my pocket to end the argument, but he stood up and snatched it right out of my hand.  

I started complaining loudly to the other passengers in the bus. “Guy, see as this guy take my phone! Why would he do that?”

Nobody moved. Nobody said a word.

That silence told me everything. The whole bus was a setup.

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One of the men told me to calm down. Another man slapped me across the face and said there were two ways this could go: I could keep quiet and cooperate, or they would beat me to death and nobody would come to save me. 

They grabbed the younger boy who boarded with me, took his phone too, and ordered us both off the bus and into an unfinished building. They slung their arms over our shoulders the whole way, so from a distance we looked like a group of friends.

Once we were inside the building, they set the younger boy on the bare floor and sat me on a chair, then forced me to open my phone. Whenever they needed access to a banking app, they simply held the screen up to my face to trigger the Face ID, and it would open.  

I had money spread across four active bank accounts, UBA, OPay, Sterling Bank, and a savings app. They transferred all my funds from the other accounts into my UBA account. 

When they opened my WhatsApp, they saw my best friend’s foreign number and called him. They were Igbo, but they intentionally spoke with a Hausa-Fulani accent over the phone because they knew exactly which accent triggers Nigerian insecurity paranoia.

Every time they dialled a contact, three to four of them would beat me, forcing me to cry out and scream for help into the phone. When you are being hit like that, fear completely takes over.

They told my friend they had already killed two people, and that Iā€™d be the next if he didnā€™t send  ā‚¦5 million for my release. They did the same thing to the other boy, beating him as they called his family. 

Listening to them role-play ā€˜commanderā€™ on the phone, I realised these people weren’t insurgents and would most likely not kill me. They were just greedy men trying to make quick money.

They wanted my parents’ number. I lied and said my father wasn’t in my life, scared that if he heard ā‚¦5 million, he’d send it immediately. They called my mother instead. She used to work in a bank, and I’m sure her instincts kicked in. She told my friend to tell them ā‚¦500,000 was all the family had, and they took it.

They made my family transfer the ā‚¦500,000 to my UBA account. Once the money landed, they demanded an extra ā‚¦100,000, claiming it was for my transportation back home.

One of them took my phone, walked to a nearby POS stand, and withdrew all the money. By the time he returned, he had a side bag stuffed with cash. After that, they spent nearly 30 minutes waiting for Apple’s security delay to sign me out of my iCloud account. Once the phone was wiped clean, they walked us back to the junction, handed me about ā‚¦1,000 for bus fare, and let us go. The original bus was long gone.

While all this was happening, my friend back on the mainland was frantically trying to save me. He had gone directly to the police station closest to his house to report the situation. The officers had him sit down and write a statement. And that was essentially where their involvement ended.

They did not attempt to track my phone, monitor the bank transfers, negotiate with the captors, or send a team to search the area. They showed zero interest in taking action. It wasn’t until a mutual acquaintance pulled strings to call a high-ranking person at the station that the officers paid any extra attentionā€”and even then, they didn’t leave the building.

When I finally made it back to my friendā€™s place late that night, I was in deep shock. I tried to laugh it off at first, but the weight of the trauma hit me hard the next morning when I woke up without my phone, my money, or my sense of safety.

I decided never to return to the police station to follow up. They were useless when my life was on the line, so going back would have been a waste of time and a reopening of fresh wounds.

A week later, sitting alone in my room, I turned on my camera and recorded a video sharing my story on TikTok.

I posted it because my online community was worried after I went silent for days. I posted it to warn others about the exact methods these thieves use, and, most importantly, to highlight the reality of living in Nigeria today: we do not have a government or a police force that protects us. You are entirely on your own.

The responses to my video were mixed. Hundreds of people flooded the comment section with their own dates and stories of being robbed or kidnapped in broad daylight. But others left comments mocking me for crying on camera, telling me  I shouldn’t show emotion because Iā€™m ā€œa man.ā€

That toxic mindset is something I refuse to accept. Going through a life-or-death situation is terrifying, and suppressing trauma only destroys men from the inside. Talking openly about it helped me heal.

Right now, I’ve taken a break from regular content creation to rebuild and restrategise. I’ve moved back to Calabar, and Iā€™m preparing to start my master’s degree at the State University. I’m also planning to launch a podcast, a safe, anonymous space where NYSC corps members can share their workplace struggles without fear.

Nigeria may have failed to protect me that night, but I refuse to let that experience define my future. I am rebuilding my life, one step at a time.

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On July 20, 2026, an X user shared a announcing the closure of a private school in Lagos State, and this quickly went viral.

In the letter, the 30-year-old school in the state’s Ojodu area announced it was closing permanently due to the high cost of running a school amid the country’s economic hardship. 

We opened this letter hoping to see school fees but we got this letter instead.

This is so painful!!! A school that has been operating for over 30 years ooo!

— Misola in the Cloud (@Iam_Misola)

Nigerians have since taken to the post to express their frustrations with the hardship in the country.

This tragedy, like many things that happen in Nigeria, is not the only instance of the economyā€™s negative impact on Nigerians; itā€™s the one weā€™ve all heard about.

It is a direct result of Tinubuā€™s genius reforms, and educators saw it coming from miles away.

Back in 2024, Ajibade Bakare, proprietor of Ajibay Academy in Ayobo, Lagos, that the economic meltdown had multiplied his running costs by 100%. He warned that private schools would keep ā€œclosing shopā€ unless the government stepped in. He said:

ā€œWe are forcing ourselves to keep our heads above the water because we are more or less runĀ­ning charitable organisations in order not to send home our stuĀ­dents. We are running at a lossā€¦ā€

Two years later, the closure of the Ojodu school proved him right.

