How Moving to Australia Helped Angel Iyke-Osuji Discover Herself
There’s a time for everything.
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A time to sow. A time to reap. And a time to japa (Nigerian slang for ‘to migrate’). August 2019 was my ‘japa o’clock.’
One Monday morning in June 2019, everything changed. While others hustled and bustled to get into the crowded buses that would ferry them to work, I was at my computer, wrapped in a simmering ball of anxiety, refreshing my email every other minute.
“Hello, Angel,” the email started. My heart skipped for the hundredth time that morning before I saw the “Congratulations on your admission...”
My first thought was, “Thank you, Jesus!” It was quickly followed by an exhilarating, “Wow, this is really happening.”
Getting admitted to an MSc programme in Australia had been a long-held dream of mine. The desire to leave Nigeria started after I graduated from Covenant University in 2017. My discontent grew as I witnessed friends struggling to find fulfilling work and I felt increasingly limited by the country’s economic constraints.
Two years after my first degree, I was ready to start a new phase of my life and break free of my parents’ influence. Now, as I reflect on that Monday morning in June, I wonder why I’d been in such a rush to leave, especially since I had no idea what lay ahead on my immigration journey.
Act 1: Visa wahala
I had sixty days to get to Australia. According to the admission letter, classes resumed on July 22nd. Considering my acceptance letter came in June, I thought, ‘I probably have enough time to get my visa sorted.’
Oh, was I wrong.
As the days turned to weeks and slowly into a month, my visa was nowhere in sight. Suddenly, my excitement turned into panic. Then dread.
Let me tell you, nothing brings you closer to God like shege. That year, I attended my first Hallelujah challenge. While others prayed for this and that, my prayer point was simple: God, please let my visa come out before resumption.
All I did was eat, pray, worry.
It didn’t help that by the end of July, there was no progress.
It didn’t help that the school emailed me stating they would revoke my admission if I wasn’t physically present by the morning of August 12th.
It didn’t help that the Australian immigration office sent me an email on the 5th of August asking me to prove that I had enrolled in my classes since the resumption date had passed.
Thankfully, I was able to prove my enrollment. Then my visa arrived on August 8th —17 days after my resumption date and four days before the school’s deadline.
Before I could celebrate, I was already buying boxes to pack. I couldn’t pack to my satisfaction because I was on a deadline. Everyone’s priority was getting me out of Nigeria quickly.
Within a couple of days of getting my visa approval, I was on a one-way ticket out of Lagos, Nigeria, my home for over twenty years.
Act 2: The journey to the end of the world
The journey to Australia was chaotic for two reasons.
First, it was my first time traveling outside Nigeria alone, so I didn’t have the usual family support I was so used to. It’s amazing what we take for granted. Second, Australia is far. And by far, I mean it’s a three-day journey.
My flight first went to South Africa, where I had a 16-hour layover. During that stopover, I couldn’t sleep because I was constantly worried about missing my flight. And because the WiFi was terrible, I also had no way of contacting or updating my family about my journey.
On the next leg, the seats were cramped, and my ears were ringing. After another 16-hour flight, I was sick and tired of the trip.
When we landed in Australia, I looked forward to sleeping in a warm bed and settling in. Immediately after connecting my phone to the airport WiFi, I received a message from the school informing me that my pre-booked pickup services had been cancelled.
Here I was at midnight, in a new country, with my boxes and no way to contact anyone or find my way to my university.
Talk about a rude awakening.
Luckily, I had been chatting with the person beside me on the flight. He had asked about my journey to Australia, where I was staying, and why I was there. It’s funny because I mentioned my school was arranging a pickup service.
I guess he looked at me, saw how clueless I looked, and thought, "This girl looks stranded."
He offered to drop me off, and I couldn’t refuse, even though I was scared. As I entered the car, I kept thinking, “What if he kidnaps me?”
But there was no alternative, so I got into the car.
In retrospect, the car ride felt like a lifetime. I later learned it was only 20 minutes. Time slows down when you’re trying to take in a new city, engage in small talk, and pray to God that a stranger doesn’t kidnap you.
