In Nigeria, Japa has become more than a slang, it has become a means of survival and gradually, a quiet vote on the state of the country. From Students to Doctors, factory workers to families; the same question of should I stay back in the country, or emigrate, echoes.

For many Nigerians, the answer is not by lack of loyalty or courage, but by frustration.

For students, Japa often begins as a dream developed in tertiary institutions where strikes interrupt calendars, delaying graduation far beyond the intended years. They are told they are the future, but they watch helplessly as their future vapourizes for reasons beyond their power. When education becomes uncertain and opportunities become scarce, leaving comes to mind as self-preservation, instead of disloyalty.

Doctors and other professionals? Long hours, overstretched schedules, poor wage, inadequate equipment, and a system that demands work without adequate reward have pushed many to seek respect elsewhere. The decision to leave is rarely easy, as many do it with guilt and frustration against years of training sponsored by families and the hope of serving one’s country. But patriotism cannot replace fair pay, or career progression.

Workers across different sectors in Nigeria face similar reality. Increase in prices of essential amenities eat up salaries before the month ends. Transport costs rise, rent increases, and basic food items become luxuries, as stability is threatened by expenses that perpetually exceed income.

For parents, this is the hardest problem; they work diligently but struggle to provide what was once regarded as basic needs, including quality education, healthcare, and a sense of security for their children. When staying means watching your children’s dreams fall apart, leaving looks like an act of responsibility.

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For those who choose to remain, Japa is seen on social media updates from abroad, and felt in the openings left behind in offices, classrooms, and neighbourhoods. The nation is losing not just people, but experience and hope, and this loss is not happening in silence, it is obvious.

To dismiss Japa as cowardice is to ignore the deeper message it carries. A system that works cannot be abandoned; people only leave systems that constantly fail them. If we look at it this way, migration is not a betrayal of Nigeria, but a vote of no confidence in the country’s leadership and the social contract between the government and its citizens.

This vote of no confidence should worry leaders more than the criticism from political rivals. When citizens no longer believe that staying and contributing will improve their lives, the validity of governance is questioned. Nations are not built by only those who endure hardship, but by systems that reward effort, protect dignity, and motivate.

For those who have left, the story is not always one of immediate success, and for those who stay, endurance is not always rewarded. But the truth remains that people want to belong, to contribute, and to make it in Nigeria where they call home.

The way out is not to embarrass those who leave, or paint suffering as patriotism. It is to fix what is broken, which is to provide functional education, important social infrastructure and security, an employment system that values its professionals, and honest leadership. All these, not being privileges but necessities, make patriotism more enticing than any migration prospect.

If these issues are left unaddressed, Japa will remain a natural choice for many Nigerians and will continue unabated, not as an act of cowardice, but as an evidence that something is deeply wrong with our dear nation, which must be fixed.