Itā€™s all about the Naira 

The recent school closure isn’t happening in a vacuum; itā€™s another result of Tinubu’s “temporary pain” reforms. 

According to the National Bureau of StatisticsNigeria’s inflation rate rose to 15.93% in May 2026, up from 15.69% in April. Food, transport, and restaurant costs were listed as the biggest drivers.

Those happen to be among the everyday costs of running a private school: keeping the lights on, getting people to and from school, and feeding students where boarding houses exist. 

A May 2026 Vanguard report found that in Lagos schools at the start of the third academic term. Parents were pulling their children out of school or delaying their resumption, simply because they couldn’t afford to send them back. 

While the government brags about the naira’s stabilisation on paper, school fees and the cost of school operations continue to climb. This is why a school that has survived three decades in Nigeria couldn’t survive this one.

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Bandits 1- Government 0

While economic hardship shuts schools from the inside, insecurity is shutting them from the outside. 

In May 2026, gunmen stormed a school in Oyo State and 39 pupils and seven teachers in a single raid.

Just six months earlier, on November 18, 2025, gunmen attacked a government school in Kebbi State, a vice principal and abducting 25 schoolgirls. 

Three days later, on November 21,  303 students and 12 teachers were taken from St. Mary’s Catholic School in Niger State. 

These are clearly not one-off attacks, and they arenā€™t slowing down either. If your child is about to start school, the choice isn’t simply public or private anymore. It’s which school can keep them safe? 

Between Tinubu’s and a hard place

Ordinarily, youā€™d expect that parents continue their childrenā€™s education in public schools, but those are nothing to write home about. To be fair, they havenā€™t been for a while now, but Mr Master Strategist hasnā€™t done anything to make public education a real alternative. 

In Nigeriaā€™s 2026 budget, education was just ā‚¦3.52 trillion, representing a measly 6.1% of the total spend of ā‚¦58.18 trillion.

That’s the same share as the previous year, despite the United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organisation (UNESCO) that 15 to 20% of national budgets go to education. The education ministry’s own was even crazier at ā‚¦2.4 trillion.

That underfunding contributes to Nigeria currently having over 18.3 million , the highest number in the world, and why the public schools that exist are overcrowded and understaffed. So families priced out of private education don’t land softly; they land in a system that Tinubu has spent three budget cycles failing to properly fund. 

So what now?

Nigerians shouldn’t have to choose between bandits and bankruptcy when it comes to their children’s education. The Tinubu administration needs to raise the federal education budget to at least meet the UNESCO benchmark. 

Nigeria’s classrooms are emptying out from both ends, and silence isn’t going to refill them.

°Õ³ó±šĢżĀ is returning on August 22, 2026, in Lagos! Come learn from finance experts and industry leaders, and partake in unfiltered conversations about building wealth and diversifying your income stream in a country like Nigeria.Ā Real stories, expert advice you can actually use, and a community ready to build wealth together.Ā .

The flyer, which contained sexual harassment counselling tips for women, advised them to, among other ridiculous things, avoid shaking hands ā€œanyhowā€ with men, avoid frequent gifts from men, and ā€œlearn to say no.ā€

Sure, we know that Nigeria is the land of anyhowness, and that we canā€™t be shocked anymore, but this is just bizarre. That itā€™s coming from a higher institution is batshit crazy.

Anyone and everyone knows that victim-blaming is the biggest weapon in a sexual abuserā€™s playbook. They know that society, being so unfair to women, would always find a way to blame them for their own abuse, so they bank on it.

Victim-blaming is so dangerously effective that even a dead victim of sexual abuse is not exempt. In many cases, people go as far as questioning the deceased victimā€™s reputation to justify the assault.

In 2020, Vera Uwaila Omozuwa, a 22-year-old student of the University of Benin (UNIBEN), was raped, severely beaten, and subsequently died from it.

While many Nigerians called for her killers to be brought to justice, some tried to blame her by asking what she was doing in the church alone. They also suggested there might have been more to the story.

The universityā€™s management wasnā€™t any better. In a statement released by the school, UNIBENā€™s then-Vice Chancellor, Lilian Salami, condemned the attack and students to be mindful of the company they keep and the places they visit.

If you live in a glass houseā€¦

Itā€™s one thing to reinforce victim-blaming as a university, and another to do so as UNILAG.

The Lagos State Government is currently prosecuting 53-year-old UNILAG lecturer, Samuel Obinna Ojogbo, on a two-count charge of rape and sexual assault of a 20-year-old student of the school.

At an April 2026 hearing, the studentthe incident happened in Ojogboā€™s office at the universityā€™s Akoka campus.

In September 2023, another UNILAG lecturer, Kadiri Akeem Babalola, was for raping another 20-year-old female student in his office.

In 2015, a part-time lecturer of the university, Afeez Baruwa, was in Kirikiri prison for the alleged rape of an 18-year-old student.

In the BBC sex-for-grades documentary in 2019, a UNILAG lecturer, Boniface Ighenghu, was taped sexually soliciting an undercover journalist as a 17-year-old girl admission seeker.

From sex-for-grades to rape, the University of Lagos has had more than its fair share of sexual harassment scandals, so more than anything, that roll-up flyer should not be seen miles away from the school.

UNILAG has to do better

In response to the public outrage sparked by its flyer, UNILAG released a on Monday, July 27, saying it does not support the messages it bore and had therefore withdrawn the flyer.Ā 

Yes, statements are good, but the damage might already have been done. It is one thing to release a statement with all the right words, but itā€™s another to try to convince a female student currently undergoing sexual harassment that the school can get her justice.

Itā€™s easy for the school to say the flyer does not represent its values, but itā€™d be harder to convince its students and the general public that none of the officials at its Student Affairs Division believes the messages on the flyer.

