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Gaya

You thought dating in Nigeria was hard? Wait till you're trying to date in a country where nobody understands why you're laughing at "I didn't come to this country to suffer" memes. Where your idea of a romantic date is finding someone who knows what jollof rice is, and the dating pool is either other confused Nigerians who are just as broke and busy as you, or locals who think dating you is some kind of cultural exchange program. Don't even get us started on long-distance;You know, the relationship you swore would survive because "love conquers all"?&nbsp;

So we asked around. We talked to five people who japa-ed and are navigating the absolute chaos that is dating abroad, and their stories confirmed what we already suspected: japa might get you a better passport, but it won't get you a better love life.

Dee says “Nobody Is Here for Love, We're All Just Hustling”

First up is Dee, who moved from Nigeria to the UK, and she's not mincing words: "No one is ready for commitment. We all japa-ed for a reason, and love isn't part of it."

Everyone who japa-ed is working, and we don't mean a cute 9-to-5. We mean double shifts, night shifts, weekend shifts, overtime, side hustles, the kind of schedule that makes dating feel like a luxury you can't afford. You're not thinking about romance when you're trying to make rent in a currency that still feels fake.

The people you meet are all in the same boat. Everyone's tired. Everyone's broke. Everyone's focused on "the grind." So when someone says "let's hang out," what they really mean is "let's watch Netflix at my place because going out costs money I don't have."

Dee's seen it all. "Most men have families at home, and even the ones who came with family are still interested in cheating," she says. And the locals? "Some of them date Africans as a form of reparations."

We screamed when we read that. There's a whole subset of people abroad who think dating someone Black is their personal diversity initiative. Like they're doing charity work. It's giving "I can't be racist, my ex was African" energy. And it's exhausting.

Dee tried the dating apps. Big mistake. "Dating sites are porous and saturated with predators and obviously they didn't have someone like me in mind when they built them."

Dating apps were designed for people who have time, money, and the emotional bandwidth to "grab drinks" with strangers. Not for someone working 50-hour weeks just to survive. Not for someone who's homesick and exhausted and just wants to eat rice and stew with someone who understands why it matters, and when she tried dating people she knew from Nigeria, people she thought would get it, it still didn't work. "You'd think the universe was setting us up. Big fat lie. It's a mirage and winter won't really let you know until summer when they no longer needed a 'human duvet.'"

Winter relationships abroad are a real thing. You meet someone in November when it's cold and dark and miserable, and suddenly, cuddling on the couch feels like love. Then summer hits, the sun comes out, and suddenly they're "focusing on themselves" and "not ready for anything serious." Dee's conclusion? "At this point, everyone should face their hustle. Dating is not a real thing."

Nic Thinks Long-Distance Can Work If You're Both Really In It

Then there's Nic, who moved to Canada four months ago and is working long-distance and before you roll your eyes and say "just wait," hear her out.

Awwwn. Long-distance is actually so brutal. You can't hug them. You can't kiss them. You can't even have a proper argument because everything happens over text, and tone gets lost, and suddenly you're fighting about something that could've been solved in 30 seconds if you were in the same room. But Nic isn't giving up, and she's not naive about it either.

"It's not that hard. It just requires committed and loyal people who are willing to be transparent and communicate through everything."

Long-distance doesn't work for everyone, but it can work if both people are actually in it. If you're both committed. If you're both willing to do the work, the FaceTime calls, the voice notes, the "good morning" texts, even when you're exhausted, the honesty when things get hard. "Relationships are easy. People are just not ready," Nic says.

We're rooting for her because someone has to prove that Japa doesn't have to mean the end of love. Someone has to show that distance is just distance, and it doesn't have to be the dealbreaker. Nic is four months in and still fighting for it, and that's beautiful. We hope she makes it. We hope they both do.

Now let's talk about Khonos, who moved from Nigeria to the UK three years ago and he did what a lot of people do when they're about to japa: he ended his relationship.

"Ended it as soon as I got my CAS," he says. "On a different pretext, not that I was moving."

So he lied. We're not judging (okay, maybe a little), but we get it. Because how do you tell someone, "I'm leaving the country, and I don't think we can survive this, so I'm ending it now before it gets messy"? You don't. You make up an excuse and hope they don't figure it out.

