Nobody warns you about the homesickness that hits you after spending a week in a foreign land. You start missing the version of yourself that only existed inside that place.
For many Nigerians who japad, what gets missed most is not just jollof or local foods, it’s the life that made those foods taste like home.
Yes, people miss food. But it’s deeper than recipes. You can get tomatoes and rice anywhere and whip up jollof. But can you replicate okro soup, oha, or egusi that tastes like mum’s?
What do Nigerians abroad actually miss the most?
Aside from the food, what else do Nigerians abroad actually miss?
1. Being effortlessly understood
At home, you don’t need subtitles for your own life. You can say “abeg shift” or “you dey whine me?” and everyone gets it. But abroad, every gist must come with footnotes.
A London-based Nigerian I spoke to shared their experience, “The hardest part is not language, but relatable humour. I can’t banter the way I used to. I have to filter jokes so they don’t sound harsh or explain what’s supposed to be funny. It’s draining.”
2. The chaos
Surprisingly, many Nigerians abroad say they miss the chaos and noise. Nigeria is loud, stressful and unpredictable, and yet, for many, the silence is somehow worse. There’s no compound gist, no neighbour randomly knocking to ask for Maggi and salt. These small frictions that made daily life feel communal simply disappear.
A friend who relocated to Germany told me, “Back home, I had involved neighbours. Here, no one really cares. Everyone just minds their business.”
When the environment becomes transactional and private, people start missing the accidental intimacy of Nigeria and the unsolicited but comforting nosiness that made you feel like you belonged.
3. Parties and raves
“There’s no rave like a Nigerian rave”
Abroad, clubs follow schedules, nightlife is measured, and you barely feel that “obleee” energy. Back home, it’s the enjoyable chaos, the loud Afrobeats, the call and response from the DJ. “You can’t get that anywhere in Canada”, a friend who recently relocated told me. “I miss the raves!”
You don’t just attend a party in Nigeria, you become it.
4. Dressing loud without being exoticised
A recurring theme is fashion, not fashion as luxury, but fashion as normal.
An X user said, “Do you want to know what I miss the most about Nigeria? The ability to dress like this, in bright colours and patterns, every day, without causing a stir, or having someone say ‘oh, I love your costume, so exotic!’ So tired of the blacks, blues and greys.”
In many cities abroad, bright prints become an “ethnic moment,” a subject of stares and questions. In Nigeria, colour is everyday, safe, and unremarkable. That ordinary freedom is surprisingly precious.
5. Culture shock surrounding gender norms and social expectations
Some of the things people say about what they miss most are more complicated. One X user wrote about the discomfort of adjusting to different social norms around gender and sexuality.
“One thing I miss about Nigeria is that I’d have to keep my cool when a grown ass man says he is gay and acts like one here in America. That shit is annoying, and it’s not what we’re used to.”
That tweet is an honest, awkward reality of how norms shift and how some Nigerians struggle to adjust.
Another X user wrote, “I miss Nigeria. You could be walking down the road, and a sugar daddy would just say, ‘Fine girl, let me drop you off.’ But in the UK, there’s nothing like that.”
The culture shock is real!
In the end…
When Nigerians say they miss home, it’s more of a social code than a physical place. It’s the freedom to be loud, visible, and imperfect without apology. Abroad, everything must be explained, curated, and moderated. And, you’re constantly reminded of the colour of your skin. That, specifically, could be a huge culture shock for many.
If you’re planning to japa, pack spices and an extra suitcase for garri. The foods will help, yes, but the real work is rebuilding the messy, casual community that once made your life effortless. That means finding other Nigerians who laugh loud, speak pidgin, and can show you where to buy local Nigerian foods. It means learning how to be loud in a quiet city without losing yourself in a new place.
Nostalgia will hit, and when it hits, don’t be embarrassed. It only means you were once at home enough to know what home tastes like.
In the meantime, enjoy this ‘new dispensation’, but never lose your Nigerianness.