Nigeria has to do better

UNILAGā€™s sexual harassment advisory is everything that we shouldnā€™t be doing, yet it represents exactly how we as a society handle sexual harassment.

When a minor or adult is raped, her family, instead of seeking justice, conceals it or makes her marry her rapist so as not to ā€œbring disgrace to the family.ā€ And if it is reported to the Police, they are sometimes asked to settle it amicably.

From a young age, women are told to sit properly so as not to tempt a man, go out in the company of others so as not to be attacked, and say no when approached.

Knowing that these might not save them, women have still abided by them. Yet, when an abuser harms them, they are endlessly questioned. And when they are killed by their abuser, people wonder about their virginity before they can feel sorry for them.

Not that it needs to be said, but sexual harassment in all its forms has never been about what the victim was wearing, doing, or saying. Incident after incident has shown us that itā€™s always been about the victim. 

From Baridapsi Needem, who was for raping his 14-year-old daughter, to Chika Adionye, sentenced to for raping two children, aged 7 and 8 years old, the evidence is clear for all to see.

Nigerian authorities issue statements every other day, vowing to root out Sexual and Gender Based Violence (SGBV), but nothing ever happens. In 2020, the governors of Nigeriaā€™s 36 states a national emergency over rape and GBV, but six years in, it has remained an emergency.

In 2025, activists sounded the alarm and .  Just recently, in June 2026, the chief statistician at the Federal Ministry of Women Affairs, Sunday Agbabiaka, revealed that reported cases of GBV have increased over the past four years, reaching as many as 29,000 in 2023.

The deaths related to these incidents have also seen a sharp increase, moving from about 520 cases in 2020 to over 1,300 in 2023, with only 4 per cent of perpetrators convicted.

Agbabiaka said the conviction rate is so low due to factors such as lengthy investigations, weak law enforcement, fear of stigma, and witnesses unwilling to testify.

We are not experts, but we can draw a straight line from the last two reasons to victim-blaming and the stigma it attracts.

Until the attitude of society changes, GBV numbers will continue to climb, and if our higher institutions, which should lead the movement, still promote backwards beliefs, where does that lead us?

The day before his death, the 25-year-old model and University of Jos graduate had attended a social event on campus. Because it was too late to return to his home in the Rayfield area of the State, he passed the night at his friendā€™s place in Ring Road. 

When it was the next morning that an iPhone had allegedly gone missing, Ibrahimā€™s friends swore he stole it, then beat him to death.

In a video that has since gone viral on social media, his attackers could be seen beating him with whips and heavy wooden planks as he lay on the ground, begging for his life.

The Plateau State Police Command, which has arrested three suspects in connection with the beating, say that Ibrahim was declared dead on arrival when he was brought to Jos University Teaching Hospital (JUTH) that day.

And so, just like that, Ibrahimā€™s story came to an end, not by natureā€™s doing, but by people who took the law into their own hands. Ibrahimā€™s life had barely started; a look at the 25-year-oldā€™s Instagram shows he dreamt of a successful fashion career. But he will never experience it, not because he didnā€™t work towards it, but because his life was snuffed out over an allegation.

How many more people have to die?

Ibrahimā€™s story is deeply painful. It is the story of hundreds of people in Nigeria. It is a story that has been told far too often, of men, women, and even children; a story of mindless killing in the name of jungle justice.

In October 2012, four young men in the Aluu area of Rivers Stateā€” Chiadika Biringa, Ugonna Obuzor, Lloyd Toku and Tekena Elkanah ā€” were of theft, given a mock trial, stripped naked, marched around the Aluu community, beaten, and set ablaze. Like Ibrahim, they had their lives ahead of them. They were aged 18-20.

In March 2025, 16 Fulani hunters travelling back to Kano State were stopped at Uromi, Edo State,. A  mob, which found hunting weapons with them, had concluded they were among the bandits terrorising the country. Because of the profiling done by that mindless mob, 16 people travelling to celebrate Eid with their loved ones never made it back home.

In June 2026, a mob of over 100 people in the Maraban Jos area of Kaduna State accused a woman of child theft and took her life. The mob, without looking into the allegation, went to the Police Station where the woman had been taken, overpowered the police personnel there, then lynched and burned their victim.

In May 2022, Deborah Samuel Yakubu,  a student of Shehu Shagari College of Education, was accused of blasphemy, then severely beaten and set on fire by her fellow students.

Sometimes it takes the shape of profiling, and other times, the shape of tribal and religious intolerance, but in every case, it is clear as day that Nigeria has a jungle justice problem, begging to be resolved. The question is, why isnā€™t it?

As of 2024, Amnesty International said it had 363 cases of mob violence resulting in the deaths of at least 555 people between January 2012 and August 2023. The number could be more.

Amnesty International said that the incidents resulted from an ā€œupsurge of blasphemy killings fueled by alleged incitement from clerics, Allegations of corruption and policing failures perpetuating violence.

The victims, according to the organisation, were either burnt alive, tortured to death, or buried alive.

The government has to do more

Amnesty International has accused the Nigerian government of not doing enough to stop mob violence, and weā€™re inclined to agree. The governmentā€™s failure to protect citizens and prosecute instigators and perpetrators of this practice encourages people to replicate it. 

Jungle justice is a crime, and it must be treated as such. When religious leaders instigate mob violence, they must be prosecuted and jailed, and when numerous members of a community engage in it, law enforcement agencies must thoroughly investigate it until it finds the culprits.

We must also do more as a people; be the dissenting voice when someone is instigating violence, be the person who calls the police, and even when these efforts fail, be the person who helps the police identify the perpetrators.

