An elderly Nigerian couple sitting alone at home, surrounded by photographs of their children abroad
Japa; “They said it is the best decision. And maybe it was. But no one told me that watching them leave would feel like mourning the living.”
Every time my phone rings, I pray it’s not another call from across the ocean reminding me how far my children are from me. Mrs Abigail Ojonu, a mother of two who lost her husband while the children were just aged 5 laments.
She continued; Like thousands of Nigerian parents, I stood by the departure gate of Murtala Muhammed International Airport, smiling bravely, waving goodbye as my children boarded flights to the UK and Germany, It’s what we raised them to do: chase opportunities, escape the frustration, build a life with dignity.
But no one talks about what happens after they leave. The silence that replaces their laughter. The empty chairs at the dinner table. The birthdays celebrated on Zoom. The hugs you can’t give.
Japa phenomenon
In Nigeria, the Japa phenomenon is often measured by remittances, visa grants, and international degrees. But in our homes, it is measured in silence, longing, and video calls that cut off mid-sentence. Our children chase the dream, and we are left clutching memories.
Aging in Loneliness, Parenting in Absence
It’s a strange thing to be proud and broken at the same time.
I beam when friends say, “You tried, Mama, your kids are all abroad.” But they don’t see me setting extra plates out of habit. They don’t hear my whispered prayers for safe flights, steady jobs, and eventual return.
Some of my friends are even less lucky. They haven’t seen their children in six, eight, even ten years. Grandchildren are born abroad and grow up never knowing the warm embrace of their Nigerian grandparents.
We’re aging in absence, parenting from a distance, surviving on voice notes and WhatsApp stickers.
A Crisis Beyond Economy
While policymakers debate the economic cost of brain drain, I want us to talk about the emotional cost, the cost no one budgets for.
Many elderly parents now rely solely on the money their children send from abroad. But money doesn’t cook soup with love. It doesn’t carry buckets of water to the bathroom when arthritis kicks in. It doesn’t walk with you to the clinic or sit beside you when the blood pressure machine beeps louder than it should.
We need to stop treating Japa like a solo victory. It’s a shared sacrifice, often deeply painful for the ones left behind.
Letters Unsent
If I could write a letter to my children, it would say:
“I am proud of you. You are doing what I never could. But don’t forget me in your becoming. I raised you not just to leave, but to love, to remember. Please come home when you can. Not just for weddings or funerals. Come home to eat soup from my hands. Come home so I can look in your eyes, not through a screen.”
Beyond Japa, Toward Connection
This is not an attack on Japa. It is a plea for balance, for compassion, and for connection. As a society, we must start building emotional support systems for families affected by migration.
Let’s make it normal to check on the parents left behind. To tell their stories. To remind the world that when young people migrate, they aren’t the only ones who leave, sometimes, their parents are emotionally exiled, too.
Let’s start the conversation. If you’re a parent with children abroad, or a Japa child yourself, what’s your story?
Share in the comments below.
About the Author
