When Baba Says 'We Must Go Lagos' But You're Not Ready

The Classic Nigerian Parent Move: Pack Your Bags, We're Going Home

So there's this story making rounds online that hit close to home for a lot of us in the diaspora. A young man — clearly born and raised outside Nigeria — is being pressured by his father to pack his Ghana-must-go bag and follow him to Nigeria to see relatives. And oga is not having it. Not one bit. He thinks the whole trip is a bad idea, and honestly? E get why.

Before you jump into the comment section breathing fire, hear me out. This situation is more common than jollof rice at a Lagos owambe, and the conversation it's sparking is one that many Nigerian families abroad need to have — properly, without shouting.

The Generational Divide Is Real, My People

Here's the thing about growing up Nigerian outside Nigeria: your parents carry Nigeria inside their chest like a second heartbeat. Every Afrobeats song on the radio, every pot of egusi soup, every Sunday call to "the people back home" — it's all a thread connecting them to a place that shaped who they are. For them, Nigeria isn't just a country on a map. It's identity. It's memory. It's home.

But for their children — the ones who grew up eating cereal instead of akamu, who learned about Lagos traffic through their parents' dramatic storytelling rather than lived experience — Nigeria can feel like a foreign country with familiar surnames. And that disconnect? E dey create serious wahala.

The young man in this story isn't being ungrateful or disrespectful to his roots. He's probably just genuinely anxious about stepping into a world he doesn't fully understand, surrounded by extended family members who will scrutinize everything from his Yoruba pronunciation to the size of his suitcase allowance for gifts.

"But These Are Your People!" — Said Every Nigerian Dad Ever

Nigerian fathers have a particular way of delivering travel plans. It's not a suggestion. It's not even a discussion. Oga will announce, sometime around December, that "we are going home in January" with the same energy that the government announces fuel subsidy removal — no consultation, no room for debate, just accept and adjust.

And the argument is always the same:

• "You need to know where you come from"
• "Your grandmother is getting old — you want to see her in a casket before you visit?"
• "You think you're better than us because you grew up abroad?"
• "These are your people. Your blood. You cannot abandon them."

Every single line lands like a perfectly aimed guilt arrow, and Nigerian parents know exactly how to shoot them. The emotional weight of ancestral connection is real, and it's not something you can easily dismiss over cornflakes.

But Also — The Reservations Are Valid Too

Now before anyone says this young man is a "been-to" who has forgotten himself, let's be fair. The concerns diaspora kids have about visiting Nigeria are not always about snobbery or fear. Some of them are genuinely practical:

• Safety concerns in certain regions are legitimate and well-documented
• The culture shock of navigating extended family dynamics — especially when you don't speak the language fluently — can be overwhelming
• Some people have heard horror stories from relatives or experienced difficult trips themselves
• There's also the financial pressure: visiting Nigeria as a "abroad person" comes with expectations. Everybody wants something, and saying no can create rifts that last years
• For some, there's genuine anxiety about health precautions, infrastructure differences, or simply being in an unfamiliar environment

These concerns don't make someone a bad Nigerian. They make someone human.

The Real Conversation Diaspora Families Need to Have

The problem isn't that the father wants his son to connect with his heritage — that desire is beautiful and understandable. The problem is the assumption that the son's reluctance comes from a place of shame or arrogance, rather than anxiety or unfamiliarity.

Nigerian parents, especially those of a certain generation, were raised in cultures where elders speak and children obey. Full stop. There was no "let's discuss how you feel about this trip, my son." You just packed your bag and got in the car. But raising children in Western countries often means raising children who expect — and in many cases, legally have the right — to express their concerns and have them taken seriously.

This isn't disrespect. This is just a different communication style colliding with a traditional one. And the collision can cause serious damage to parent-child relationships if nobody stops to actually listen.

The son needs to honestly communicate his specific concerns — not just resist the trip with vague discomfort. And the father needs to actually hear those concerns rather than dismiss them as "this oyibo mentality" nonsense. A conversation, not a proclamation, is what's needed here.

So Should He Go to Nigeria or Not?

Oya, let me give you my honest take as someone who has covered enough Nigerian family drama to write three novels: he should probably go — but on terms that have been clearly discussed.

Nigeria, for all her wahala, is a place that will rewire something in you. The energy, the resilience of the people, the food that tastes nothing like what your mama makes because something about the soil and the air and the open-fire cooking just hits different — it's an experience that connects diaspora children to something bigger than themselves.

But going into it blindly, with unaddressed fears and family tension already simmering? That's a recipe for a terrible trip that will make him never want to return. The father wants his son to love Nigeria. Forcing him there without proper preparation and dialogue might achieve the exact opposite.

Now It's Your Turn — Tell Us Your Story

We know this topic is touching a nerve for plenty of you reading this right now. Maybe you were dragged to Nigeria as a teenager and it changed your life. Maybe you went as an adult and it was chaotic but unforgettable. Maybe you've been refusing for years and carrying guilt about it. Or maybe you're the Nigerian parent reading this with a child who keeps dodging your "we are going home" announcements.

Drop your story in the comments. Were you ever pressured to visit Nigeria? Did you go? Was it worth it? What would you tell this young man? Let's have this conversation — because Lord knows, too many Nigerian families are having it in living rooms with raised voices when they could be having it honestly, with grace.

As we say: family no easy, but family no finish. The love is there — sometimes it just needs better communication to find its way through.