Human life is sacred, and we owe it to ourselves to treat it as such.

Michael traded freelancing in Nigeria for a Product Designer role at an AI company in Paris, landing an EU Talent Passport with no degree, no French test, and no proof of funds. Here’s how he made it work.

Where do you currently live, and when did you leave Nigeria?

I currently live in Paris. I left Nigeria in August 2025, so it’s been almost a year now.

What did life look like for you in Nigeria?

I actually dropped out of university in my final year. I was studying computer science, and around the 300 level, I took an interest in design and started learning it. 

By my final year, I had a back-and-forth with a lecturer over a course I had been stuck retaking.  In addition to the disruptions caused by the Academic Staff Union of Universities (ASUU) strikes,  I was already looking at an extra year before I could graduate.

That was the tipping point for me. I was mentally done. I told my dad I couldn’t keep going, and while he was worried at first, he came around once he saw I already had a stable income from my design work.

I was mostly freelancing remotely for companies. I worked for a Kenyan startup remotely for about three years, from around 2021 to 2024. It was pretty successful, to be honest. I have about 84,000 to 86,000 , so I used that audience to keep work coming in. I didn’t have a month where something wasnā€™t going on. If I had too many jobs, I’d outsource the extra to other designer friends.

When did you first get the idea to leave Nigeria?

I always knew Iā€™d leave at some point, but it wasnā€™t a pressing need for me. That changed around the time when the current government came in. 

I was comfortable. My mentality was  ā€œI’ll do my best here, but I won’t work myself to death in a broken environment, so any real opportunity to leave, I’ll take it.ā€ Interestingly, around 2018 or 2019, I actually had an offer to move to Finland, but I did the math on taxes and got scared about the language barrier, so I turned it down.

Was Paris ever in the plan?

Not at all. Paris was never on my mind. I knew I didn’t want the United Kingdom (UK) because the constant changes to immigration policy put me off. My actual plan was to start in an African country first, maybe Kenya, before moving anywhere else. I didn’t want to leave Africa so quickly.

So how did you end up in Paris?

I got an offer from a United States (US) company.  I did a trial period with them, and the pay was very good. But around the same time, an AI company in Paris reached out to me on X about a Product Designer role. I had always wanted to work at an AI company, so I stalled the US offer to go through the interview process. 

I went through their process, got the role, and the US company eventually pulled their offer after I  stalled them too long. That was fine ā€” they still paid me for the weeks I had worked. 

Oh wow, interesting. What did the visa process look like?

The company’s immigration team handled about 90% of it. All I had to do was go to the Visa Facilitation Services (VFS) office in Lagos for biometrics and submit my documents. It’s a European Union (EU) Talent Passport, similar to the UK’s Global Talent visa, except it’s tied to your employer; you need a company to sponsor you.

Wish someone would just explain whatā€™s going on in Nigeria?
Thatā€™s exactly what The Big Daily Newsletter does. We break down Nigeriaā€™s biggest stories, explain what they mean, and why they matter, all in one quick read.

Did you need a language test or proof of funds?

I didnt need any of that. Normally, if you move to France on your own with a regular work visa, you need an A1 level in French, and the permit might only be valid for a year, but with the EU Talent Passport, there’s no French requirement, and it’s valid for four years from your first application.

You mentioned earlier that you didn’t finish your degree. Did that affect the visa requirements?

The visa needs either five years of experience or a relevant degree. I already had 7 to 8 years of experience by the time I applied. 

I asked the immigration team if that was still feasible, and they said yes, as long as I could provide evidence that I had been working for that period. I had to provide old paychecks and contracts. I had all of that ready, so I sent it over, and that was accepted.

What did the company actually cover, and what came out of your own pocket?

Honestly, I think I was an outlier here. Everything I had to pay for myself, like the flight and all, was reimbursed. The company had a loft I stayed in for about a month, then I moved to an Airbnb until I found my own apartment, and all of that was also refunded. The only thing I  paid out of pocket the whole time was food.

Any advice on what to negotiate when taking a job abroad?

Start from whatever the company is offering, but check that your standard of living won’t drop once you account for tax. I used that as my benchmark; if my standard of living would be worse in the new country, I wasn’t taking it. 

France has some of the highest taxes in the world, but for me, it’s a functioning system, so it didn’t bother me. I’ll also say that being single at the time made this a lot simpler. If you have a partner or kids, you’ve got a lot more to factor in.

What was your first week in Paris like?

It was rough, in a funny way. My basic French and Duolingo lessons could not save me at all. 

On the first day, I tried to order Nigerian food on Uber Eats, and it was about ā‚¬30. I did the conversion to naira in my head and screamed. Another time, I tried to book a ride to work and kept asking drivers in French if they spoke English; three cancelled on me immediately. I eventually just stopped asking and used basic French to get through interactions. 

My first week was a good mix of excitement and being scared, because this was going to be my life from now on.

Is the language still a barrier for you now?

Not really. I’m not yet fluent, but I can navigate a lot of daily life in French. My biggest tip for anyone in the same position is don’t overthink it. I spent my first few days too scared to walk into the supermarket, imagining I wouldn’t be able to explain what I wanted, but when I finally went in, the interaction was extremely simple. 

If you’re stuck, use Google Translate; it wonā€™t cost you anything. I took an audio language course for a while and had a private tutor for the first two to three months, though I eventually stopped the sessions because they started to feel like a chore.

Okay, what’s the cost of living like?

Paris is a completely different market from the rest of France; it’s expensive. The city is divided into 20 districts, and your cost of living depends heavily on which one you’re in. 

For rent: a comfortable, decent-sized solo apartment runs from about ā‚¬1,400 to ā‚¬2,000 a month. Something smaller might be around ā‚¬900. If you’re sharing with others, it can go as low as ā‚¬600. 