That might be kinder than the alternative because long-distance when one person is abroad and the other isn't, can be a different beast. That's not "we're both in different cities but we'll see each other on weekends." That's "I'm building a whole new life in a different country and you're not part of it." The resentment builds. The person abroad feels guilty for leaving. The person back home feels abandoned, and nobody knows how to talk about it without it turning into a fight.

So yeah, Khonos ended it, and maybe that was the right call but now that he's in the UK, dating isn't any easier. "The hardest part of dating since I moved is the cultural difference between raised in Africa and raised in UK people," he says. "And the fact I'm surrounded by raised in UK people."

Diaspora Nigerians - the ones who were born and raised abroad are Nigerians but they're different. They didn't grow up with NEPA. They don't know what it's like to hustle for everything. They say "innit" and "wagwan" and you're standing there like "are we even from the same country?" It’s not their fault, but it creates a disconnect. You're looking for someone who understands your experience; the Nigeria you left, the hustle you're going through now, and they just... don't. So you end up in this weird middle ground. Too Nigerian for the locals. Too "fresh off the boat" for the diaspora kids, and the dating pool keeps getting smaller.

Khonos also said something that made us laugh: "Too many people want to marry, not enough people want to just explore the vibes and see where it goes. Let's mess around a bit, make a few mistakes like you would in NG. No need to get married, that's so serious."

The pressure to settle down when you japa is real. Suddenly, everyone's in a rush. Your parents are asking when you're getting married. Your friends back home are getting engaged. And you're thinking, "I just got here, can I breathe first?" But no. Everyone's treating dating like a job interview. "What are your intentions?" "Where do you see this going?" "Are you ready for marriage?" And you're like... I just wanted to get dinner, relax.

Tola Lowered Her Standards and Regretted It

Then there's Tola, who moved from Nigeria to the US two years ago, and she's learned the hard way that loneliness makes you do things you wouldn't normally do.

She left a serious relationship behind when she moved. Thought she'd be fine. Thought she'd focus on herself, build her career, and maybe meet someone organically. That's not what happened.

"I thought leaving Nigeria meant leaving the games. But Nigerian men abroad are worse. They think because we're all far from home, accountability doesn't exist."

She's not wrong because the Nigerian men abroad, some of them, are running wild. Multiple women, no commitment, the excuse is always the same: "I'm still trying to figure out my life." "I'm focused on my hustle." "I'm not ready for anything serious." But they're ready to waste your time. Ready to string you along. Ready to treat you like an option while they keep their "real" girlfriend back home or explore other situations on the side.

So Tola tried dating outside her community. Figured maybe American men would be different. Maybe they'd be more straightforward. Maybe they'd actually be looking for something real. But that came with its own problems. "I've had white guys tell me I'm 'not like other Black girls' like it's a compliment. I've had them ask to touch my hair on the first date. I'm tired."

The fetishization is real, and it's exhausting. You're not a person to them. You're an experience. A checkbox. Something exotic they can brag about to their friends, and there's still family pressure. "My mom keeps asking when I'm bringing someone home. But everyone here is either married, messy, or using me as their therapy session about how hard japa is."

So what did Tola do? She lowered her standards. Started dating someone she knew wasn't right for her. Someone who wasn't treating her the way she deserved. Because being with someone, even the wrong someone, felt better than being alone, and she regrets it.

"I wasted six months on someone I knew wasn't it. Just because I was lonely. Just because I wanted to feel like someone cared. That's the part about japa nobody talks about, how loneliness makes you settle."

According to Dami, You Can't Date Until You Have "Made It."

Dami moved from Nigeria to Canada five years ago, and for the first three years, he didn't date at all, not because he didn't want to but because he felt like he couldn't. "I couldn't date when I first moved. I was broke, working three jobs, sleeping four hours a night. What was I going to offer someone? Stress?"

This is the reality for a lot of men who japa. There's this pressure to "make it" first. To be financially stable. To have something to show for yourself before you even think about dating, because if you're still struggling, still working multiple jobs, still sending money home, still trying to figure out your immigration status, how do you bring someone into that? How do you ask someone to build with you when you're still trying to build yourself?

