Japa Nation and the limits of escape

Dr Claire P. Ayelotan

Each morning, the queue at Calais grows longer: rows of nylon tents, guarded passports, and brittle hopes. The Nigerian impulse to japa has become a revolving door, swinging between Lagos and London—pushed by hardship at home and slammed shut by political panic abroad. Yet as Brexit-era Britain and a jittery France raise fresh barriers, escape proves a mirage: the frying pan is already in the fire.

Racism, regrettably, exists everywhere—including here. Compared with France, I have found the UK generally more liberal, tolerant, and welcoming. Yet since Brexit, it has lurched from one crisis to the next: chronic housing shortages, a soaring cost of living, and now a country that feels saturated and strained. The truth is, the UK is in real distress. Nigerians are fleeing the heat at home only to land in a frying pan here. Can we blame them? Some who japaed to Nigeria a few years ago have now japaed back—only to find themselves stuck in a system that is barely functioning. Brexit was a grave misstep, and the current wave of migration policies is just more fallout from that decision. Sadly, these actions have only emboldened the far right, who now feel vindicated. The UK has, essentially, handed them victory on a silver platter.

But let’s be honest: can the UK really take in all Nigerians? When you compare the population at home to those already abroad, the maths simply doesn’t work. Where exactly are they expected to go? This isn’t merely about racism—it’s about a country breaking under the weight of its own political decisions. That’s the backdrop to the latest immigration restrictions, which clearly target Nigerians, Indians, and others from nations with high outward migration.

Please, come to Calais and see for yourself—people trying around the clock to cross the Channel into the UK. But where will they live? On the streets? Visible camps with tents are forming, just like in the UK. In the suburbs of Paris, we’re seeing growing clusters of tents housing African migrants, including Nigerians. Each time I drive into Paris, I see Nigerians begging for alms along the ring roads.

That alone should tell us this is no longer simply about race—it’s a stark warning that we must fix our country. Otherwise, a time will come when those within Europe, having exhausted every other measure to stop migration, will begin to turn on us—the diaspora—as part of the problem. We’ll become the scapegoats for their failures.

To those among us who have the power to act—please, do something.

Just last week, I interviewed a UK-based Nigerian for my research and asked what advice he would give someone in Nigeria thinking of japa-ing. His response shook me: “Leave as soon as you can.” That stopped me in my tracks. It speaks volumes. Things are worse than they appear—and they are not improving.

You might want to speak to a UK-based fellow Nigerian academic—he’s one of us and has been deeply reflecting on these unfolding events. Can we attribute all of this to racism? Not entirely. We must also confront the bitter truth: the “maggots” (as many Nigerians now call them) we keep electing—back home—have crushed the dreams of our brightest minds. What remains is a void, filled with silence and disillusionment. From where I sit—on the outside—the UK still feels profoundly disconnected from the rest of Europe in all the ways that matter.

France is not much better. The government has tightened the rules for acquiring nationality and is escalating deportations. It is for this reason our next president in 2027 will likely be from the far right. This isn’t only about racism—it’s about migration, economics, and societal pressure. Life here is no longer what it used to be: the cost of living is worse than ever; companies are folding almost overnight; redundancies are rising; insecurity is growing, with break-ins even when residents are at home; and families are struggling. Migrants are being blamed for it all, despite evidence to the contrary. That’s why the National Rally is leading—and likely to win.

A lawyer friend of mine is handling a heart-wrenching case involving a Nigerian couple and their two sons who have been given just thirty days to leave. Their deadline is mid-June. They are overwhelmed with fear and uncertainty.

What’s clear to me is that we are entering increasingly unpredictable times. Nationalism is on the rise across the globe. If we hope to weather what lies ahead, we must stay respectful, grounded, and mindful of how we treat one another—these are not merely political questions; they are profoundly human ones, and we still have time to choose compassion.