Food isn’t too bad, partly because my company gives me a monthly food allowance and a transport allowance. They also cover 50ā€“60% of my biking costs since I cycle to work instead of taking transit. Aside from rent, my extra monthly spending ā€” groceries, random things for the apartmentā€” is maybe ā‚¬150 to ā‚¬200. Rent is easily where most of my money goes.

Youā€™ve been there for almost a year. What do you miss most about Nigeria?

Mostly the food and my friends. I cook a lot here and have found someone who can deliver Nigerian food, but it doesn’t taste the same.

Nobody tells you that the hardest part of leaving is the small things. Back home in Nigeria. Iā€™d end my day with a call with my guys.  And now the call ends, and I’m just alone in my apartment. I miss my friends and family a lot. That said, if all of them were here with me in the EU, I might not think twice about staying for good.

What happens in the long term if you ever lose your job? Would you have to leave France?

France has some of the strongest labour protections in the world, so it’s genuinely hard to get fired without serious cause. That said, the EU Talent Passport is tied to your employer ā€” so if I ever did lose this job, I’d need to find a new company willing to sponsor me, or change my visa status, within a few months. 

I’ve also been intentional about building a personal brand, so even in a worst case, I think I’d be okay within a few weeks or months. 

Going back to Nigeria no longer feels feasible to me. I used to run 24 solar panels with battery backup, Starlink, and a generator just to have consistent power and good internet, and I don’t want to go back to managing all of that. My plan is to build something solid in Paris first before I think about moving anywhere else.

What’s your favourite thing about living in Paris?

Surprisingly, itā€™s cycling. I hadn’t cycled in years before I moved here, and Paris has really good bike lanes, so I cycle to and from work daily. The architecture is beautiful and makes the whole experience worthwhile. 

I had read online that people in Paris are rude, but I’ve found the opposite; everyone I’ve interacted with has been helpful. I once fell off my bike, and a stranger rushed over to help me.

 Thereā€™s also a basic sense of safety here; I can walk past police without my heart racing, which isn’t something I could say living in Nigeria.

And what’s something you don’t like about it?

Some parts of the metro have a really unpleasant smell, not all of them, but enough places that itā€™s concerning. Honestly, I think that’s just a big-city thing; cities like Lagos and New York all have this smell issue, unfortunately.

How have you built community there?

Honestly, it’s been the hardest part. I went to an event for a group called Nigerians in Paris, and it felt lonely; everyone there already knew each other, and I went alone. I haven’t been back since.

What’s worked better for me is taking my time and letting it come to me easily. Thereā€™s a guy I met on X before moving here, who introduced me to the guy who now cuts my hair. Thereā€™s a friend who also moved to France on a scholarship, whom I meet up with occasionally, someone I met through (a mentorship platform for designers), and a colleague whom I hang out with regularly. I also joined a WhatsApp group for internationals living here, which has been more socially active than the Nigerian one.

I had an experience with someone I met on TikTok who turned manipulative. I noticed a pattern where she seemed to want to be my only source of community here. Knowing I was new and didn’t have many friends yet,  she behaved however she wanted and expected me to put up with it, but I blocked her. My advice from that is to build slowly and prioritise quality over quantity.

Looking back, what’s one mistake you made, or something you’d tell people to do differently?

The biggest one ā€” I spent a full month in Paris before I started actually looking for an apartment. I assumed it would work the way it does in Nigeria, where an agent finds you something. 

n France, apartment hunting is more like applying for a job; you submit documents and wait to hear back. Start that search as early as possible, ideally from Nigeria if you can.

One more thing for anyone moving here single: don’t rush into a relationship. Give yourself at least a year to figure out your finances and habits before dating ā€” especially in a city like Paris, where every luxury brand you can think of is just a walk down the street.

Anything else you want people to know?

Yeah, don’t be scared to ask questions and do your own research. Many people relocating want to hand everything over to an agent and hope for the best, but those who do their own research tend to land better deals. Use AI or search TikTok and Reddit; someone has already documented exactly what you’re trying to figure out.

On a scale of one to ten, how would you rate life in Paris right now?

Iā€™d rate it a 7.5. It would be a ten if I got my French to a B1 or B2 level; there are a lot of experiences I hold myself back from right now because of the language.

Want to share your japa story? Please reach out to

°Õ³ó±šĢżĀ is returning on August 22, 2026, in Lagos! Come learn from finance experts and industry leaders, and partake in unfiltered conversations about building wealth and diversifying your income stream in a country like Nigeria.Ā Real stories, expert advice you can actually use, and a community ready to build wealth together.Ā .

For Nigerians earning ā‚¦100,000 or less every month, surviving is about finding creative ways to stretch every naira. We asked Nigerians earning ā‚¦100,000 or less how they’re making it work. Here’s what they told us.

1. “My children think I work night shifts.” – Bose*, 29, F

I’m raising two children on my own. Their father hasn’t been in the picture for years, and there were days I genuinely didn’t know where our next meal would come from.

I used to sell okrika clothes and made around ā‚¦30,000 in a good month, but it simply wasn’t enough to feed my children and keep them in school.

Eventually, I started doing sex work because it was the only thing that paid enough.

My children think I work night shifts, and I hope they never find out the truth. Every decision I make is about making sure they have food to eat and can stay in school. As long as I can give them that, I’ll keep doing whatever it takes.

2. “I walk to work so I can afford food.” – Jumoke, 24, Supermarket Worker (ā‚¦55,000/month)* 

After the fuel subsidy removal, I stopped paying for transport every morning. Instead, I walk about 40 minutes to work. I leave home before the sun comes out, so it’s easier.