He was a kind man. After he took me to my apartment, he called the accommodation admin to let me in. I thanked him, entered my room, and met a cold bed. The room felt like a return to boarding school because it was so tiny. I connected to the hostel WiFi, spoke to my parents in Nigeria, and waited for daybreak.
It was 12th August, 2019.
Act 3: In the nick of time
On my first morning in Australia, the first message I received was from my university, stating they’d canceled my admission. I was like, “Ehn, when I’m already in the country.”
“Impossible.”
I showered, dressed, and started the journey to find my school. Remember, I was new, had no WiFi on my phone, and was dressed poorly for the weather. [August is winter in Australia]
Oh, boy. I kept asking for directions and still got lost twice. When I finally found the school, I ran to the student section to inform them about the email I received, sputtering, “I’m here, I’m here.”
I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.
Thankfully, the school admin kindly reissued me a new enrollment status. After that, the cold - and my lack of weather-appropriate clothing - hit me. I ran to the closest Target to buy a jacket with some money I had changed at the airport.
When I got back, I went straight to class. I was extremely nervous all day. I was panicking, anxious, but happy.
I had made it to Australia and was officially enrolled in school.
When I got home later that day, I had to figure out what to cook. It didn’t help that the room was super small, so I wasn’t sure if I could cook there. Even if I could, what would I cook?
That’s when it dawned on me that I had underestimated what moving to a different country would be like. I was so excited to leave Nigeria for my Master’s program and didn’t plan for living in Australia or consider what immigration meant. However, no one can fully prepare you for the immigration journey because it’s a unique experience.
I had Indomie noodles in my box, so that’s what I ate that night. After eating, I got in bed and started crying. I cried for a long time and couldn’t sleep.
Act 4: Loneliness strikes hard
I noticed many things in Australia, like the magpies, which I call the terrorists of Australia.
I noticed the accessibility designs in every building and how accommodating they are for different-bodied people.
But most of all, I noticed the time zone difference between Australia and Nigeria. It meant I’d spend my entire day without talking to my family, and it would be morning in Nigeria—when they were getting ready for work—when I returned home late at night.
It was hard, and I’m not ashamed to admit that I cried almost every day. It was particularly difficult because I lacked a support system in Australia, and my friends from back home couldn’t relate.
I remember telling a friend in Nigeria how lonely I felt, and they responded, "You're abroad now."
In my mind, I thought, "If you leave me, I'll return because I'm not doing again.”
It’s funny now, but it wasn’t funny then because I was always tired and stressed. The thing about loneliness is that it affects you in subtle ways, like not having someone to share a joke with without needing to explain. Or seeing something completely bonkers and not having anyone to turn to and say, “Can you see that person/thing?”
In those little moments—when you’re looking for someone to laugh with who’ll understand why you are laughing—you realize, “Oh, I’m all alone.”
And that realization breaks you.
I remember days of sitting alone on my bed in Australia, staring at my phone, with no one to talk to because people back in Nigeria were asleep. Sometimes, I’d just sit alone with my thoughts. Other times, I’d stroll to explore my city. In every situation, I was on my own.
The struggle was real. As an introvert, it was twice as hard to make new friends. It also didn’t help that Australians are close-knit because they’ve been friends since kindergarten or high school, so I found it difficult to join other friendship groups.
I had to learn to do things myself and find myself interesting.
Act 5: Sink or swim
Things I had to learn to do myself:
Figure out the right buses to enter to the places I wanted to go
Figure out what to wear
Figure out where to get a bus ticket
Figure out which bank account to open
Thank God for Google. After crossing the settling-in hurdle, I faced the second one: money.
Before leaving Nigeria, I made a deal with my parents: they’d cover the first three to six months of expenses, and I’d sort myself out after.
But there was one small problem—the six months were almost over, I didn’t have a job, and I was on my last $5. As someone whose word is their bond, I couldn’t run back to my parents after agreeing with them.
My only option was to either sink or swim. To worsen things, COVID-19 hit, leading to business closures, job losses, and a global hiring freeze.
I kept asking, “Who send me message?”
I had $5 in my bank account, rent due next month, and a global pandemic ruining my job prospects. Mahn, I kept asking myself, “What can I do?” “How can I avoid going under?”
One day, during my brainstorming, I had an epiphany. Why not learn to braid hair?
