For many Nigerian immigrants, the idea of work-life balance, does not come easy. It’s not something we feel entitled to, but rather something we believe must be earned.
The journey begins with Japa—leaving home for distant shores filled with promise. But almost immediately, survival mode kicks in. Rent won’t wait and bills pile high. Meanwhile, back home, loved ones assume you’ve “made it.”
So you push harder and you hustle relentlessly. But take a moment. Is this truly the life we crossed oceans for? Or have we simply repackaged Nigeria’s hustle culture into an oyinbo-styled grind—different wrapper, same exhaustion?
In this edition of Oladam Blog, we’ll explore the deep roots behind why so many Nigerian immigrants wrestle with work-life balance. We’ll offer bold, reflective steps to reclaim what truly matters: peace, presence, and purpose.
“Mummy’s Always Tired”
During a school project, Chuka’s 9-year-old daughter stood up and said: “My mum works all the time. She’s always tired.”
Chuka had been working night shifts as a nurse, picking up extra hours to cover Christmas gifts, juggling school runs between half-slept mornings. On paper, she was the definition of sacrifice. But to her daughter, she was not a superhero. She was simply unavailable.
This is the hidden reality many African parents abroad quietly carry: showing up for the hustle, but fading from the home. Even when rest is long overdue.
We’re building dreams in foreign lands, yes. But in the process, are we unintentionally trading presence for provision?
Work-Life Balance Struggles
For many Nigerian immigrants, the pressure to “make it” abroad is not just personal. We carry the weight of two worlds: the need to succeed in foreign lands, and the silent expectations from home.
Our hustle culture isn’t just habit, but our identity. Raised on phrases like “no food for lazy man” and “you must be twice as good,” we’ve turned nonstop work into a badge of honour. But beneath the grind, many of us are burnt out, bitter, and quietly broken.
And unlike back home, the village isn’t there to soften the load. No cousins to babysit and no aunties dropping off soup. Definitely, no grandma for school runs. Out here, the burden often falls on one pair of shoulders, or two, if you’re lucky.
Then there’s the fear—the kind we don’t always speak of. Fear of losing your job and fear of immigration issues. Fear of being seen as “difficult.” So we say yes too often. We stretch ourselves thin. We show up to everything but our own well-being.
And when we finally think about self-care, cultural guilt creeps in. Rest feels selfish. Therapy feels indulgent. Saying “no” feels rude. We weren’t raised to protect our peace—so now, abroad, we’re paying the price.
Reclaim Work-Life Balance
Success, for many Nigerian immigrants, has often been measured in pounds, dollars, or diplomas. But true success is deeper. It’s your mental wellness. The laughter in your home. The freedom to choose how you live, and not just survive.
One simple task is to take time and write down what success looks like to you. Not through the lens of your village aunties or Facebook comparisons. Yours alone.
Once you’ve defined it, protect it. That means boundaries that aren’t up for negotiation. Turn off the work phone after hours. Say no to that “just one more shift.” Guard your weekends, and learn to say “I’m unavailable ” at that time clearly, confidently, and without guilt.
Because, the village doesn’t come with you abroad. You’ve got to build your own. Look to local church communities, African parenting groups, fellow co-working mums and dads. Support is out there, but you must be willing to ask for it.
Another useful activity is to swap babysitting. Try sharing school pickups and tag-team meal prep. Collective care can be a game changer.
And don’t forget: joy is part of your purpose. Dance. Nap without shame. Laugh over pepper soup. Sit in silence with someone who gets you. So put joy on your calendar the same way you schedule work.
Lastly, normalize seeking help before it’s a last resort. Don’t wait until your body forces you to rest or your mind shuts down. Therapy. Coaching. Mentorship.
Find someone who understands the immigrant grind—and help yourself stay grounded in the storm. Remember that many immigrant-friendly services now offer free or low-cost counselling. Just ask.
You Are Not A Machine
We didn’t leave our homeland just to become worn-out robots in another man’s land.
You deserve rest and you deserve laughter. You deserve to be present in your own life—not just at your job.
What’s one boundary you’re setting this year to protect your peace? Drop it in the comments—your story might inspire someone else to choose balance over burnout.
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