MY-JAPA-STORY EPISODE 1

  

Japa, a term synonymous with the pursuit of opportunities abroad, has become more than a mere slogan; it has evolved into a cultural phenomenon, significantly impacting the workforce of the Nigerian space. Beyond a trending narrative, Japa captures the complex interplay of factors that prompt individuals to seek new horizons. As population studies reveal, migration is often fueled by either a compelling pull factor or a forceful push factor, each influencing the decision to relocate.

In Nigeria's context, Japa is shaped by a complex landscape where both push and pull elements come into play. Economic difficulties, political instability, insecurity, and limited job prospects create strong push factors that urge many Nigerians to explore opportunities outside their homeland. Simultaneously, attractive living standards improvements, educational possibilities, and promising futures act as powerful pull forces enticing individuals to venture beyond borders in pursuit of their dreams.

 

Over the next ten episodes, we will embark on an exploration of diverse strategies employed by people navigating through the Japa phenomenon. Through personal stories and analysis of wider societal trends surrounding this issue, we aim to shed light on motivations behind these journeys while uncovering challenges faced along with eventual triumphs and pains experienced by those compelled towards forging new paths beyond familiar Nigerian boundaries. The journey associated with Japa extends far beyond migration itself; rather it represents a captivating narrative unfolding against the backdrop of aspirations, dreams, and relentless pursuit of an improved quality of life…. But is the story always how it seems? Let’s ride along

                                                             Episode 1

It's fourteen months since we got married and as a new bride still enjoying my honeymoon, I couldn’t wait for my husband to get home. I had an appointment with the doctor earlier in the day and the result came out positive. I was waiting to share the good news with him. Kaduna wasn’t that far and that was going to be the third time this month that job was taking him on this daily road trip. As much as I wasn’t comfortable with it, it provided livelihood. The doctor was careful not to laugh before telling me congratulations madam…. You are pregnant. Segun will be very happy and what better an anniversary gift than the revelation that he was going to be a father? It was 7 pm and his number wasn’t still going through. I started to think something could be wrong, but I chose to stay positive. I checked my phone every thirty seconds to see if he had called and I wasn’t aware. I also checked at intervals to see if my message had been delivered on WhatsApp. By 8 pm I was very bothered and a bit of me was angry. How can you keep your phone off for over four hours I thought, I knew he had a power bank and car charger; thus, it was impossible for the phone to be off.

Finally, at 9.10 pm, relief and concern clashed as Segun's name flashed on my screen. My anger was evident as I answered, but my relief was short-lived as a stranger's voice pierced through the line.

 

Speaker: "Hello, is that Mrs. Adeboya?"

Ejiro: "Yes, this is Mrs. Adeboya. Please, where is my husband?"

The voice interrupted me abruptly.

Speaker: "Your husband has been kidnapped. Get us 70 million naira, or we will kill him. You have three days."

 

The line went dead, leaving me paralyzed with shock and fear, grappling with the harsh reality that our world had just shifted into a nightmare. The joy of impending parenthood evaporated, replaced by the desperate need to save the life of the man I loved. The clock was ticking, and the weight of the ransom demand pressed heavily on my shoulders. I picked up my phone and called Jude immediately.

 

Thirty minutes later I had a group of sympathizers in my house. With unending questions and plans to rescue him. His numbers were switched off immediately after the call. I calmly sat on the floor of the living room asking God multiple questions as prayers reigned supreme in my mind. Mr. Paul, our neighbor who works with DSS, contacted the divisional police station and demanded they come to the house. The DSS was informed also. The police asked all the questions in the world pertaining to who I was suspecting could have done this. Did he just receive a huge amount of money? Is he in a fight with anyone? Has anyone threatened him lately? Do I think he is having an extramarital affair? All these questions were confusing as all the answers seemed to not help. Officer John was very patient with me as he said, madam, we are trying to eliminate possible suspects. That’s the essence of all these questions.

Jude’s wife offered to sleep at our place as I was scared beyond reason. I couldn't call his parents that night as it was late, but I called mine.

The next morning the whole family was gathered in answers to these questions and by 2 pm the phone rang again with his number. Two DSS officers and Officer John were in the house. They told me to put the phone on speaker immediately after I picked it up.

Me: "Good afternoon, oga."

Speaker: "Where is our money, or do you want your husband to die?"

Me: I pleaded with them to reduce the amount, explaining the impossibility of raising such funds.

Speaker: "How much do you have?"

The DSS advised me to state five million naira.

Me: "I have five million naira."

Speaker: "E be like say you dey play. Find fifty million; we go leave am."

Segun: "Babe, please tell Jude to help me raise the money. I'll pay everybody back."

 

A harsh slap followed Segun's plea, and the phone abruptly went silent. At that moment, the gravity of the situation hit me like a tidal wave. Segun was in real danger, and I, too, was thrust into a perilous mess. The tears flowed freely as I questioned God, grappling with the why of our sudden descent into this nightmare, all while bearing the weight of our unborn child's uncertain future.

On the fourth day, the weight of despair bore heavily on both our families as they took turns wailing, a haunting chorus of grief. My body became a mere shadow of its former self, mirroring the toll this ordeal had taken. The ransom had been reduced to twenty-five million. All I had was three million, Segun had over 6 million in his account, but I had no access to it. His parents brought five million. My parents brought four million. His dad put his car up for sale as I was looking for a buyer for my car also. At the end of day 4 we were able to raise 16.5 million naira. We waited for their call, but it didn’t come. And without a word from them, the day went by. Nobody slept in the house. It was a crusade of prayers and tears. The only son of the Adeboyas in the hands of kidnappers. Day 5 was a Sunday and our pastor had stopped by to sympathize also. He was around when the call came in and Mr. Paul chose to talk as Segun’s friend. He concluded the negotiation with them, and they said we should make it 18 million. The church paid the balance for us and on the sixth day, Segun was released, battered and broken, left on the Kubwa expressway for us to retrieve. Two broken fingers, a cut on his skull, and the brutal imprints of his harrowing ordeal cut across his body told a story of unspeakable suffering. Days turned into nights at Kleina Hospital as he mended physically, but the scars on our hearts would take much longer to heal.

 

Three days after his hospital discharge, we embarked on a journey far from the haunting echoes of that traumatic episode. A resolute decision was made – never to live in Nigeria again. As we boarded the plane to the UK, the scars of our collective nightmare accompanied us, a constant reminder of the fragility of life and the unyielding strength of love that had pulled us from the brink of despair.  

MY-JAPA-STORY