But I didn’t have money for equipment—another problem.
I’m grateful for my Nigerian friends. They bought me hair braiding tools from Amazon and sent them over. Now, I had to learn quickly on YouTube so I could start making money for my next rent.
After two weeks of practicing on YouTube, I went to an African salon two hours away. At the entrance, I told them I wanted to work there. That was the first time I realized I had to apply myself and convince someone to take a chance on me.
The salon had an interesting business model: You rented space and paid a commission for each customer. This meant I had to learn to create service offerings, attend to clients, and communicate with them such that they would become repeat customers.
My ability to pay my bills depended on this.
You don’t know your potential until your back is against the wall. I opened an Instagram page and a Facebook Marketplace account. I learned to talk and connect with people. When I saw my progress, I decided to stop being a hermit and put myself out there, which helped.
Finding this part of myself helped me pay rent and not stress my parents. I ended up building a business that enabled me to cover my rent and put some money aside as savings.
Act 6: Finding myself
Want to hear a secret?
Migrating became easier when I settled internally. Making peace with my new reality and what was required to thrive made it easier to settle externally.
I know hindsight is 20/20, but if I had to do everything again, my first advice to the old me would be to find a Nigerian community to immerse myself in.
It's counterintuitive, right? Everyone says to avoid Nigerians in the diaspora, but let me tell you this truth: You'll struggle. At the end of the day, no one understands your specific struggle—and resulting discontent—like a Nigerian, especially one who just migrated.
Not being with people who share the same history can be self-sabotaging. At least, it was in my case.
I remember meeting my close Nigerian friends at the salon and wondering why I hadn’t met them sooner. In a way, I guess I listened to people preaching about avoiding Nigerians abroad. If I hadn’t, I might have had a smoother landing in Australia.
Nevertheless, I love my current life. I’m surrounded by amazing friends and Nigerians.
As the secretary of the Nigerian Association of South Australia, I'm now a big advocate for finding your community and ignoring people who say avoid Nigerians.
Don't avoid them; you need your people.
Despite the initial struggles, I don’t regret migrating. It was great for me because it built my character.
As someone who grew up with my parents doing everything for me, I learned to survive and be resilient. I learned to make things work for myself and not wait for handouts. Migration taught me to handle myself with unfamiliar people and patience with those from different backgrounds and cultures.
Migration taught me to be my own person. I’ve learned so much about myself that you can drop me anywhere in the world, and I’ll figure it out quickly.
Migration has given me opportunities that wouldn't have happened in Nigeria. I started my first big girl job as a Cost & Project Manager, working on government and private construction projects all over South Australia.
So, all’s well that ends well.
Don’t get me wrong, though; I still love Nigeria, and if it were working, I wouldn’t have left. But I can’t keep looking back to 2019 because I have a new life ahead.
I have to make this my new reality. I have to be settled. I can't keep looking back.
Sometimes, I feel like an Israelite in exile.
Epilogue
Talking about exile, I visited Nigeria in 2022. The first thing I ate after landing was Fufu and Ofe Nsala because you can’t get the Naija version anywhere else.
Then, I went home. Everything I associated with my home and area was still there, exactly as I left them. This made me sad for Nigeria—like do something or change.
However, the stagnancy was comforting because it meant despite all the changes in my life, there was still one constant. I don’t know how I’d feel if everything had changed so drastically.
Looking back, one of the best things that happened to me in a long time was the trip to Nigeria. Yes, I wasn’t the same Angel Iyke-Osuji who left three years ago, but the memoirs from my old life helped me remember a different time and version of myself.
One day, between bowls of delicious meals, a full house, and catching up with my siblings, I felt very content. I remember sitting there, thinking, "This is the best I've felt in a long time."
That felt good.
References:
Wahala: Trouble, bad luck, suffering, problems.
Shege: Extreme and unpleasant situations
Who send me message: A Nigerian Pidgin English expression for “why did I have to put myself in a particular situation.”
I’m not doing again: Nigerian Pidgin English expression for “I give up.”
If audio or video is your thing, here you go:
This is such an honest, sincere and warm read. Felt like giving her a hug throughout. Thank you for sharing the lessons on community and making that ‘internal’ decision to stay.