By: Okwuasaba Flourish
A small fish asks a larger fish, “I want to go to the ocean.”
The bigger fish replies, “The ocean?”
”Yes, the ocean.”
“My dear, you’re in the ocean.”
You stand in the scorching heat outside the Shehu Shagari Complex in Abuja to secure a visa for your pursuit of education abroad. You’ve meticulously rehearsed your speech, your documents clutched firmly under your arm. Although there were some last-minute tweaks that morning, you committed them to memory.
Naturally, you’re not a fast learner. You never were. Back then, when your classmates effortlessly recited the definition of business studies, you were still grappling with the phrase “business studies is a five-in-one pre-vocational subject,” squinting your eyes over the textbook repeatedly for the next phrase.
However, this na japa things. It can’t be played with. You’re nervous, and your hands are sweaty, yet you recall the advice of Uncle Kanayo, who sponsors you from Tulsa.
“Don’t give them a reason to doubt you. Look them straight in the eye and with confidence, without unnecessary trembling. Let them know you love your country and be brief. No shalaye too much.”
So you whisper your lines.
“Omooba Jesunifemi Torikogbo.”
“Student.”
“Educational system is poor in Nigeria.”
“No plans to extend my stay.”
“I own a small startup in my home country, which I put on hold to pursue my education in the US. Upon completion of my studies, I intend to return and grow my business by applying the skills and knowledge I’ve acquired.”
As hours pass, you reflect on the lengths one must go to in order to leave Nigeria, driven by the deteriorating state of the country. This phenomenon, often termed “brain drain,” prompts a critical question that you ask yourself: Why do so many Nigerians seek success outside their homeland?
If you looked at the top 100 investment bankers in wall street today, you’d find a healthy percentage of them are Nigerians. The top brain surgeons in the world – Nigerians, top investment banking – Nigerians, top lawyers – Nigerians. How is it that Nigeria is struggling with issues we’re struggling with but some of the smartest people in the world are Nigerians. And then you look at where you’ll find those Nigerians and typically, they’re not in Nigeria. It means you’ve got this incredible base of talent whose skills, competence and abilities are being harvested by another economy and not their economy of birth.
Power to Truth (TV programme).
The Nigerians In Diaspora Commission (NIDCOM) has said that citizens living abroad have been adjudged to be the most intelligent and educated in the US and the UK.
We see the likes of Ngozi Okonjo Iweala, the seventh director general of the World Trade Organization (WTO), and Chimamanda Adichie, who was named on OOOM Magazine’s list of the World’s Most Inspiring People in 2019. We also have the likes of Oluwatobi Amusan, who made history by becoming Nigeria’s first-ever gold winner at the World Athletics Championships, British-Nigerian boxer Anthony Joshua, neuropathologist Dr Bennet Omalu, computer scientist Philip Emeagwali, and billionaire businessman Aliko Dangote.
Uncle Kanayo received a chance to start anew through a stroke of luck in the visa lottery. Remarkably, he even contributed to the development of the COVID-19 vaccine.
Among your acquaintances, there are neighbours, coursemates, secondary school classmates, church members, friends, and distant relatives who’ve sought a better life abroad, propelled by the means to do so.
Not long ago, you had a conversation with your aunt, who balances her life between Nigeria and the US. To your surprise, she suggested marriage to a stranger as a way of escaping from penury in this country. Her daughter, whose life is perfectly curated, is destined to continue her education abroad simply because she can.
If you can’t, you fall into the set of people who send messages to congratulate, to felicitate, to be happy for, to be glad to celebrate with. However, who remains to navigate the challenges at home?
Though you may not claim to have attended the finest schools, residing in the bustling brown-roofed city has stretched not only you but also your friends. You began your educational journey in a private primary school in Ibadan. You recall vividly how your headteacher attempted to persuade your father, then a lecturer and deputy provost at the State Cooperative College, to enrol you in the school’s college. Your father, valuing quality education, was adamant in sending you to a public school, oblivious to the grim state of the educational system.
Experience proved to be the finest teacher as you navigated your way in a public school. The same school Ngozi Okonjo-Iweala attended, albeit a more dilapidated version. You stood with your pink Barbie bag on wheels, shiny Bata shoes, perfectly white socks, and neatly ironed uniform, a stark contrast to your peers. The conditions need no elaborate description — inadequate facilities, makeshift seating, and rudimentary chalkboards. You have to bring your own furniture, and if it was a stool you had, that would do. You were exposed to the lives of students who, though guilty of no crime, simply lacked the opportunities most of us have.
After a year, you found your way to a more tolerable public school. From there to a private one where you were pushed beyond your own imagination.
Now, at the University of Benin, you find yourself challenging the system, not competing with anyone. We often fail to give ourselves credit for our resilience in a hard economy.
Given the opportunity to showcase our Nigerian excellence abroad, we’d undoubtedly be celebrated as some of the brightest and most talented Nigerians who have succeeded.
The lesson is clear: our environment shapes us.
The next question arises: How can we create an environment that nurtures talent and inspires it to flourish at home?
You’ve often wondered what Nigeria would be like without its persistent issues—fuel price hikes, depreciating currency, erratic power supply, substandard infrastructure, and lack of essential amenities.
You’ve also come up with the solutions. Ensure access to quality healthcare, mental health support, and well-being programs to enable individuals to flourish; implement policies that promote talent retention, fair competition, and economic stability; invest in accessible, high-quality education that equips individuals with relevant skills and knowledge; improve basic amenities like roads, electricity, healthcare, and sanitation to provide a conducive living environment and establish programmes, grants, and resources to encourage innovation.
You hold the belief that if Nigeria could provide its citizens with the same opportunities as the US, UK, Canada, or Britain, we wouldn’t be so different from them. It’s the subtle distinction between having and not having that defines our nation and its citizens. Many of us would rather cross that line into an unfamiliar land, endure potential discomfort, and be reminded of our blackness or our country’s unfortunate inability to provide what we seek. We’d rather bend, start over, and escape the suffering, the lack, the penury.
Just today, you purchased a sachet of pure water for 20 naira. You wonder if you will ever return to the days when it cost just 5 naira? As we seemingly progress with a congo of rice priced at 2000 naira and a dollar exchange rate of 1500 naira, where are we truly headed?
You might need to check again. The doctor who will prescribe malaria drugs will probably be in Toronto the next morning. Do our leaders even comprehend the path they’re leading us on?
Many Nigerians, yourself included, have reached the conclusion that our lives can only truly begin at the airport—one hand clutching our suitcase, the other gripping our visas.
As you wait in line, contemplating your journey, you realise that the issue of brain drain must be addressed, as it threatens to deplete the nation of its talented individuals. Nigeria’s potential for greatness lies not only in those who leave but in the collective effort to create a conducive environment for success at home. It’s time we envision a Nigeria where every citizen can thrive and no one is left behind.
So you tell the American ambassador’s representative when it’s your turn that you’re in the ocean. You will stay. You will fight. The lady’s face turns red, and you leave, with everyone looking at you in pity.
“Na village people,” you hear someone whisper, but you don’t stop.
You walk out of the complex and you take the next plane back to Ibadan.
Okwuasaba Flourish is a freelance writer and blogger. You can follow her on IG @flourishokwu and subscribe to her blog flowscorn.substack.com to read more of her articles.