I only take a bus home if I’m too tired to walk back. It saves me a few thousand naira every month, and that money usually goes toward food or unexpected expenses.

It’s not easy, but I’d rather spend that money on feeding myself than on transport.

3. “Living with my aunt is helping me save.” – Jolomi, 25, Pharmacy Assistant (ā‚¦65,000/month)

I earn ā‚¦65,000 every month, but I still live with my aunt, even though my office is over an hour away.

I spend about ā‚¦20,000 on transport every month, but staying with her means I don’t have to worry about rent or cooking every day. If I lived alone, my salary wouldn’t last at all.

I’ve been trying to save little by little, but at this rate, moving out isn’t happening anytime soon.

Wish someone would just explain whatā€™s going on in Nigeria?
Thatā€™s exactly what The Big Daily Newsletter does. We break down Nigeriaā€™s biggest stories, explain what they mean, and why they matter, all in one quick read.

4. “The shop owners let us buy food on credit.” – Tunji, 37, Painter (Around ā‚¦50,000/month)

I’m a painter, so my income depends on whether I get jobs. Some months are good, but most aren’t. There are weeks when my phone doesn’t ring at all.

My wife braids hair, but business has been slow for her, too.

The only reason we’ve been able to get by is that the shop owners in our area know us. They let us collect food on credit and tell us to pay whenever I get my next painting job. I honestly don’t know how we’d feed our children if they didn’t trust us like that.

5. “My church helps me when things get really difficult.” – Ngozi, 32, Hotel Cleaner (ā‚¦25,000/month)

I’m a single mother, and I work as a hotel cleaner. I earn ā‚¦25,000 every month.

By the time I buy food, pay my child’s school fees and recharge my phone, there’s almost nothing left.

Thankfully, one woman from my church sometimes calls me to clean her house and pays me ā‚¦40,000. The church also shares foodstuffs from time to time.

Those moments make a huge difference because I’m not even thinking about saving anymore. I’m just trying to make sure my child and I make it through each month.

6. “My wife’s salary keeps us going.” – Peter, 37, Danfo Driver

In 2023, the company I worked for shut down, and I lost my job.

I spent about two years looking for another one without any luck before I started driving a danfo bus.

On a good day, I make between ā‚¦10,000 and ā‚¦15,000, but not every day is a good day. My wife recently got a job as a primary school teacher and earns ā‚¦50,000 every month. That salary has been a blessing. We combine our incomes to feed our family and meet the children’s needs.

There’s rarely anything left after that, but having two incomes is what keeps us afloat.

7. “Private lessons are what keep me afloat.” – Salome, 25, Private School Teacher (ā‚¦25,000/month)

I got my first teaching job after NYSC at a private school, and my starting salary was ā‚¦20,000. They didn’t always pay the full amount. Sometimes, I’d receive ā‚¦18,000.

I eventually negotiated it to ā‚¦25,000, but it still wasn’t enough. School closes around 3 p.m., but I don’t go home because I have private lessons until about 7 p.m.

Almost every teacher at my school does the same thing. The money from private lessons is what helps me survive because my salary alone can’t.

°Õ³ó±šĢżĀ is returning on August 22, 2026, in Lagos! Come learn from finance experts and industry leaders, and partake in unfiltered conversations about building wealth and diversifying your income stream in a country like Nigeria.Ā Real stories, expert advice you can actually use, and a community ready to build wealth together.Ā .

Nigeria has developed a strange talent for treating investigations as a fancy thing rather than a red flag. Politicians accused of diverting billions, forging credentials, or hoarding wealth don’t disappear from the public eye; instead, they resurface on ballots and campaign posters, asking for your vote like nothing is happening.

The most recent example is the former Attorney-General of the Federation (AGF) Abubakar Malami, who is running for governor of under the African Democratic Congress (ADC).

On July 15, 2026, a Federal High Court in Abuja ordered the permanent forfeiture of 48 properties linked to him, valued at about ā‚¦213.2 billion. The forfeiture is part of an ongoing Economic and Financial Crimes Commission (EFCC) investigation into Malami’s assets, tied to a 16-count money-laundering charge the commission filed against him, his wife, and his son, all of whom have pleaded not guilty.

Everyone who has heard this news has rightly expressed shock at the sheer number of properties owned by Malami and has urged the EFCC to be thorough with the investigation. We totally agree, but hereā€™s a question that’s been bugging us ever since: Why is he still running for office?

Of course, the investigation doesnā€™t automatically mean heā€™s guilty, but the question was never really about guilt. It’s about why a person whose character is being scrutinised by the EFCC is asking for a public role. 

The scary thing is, Malami isn’t an isolated case; he’s just the most recent name in a much longer pattern.

Former Delta State governor Ifeanyi Okowa is under investigation by the Economic and Financial Crimes Commission (EFCC) over the alleged diversion of about ā‚¦1.3 trillion from the 13 per cent derivation funds allocated to the state between 2015 and 2023. He is also the(APC)  Delta North for 2027.  

Former Kogi governor Yahaya Bello is standing trial for laundering about ā‚¦80.2 billion allegedly diverted from the stateā€™s funds, as well as a separate ā‚¦110.4 billion fraud and criminal breach of trust case.  Pick your jaws from the floor, because he just won the APC’s for Kogi Central and will be contesting in 2027. 

Oh, and thereā€™s former Minister of Innovation, Science and Technology, Uche Nnaji, who went viral in 2025 after a Premium Times investigation found that he had forged his university and National Youth Service Corps (NYSC) certificates.

He is currently to become the next governor of Enugu State, and has been cleared by a faction of the PDP, even though he is under active investigation by Nigeria’s Independent Corrupt Practices and Other Related Offences Commission (ICPC) for the same issue. 

