Independence: Are Nigerians free? The japa question

By Haroon Aremu Abiodun

There was a time when Nigerians counted down to October 1 with pride. The green-white-green flag went up, the national anthem echoed, children dressed in national colours, and speeches celebrated freedom, sacrifice, unity and the promise of a great nation. On October 1, 1960, Nigeria became independent and sovereign after British colonial rule. The Union Jack came down and the Nigerian flag went up. A nation was told it had taken charge of its destiny. Sixty-six years later, the flag still flies. But one difficult question remains: how independent are we?
Not just Nigeria as a country, but the Nigerian himself. How independent is the Nigerian?
The question becomes more uncomfortable when we look beyond our borders. While some Nigerians struggle to build a life at home, another generation is packing its bags: one passport application, one visa interview, one admission letter, one job offer, one flight ticket. Then comes the familiar Nigerian word: japa. Leave. Escape. Start again. Find somewhere better, earn in dollars and build a new life.
There is nothing wrong with seeking opportunities abroad. Nigerians travel for education, safety, employment and better living conditions, while those in the diaspora contribute significantly to families and communities back home. But beneath the airport photographs and stories of “new beginnings” lies a question we rarely ask loudly enough: after leaving Nigeria, have we become more independent, or simply exchanged one set of struggles for another?
For many young Nigerians, japa is no longer merely a slang; it has become an aspiration. The dream is simple: leave Nigeria, find a functioning system, earn better money, enjoy security and build a future. For someone facing unemployment, insecurity, poor infrastructure or economic hardship, the attraction is understandable.
But what are we leaving behind, and what are we building here for those who remain? If the doctor leaves, who treats the patient? If the engineer leaves, who builds? If the teacher leaves, who educates? If the entrepreneur leaves, who creates?
Perhaps this is the uncomfortable paradox of the Nigerian migration story: we are running from the country we want to see succeed.
Yet migration does not automatically mean liberation. A new passport does not erase identity, culture or social boundaries. South Africa offered a painful reminder in 2026, when anti-immigrant attacks and protests raised concerns for Nigerians and other African nationals. Nigeria condemned the killing of two citizens and began voluntary evacuation efforts, while South African authorities disputed some Nigerian accounts and called for evidence and investigation. The episode showed that changing countries does not necessarily mean escaping vulnerability.
Migration is movement, not necessarily liberation. A change of country is not automatically a change of status. A person may acquire another passport and still feel like an outsider.
Perhaps that is why Independence Day should be more than flags, fireworks and social-media graphics. It should force us to look in the mirror.
Nigeria has problems: insecurity, unemployment, poor infrastructure, economic hardship, weak institutions, corruption and inadequate public services. But countries are made up of people. Leaders come from the people, just as civil servants, business owners, voters, professionals and communities are part of the national story.
So, are we simply waiting for the next president, governor, minister or generation to fix Nigeria?
Nation-building is also a citizen responsibility. Yet patriotism cannot be built by telling hungry people to be patient or unemployed graduates to sacrifice indefinitely. A country earns the loyalty of its citizens by giving them reasons to believe in its future.
In 1960, political independence meant freedom from colonial rule and the transfer of responsibility for governing Nigeria to Nigerians. But political sovereignty is not the same as individual freedom. A country can be sovereign while millions remain economically vulnerable. A nation can be independent while its citizens struggle for basic opportunities. And a Nigerian can possess another country’s passport while still feeling like a visitor. That is why the real Independence Day question may not be, “Are we independent?” It may be, “What have we done with our independence?”
For Nigerians abroad, home can eventually become memory: the roadside food, weddings, family gatherings, neighbourhood noise, traffic, power outages, frustration, laughter, chaos and resilience. It is the complicated place Nigerians complain about but somehow miss thousands of kilometres away.
That is why many abroad still send money home, invest, return for family events, follow Nigerian politics and celebrate Nigeria’s culture. Leaving Nigeria does not necessarily mean leaving Nigeria behind. Sometimes, Nigeria leaves with you.
Perhaps japa should not be the end of the story. The Nigerian abroad can contribute knowledge, investment, expertise, networks and ideas. The Nigerian at home can contribute labour, enterprise, civic participation and community leadership.
The question should not simply be, “Why did you japa?” It should be, “What are you doing with the opportunity you found?” And for those who stayed: “What are you doing with the country you still have?”
Nigeria’s first independence was from colonial rule. The next must be from poverty, insecurity, corruption, institutional weakness, ethnic suspicion, hopelessness and the belief that nothing can change. Leadership matters, but citizens, institutions, businesses, professionals, young people and the diaspora also have a role.
So, perhaps we should listen to the question beneath the celebration of October 1: if we are independent, why are so many of us desperate to leave? And if we leave, where exactly does our independence begin?
Nigerians should remain free to travel, but Nigeria must become a country people leave by choice, not desperation and return to without regret. Because perhaps the greatest sign of independence is not how many Nigerians can obtain foreign passports, but how many can look at their own country and confidently say: “I have the freedom to leave, but I also have a reason to stay.” Happy Independence day!

Haroon Aremu Abiodun (ANIPR) writes in from Abuja and can be reached at exponentumera@gmail.com