"I felt like I had nothing to offer," Dami says. "And I didn't want to be that guy who's just using someone for emotional support while I figure my life out." So he waited, focused on work, saved money, then got his papers sorted and built a life. When he finally felt ready to date, he ran into a different problem.

"Diaspora girls don't get it. They think Nigeria is like a vacation spot. They don't know what it means to have lived there, to have hustled there." The cultural gap is real. The girls who were born and raised in Canada -they are Nigerian in name, but they don't get the immigrant experience. They don't understand why you send money home every month, why you can't just "cut off" family members who are draining you, or why you work the way you work.

So Dami tried dating outside his community. Met a white Canadian girl, a sweet girl, they got along well. "I got tired of explaining why I send money home. Why family is different for us. Why I can't just 'set boundaries' with my mom." Because to her, it didn't make sense. Why was he sending money to his mom when she had a job? Why was he paying for his brother's school fees when his brother was an adult? Why was he always putting his family first?

He couldn't explain it in a way that made sense to someone who didn't grow up like he did. Who didn't understand the weight of being the one who "made it." The responsibility that comes with japa. So that relationship ended too.

Now, Dami's in a relationship with a Nigerian woman who moved to Canada around the same time he did. And it's working. Because she gets it. She understands the hustle. The pressure. The guilt. The responsibility. "It took me five years to find someone who actually understood what I've been through," he says. "And I'm grateful I waited."

Dee Tried Long-Distance and It Was a Disaster

Remember Dee? Yeah, she also tried long-distance. Spoiler alert: it didn't work.

"Talking about financial problems all the time as if moving abroad makes me feel like Elon Musk automatically. It's a fiasco. Lonely at top”

We laughed, but also... ouch. Because this is the other side of long-distance that nobody talks about. The person abroad becomes the ATM. The one who's "made it." The one who's supposed to send money, solve problems, and fix everything from 5,000 miles away, and the person back home? They're struggling. They need help, and they don't understand why you can't just "send small money" when you're abroad making "all that money."

Except you're not making "all that money." You're working multiple jobs to afford rent in a city where a one-bedroom costs more than your entire salary back home. You're barely surviving. But because you're abroad, everyone assumes you're rich. The relationship becomes transactional. Every conversation turns into "I need money for this" or "Can you help with that?" and you start to feel like a bank, not a partner.

Dee called it "Lonely at the Top." Even when you're "winning" by japa standards, you're still lonely. You're still struggling. You're just doing it in a different country with better Wi-Fi.

The Uncomfortable Truths We're Not Talking About

There's so much they didn't say. So much that's hard to put into words when you're living it. Like the identity crisis. Yes, you're Nigerian, but you're not in Nigeria anymore. You're changing, your accent is shifting, your tastes are changing, and you start to wonder: Who am I now? And what do I even want in a partner? Someone who reminds you of home? Or someone who fits into this new life you're building? The answer isn't clear because you're caught between two worlds. Too changed for the people back home, but also too Nigerian for the people abroad. Dating in that in-between space is exhausting.

There's also the loneliness that nobody warns you about. You don't even know if you want to get married right now. You're still figuring out who you are in this new country. You're still hustling. You're still surviving. But the loneliness doesn't care about your timeline. It just sits there. Heavy. Persistent. Unshakeable.

Some people make it work. They find love abroad. They build relationships that survive the distance, the cultural differences, the financial stress. They meet someone who gets them. Who understands the hustle. Who's willing to build together.

Maybe the love of your life is one double shift away. Or maybe they're back home waiting for you to figure your life out first. Or maybe they're in another city, going through the exact same thing you are, and one day your paths will cross, or maybe you'll be single for a while and that's fine too. Because you're building something and sometimes, you have to build yourself first before you can build with someone else.

Either way, you'll be fine. Just maybe download a dating app and set it up using <a href="https://aura.ng/life-and-love/dating-app-101-everything-you-need-to-know-before-your-first-swipe">our guide</a>. Or don't. Actually, don't. Those things are a scam. But if you do? Don't say we didn’t warn you.

Five people who relocated abroad share the brutal truth about dating after japa: the loneliness, the failed long-distance relationships, and why everyone's single and struggling.


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