At this point, itā€™s safe to say that in Nigeria, “under investigation” is a signal to politicians to run for office.

In Malamiā€™s name, there are many mansions

Malami’s is the only one of the four in which a judge has actually issued a ruling. Justice Joyce Abdulmalik found that the assets were reasonably suspected to be proceeds of unlawful activities and not acquired from legitimate sources of income, leading to his forfeiture of everything from a foundation building to an ā‚¦11.2 billion, 131-room hotel. 

The Big Daily is your weekday shortcut to the biggest news shaping Nigeria. We cut through the noise, connect the dots, and explain why the news actually matters, all in one quick read.

ā‚¦1.3 trillion is a lot to misplace

Okowa’s number is so large that we had thought it was a typo, but apparently itā€™s not.  

His camp says the investigation and insists the funds were accounted for. We donā€™t dispute this, but at this time, itā€™s just his word against the EFCCā€™s, and thatā€™s simply not enough for a person hoping to be a Senator, making our laws.

In April 2025, he to the APC, and little has been heard about the investigation, but the EFCC says the regardless of which party he belongs to. Somehow, none of this stopped Delta North APC delegates from handing him their senatorial ticket.

Two trials, one ticket

Bello’s situation might be the most jarring of them all; In addition to his ongoing EFCC trials, people couldnā€™t quite decide whether he was truly cleared for the primaries.

He somehow emerged with 72,399 votes to defeat his nearest rival’s 319.

The EFCC keeps reminding everyone that Bello is, which is true, but also not the point. Nobody’s asking Bello to be convicted; we’re asking why an active fraud trial isn’t enough to put his character in question.

Show me your particulars

Nnaji’s story doesn’t involve a single naira ā€” just a degree that, as far as anyone can tell, only existed in his imagination. 

Shortly after Uche Nnaji’s ministerial screening in August 2023, a tipped off Premium Times about suspected discrepancies in his school and National Youth Service Corps (NYSC) certificates. Two years later, the newspaper published an investigation indicting Nnaji, and he responded to the growing scrutiny the way innocent people definitely do: by trying to y from releasing his own records. That didn’t work.

The University of Nigeria, Nsukka (UNN) disowned the certificate he had presented, which was apparently forged, and three days later, Nnaji resigned. The ICPC eventually caught up to him, arresting and arraigning him for forgery. Naturally, none of this is stopping his second attempt at the Enugu governorship, this time on a borrowed PDP ticket. 

Gaslighting 101

None of these men is legally barred from running for office because Nigerian law only candidates after a criminal conviction, not during an investigation or a forfeiture, and the parties know this. 

This means the burden of vetting has been quietly outsourced to you, the voter, standing in front of a polling unit. 

What next? 

The National Assembly has to close the conviction-only loophole in the Electoral Act so that pending trials over public funds actually affect eligibility. Follow the money yourself. Right, the only people keeping score are EFCC prosecutors, and their case files move a lot slower than election season does.

Most importantly, we have to be a nation and society in which people with questionable character do not dare to hold public office.

°Õ³ó±šĢżĀ is returning on August 22, 2026, in Lagos! Come learn from finance experts and industry leaders, and partake in unfiltered conversations about building wealth and diversifying your income stream in a country like Nigeria.Ā Real stories, expert advice you can actually use, and a community ready to build wealth together.Ā .

Even though Dickson (27) grew up in Germany, he had been trying to leave because nothing about the country felt like home. In this story, he talks about growing up Nigerian in Germany, the crushing racism he experienced, and his move to the UK.

Where do you live currently, and when did you leave Nigeria?

I live in London, United Kingdom (UK). I am fully Nigerian, but I was born in Germany. I left in 2021 to come to the UK.

Have you visited Nigeria before?

Yes, I have. I actually just returned after my grandmaā€™s funeral. This recent visit was my fourth time in Nigeria.

How were the visits?

They have generally been really good, but the one that has stuck out the most through the years was my first visit. I was only a child, and it was also the first time I ever travelled anywhere. Itā€™s still fresh in my memory; It was with my mum, and we went out a couple of times to eat authentic Nigerian food.

My mum is a good cook, and Iā€™ve always eaten authentic Nigerian food. I cook as well, but eating in Nigeria was just different.

Nigeria is a lively and loud (but in a warm way) place, and my visits have generally been so nice.

Thatā€™s beautiful. Letā€™s talk about Germany; why did you leave?

Germany has never been nice to me. It simply wasnā€™t the place for me, and I knew this even as a child. I was only eight years old when I first wanted to leave, but I obviously couldnā€™t leave because of my mum.

I always wanted to live in the same country as my other relatives in the UK and the US. The UK was the quickest way to leave because itā€™s a European country and right next to Germany.

Do you mind sharing the reasons you didnā€™t enjoy Germany?

The racism in Germany was overwhelming. Everything was extra hard because I looked different. They donā€™t treat you nicely, they donā€™t care to listen, and they make no attempt to make life easier for you, even a little bit.

At school, they treat you like shit. I apologise for my language, but thatā€™s how it was for me. Iā€™ve spoken about this on my TikTok multiple times, especially the school systems.

The Big Daily is your weekday shortcut to the biggest news shaping Nigeria. We cut through the noise, connect the dots, and explain why the news actually matters, all in one quick read.

Whatā€™s that about?

In Germany, primary school education runs from years 1 to 4, and secondary schools are divided into categories: secondary schools for the smart, semi-smart, and then one for slower or more difficult children.

After the fourth year of primary school, teachers are required to recommend the secondary school their students should attend. I was the only black kid in my class of 30, and I was the only one my teacher recommended for the last category because she said I was dumb. 

Having no say over it, I went to the school she sent me to, but I was switched to the school for semi-smart students because my grades were far too good for the one I was in. 

Thatā€™s really bad. Iā€™m sorry you had to experience that.

Thank you. Thatā€™s just one of the ways they make things difficult for you. My parents didnā€™t have it easy either. Because they couldnā€™t speak German, I explained all government letters to them and often went with them to government offices for the same purpose. I saw a lot of things, and let me tell you, they werenā€™t nice things.

That must have sucked. Were there any positive sides to your time in Germany?

Thatā€™s a good question, but I unfortunately couldnā€™t answer it properly even if I tried. I feel this question would be much more suited for someone who has fully lived there as an adult. I canā€™t tell you anything good right away because I spent my childhood, teenage years, and early adult life there. Sure, I had some fun whenever I attended festivals with my friends and cousins, but thatā€™s pretty much it.

London is far better. There are many things to do here, and more opportunities.Ā 

What was the weather and food in Germany like?

I lived in western Germany, where it always rains. Apart from the one month in summer, when we had nice weather, it was always almost grey.

I canā€™t really say much about the food because I grew up in a fully Nigerian home and my mum always, always made Nigerian food. Itā€™s actually most recently that she started attempting to make European dishes.

So, what do you do now in the UK?

Iā€™m currently at the University, working two jobs. One of them is as an au pair, a live-in nanny.

What made you get into being an au pair?

I not only like working with children, but itā€™s more like a gift from God. It just comes naturally to me. Iā€™ve been taking care of kids since I was a kid myself. I was only ten when I had to watch my younger cousins, so itā€™s always been easy.

Being an au pair was also one of the easiest ways to leave Germany, so it just worked.

Nice. So, what are your plans after university?

Iā€™m currently studying Computer Science. I would love to get into tech once Iā€™m done.

Youā€™ve been in the UK for five years. Whatā€™s been your best experience so far?

Iā€™ve had so many great experiences, but my best moments are probably the time I travel with the children. We went to Paris two weeks ago, and it was really fun, not just because it was Paris, but because it was with the kids. Earlier, you asked me if being an au pair is fulfilling; it is. Iā€™ve wanted to do this since I was a teenager, but couldnā€™t because of my mum.

Thatā€™s lovely. What have been the worst moments?

There was a period when I thought Iā€™d have to leave the UK and move back to Germany. Those were the absolute worst times Iā€™ve had here.

I was trying to get into school, and there was a lot of back-and-forth about my English proficiency. Because my parents couldnā€™t speak German, I grew up with English as my first language and picked up German in nursery school. So, obviously, I can speak English, but I had a hard time proving this to school authorities, seeing as my A-level certificate was in German. 

So there was a period of uncertainty over my stay in the UK, and it weighed heavily on me. Thankfully, it worked out, and I was admitted to the university.

How do you feel about the recent anti-immigrant sentiment in the UK, given the racism you experienced in Germany?

Racism is everywhere, but it matters what the system does to combat it, and thatā€™s exactly the difference between living in the UK and Germany. If you experience racism in Germany, youā€™re pretty much left on your own to deal with it. In the UK, however, you can actually sue someone for being racist. It was a shock to me.

Sure, it might not always work, but just knowing that the system put something in place is reassuring. 

So, have you experienced racism at all in the UK?

I have. But it hasnā€™t come directly from white people; itā€™s mostly been from other foreigners.

Once, when I had just moved here, I went to the corner shop to buy something, and the Pakistani guy who owned it kept following me around because he saw I was black and thought I was going to steal something.

I havenā€™t really been around white people enough to experience racism from them; itā€™s just been other minorities.

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Thatā€™s interesting. Itā€™s not something we always hear

I can see how that would be interesting, but I also experienced racism from minorities in Germany.

One clear example was when I wanted to move out of my mumā€™s house and was looking for an apartment. I was the only black person among all the people who had lined up to see a particular shared apartment. There were some Turkish guys and a bunch of white people, and then there was me.

After we had all seen the apartment and were filing out, I was stopped and told that it couldnā€™t work out. I was so hurt at being the only one who got that response that I asked them aloud if it was because of my skin colour. They just looked at each other.

So, would you say the UK has lived up to your expectations?

It definitely has. Iā€™m still introverted, but Iā€™m more outgoing than I ever was in Germany.

That sounds so nice. Were there any culture shocks that you experienced when you moved to the UK?

Not exactly. The only thing that I had to adjust to was the traffic. In Germany, itā€™s on the right, but here, itā€™s on the left.

Everything else is pretty much the same. It rains here just as much as it does in Germany, and I really havenā€™t experienced the British cuisine. Iā€™m a very Nigerian guy; I enjoy Nigerian food and cook everything myself.

Whatā€™s your favourite and least favourite thing about London?

I love how multicultural London is, and I love that thereā€™s always an option for anything you want to do. You will always find a function to go to.

My least favourite thing is the amount of planning and time that goes into moving from one end to the other.

Do you ever see yourself permanently moving to Nigeria in the future?

I love Nigeria, and I feel at ease anytime I visit. I would definitely want to move there someday, but only if the politics get better. Obviously, every country has its own version of problematic politics, but Nigeriaā€™s is just something else. I know Nigeria has the potential to be great, and I hope it happens soon.

On a scale of one to ten, how happy are you in the UK?

Itā€™s a solid eight out of ten. Iā€™m not rating it an eight because something is missing; I just believe things can be better, no matter where I am. I could always have more money, more time, and less stress.

Do you want to share your Abroad Life story? Please reach out to me . For new episodes of Abroad Life, check in every Friday at 12 PM (WAT).

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