Courage, Naivety, and the Call to Nigeria: Why I Went Despite All My Fears
After all the places I have visited, I want to start my stories with Nigeria.
Not because it was the easiest path. But because it was the most honest one.
Because Nigeria, for me, symbolizes what traveling truly means: courage, naivety, hope — despite all fear.
I simply write down my thoughts as they flow from my soul.
I never know what tomorrow will bring. Whether I will one day settle down or remain a nomad.
Everything in life is relative.
I struggle to fit into anything rigid — because life itself isn’t rigid.
Life means movement. It means giving space to the unpredictable. Making decisions that don’t always seem rational.
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Yet sometimes, we shape our lives so tightly that there’s hardly any real movement left.
You can change your location and still stand still inside.
You can stay in one place — and resist every coincidence, every change.
Right now, I’m sitting in a small bar in a ghetto.
Amidst noise, people, life.
And I’m typing from my soul.
Why We So Often Stop Letting Life Happen
I believe we should allow life to unfold more often.
But that’s hard — even for me.
Because it means giving up control.
Risking trust.
And yet, it’s often precisely those moments when real life begins.
The First Message — and the First Doubt
How did my time in Nigeria begin?
At that time, I was in Aswan, in southern Egypt.
My actual destination was Sudan.
Nigeria — that had become a dream I had already given up on.
Even though I had been curious about this country for years — I still can’t exactly say why.
Maybe it was a longing.
Maybe an intangible feeling that something was waiting for me there.
But reality spoke against it:
No means.
No opportunities.
And of course — a lot of fear.
Who could blame me?
Nigeria wasn’t — and isn’t — exactly a country portrayed in a hopeful light by the media.
So I prepared for Sudan.
Until shortly before I applied for the visa.
And then came this message.
A significant person wrote to me:
“You could come to Nigeria and visit our projects.”
A short sentence — but it changed everything.
There was still a month of time.
But my Egyptian visa was about to expire.
Going to another country in between?
Too expensive.
Too risky.
West Africa was completely unknown territory for me.
And yet, I felt: I want to try.
Despite all the doubts.
Despite all the fears.
I replied:
“Yes, I want to come.”
But I would have to leave Aswan earlier to manage the visa process.
At that time, I had no idea what a challenge awaited me.
Leaving Aswan — Cairo as the First Test
My accommodation in Aswan showed understanding — I got my money back for the canceled nights without any discussion.
A small gesture that touched me deeply.
Soon after, I was sitting on a bus to Cairo.
An overnight ride, to save money.
My first accommodation in Cairo was cheap, centrally located — but a huge challenge for me.
The showers were in such a state that it took me days to dare to use them.
Still, I grabbed my little backpack, gathered my documents, and set out.
Four kilometers to the Nigerian embassy.
Sometimes by Uber, sometimes on foot.
Twelve days. Almost daily.
Twelve days full of hope, disappointment, and new beginnings.
Courage Also Means Feeling Foolish
Applying for visas — I knew the process.
But Nigeria overshadowed all my previous experiences.
Something was always missing.
Something was never quite right.
At first, I was motivated.
But soon I realized how much this path was draining my strength — and my courage.
I stood there among businessmen, diplomats, well-dressed, with clear reasons for their travel.
And me?
Wearing flip-flops, carrying a small backpack — and the absurd wish to finally try real Fufu.
Yes, Fufu.
A simple dish.
Yet it became a symbol.
For my naivety.
For my hope.
For my stubbornness.
A student once told me:
“Just try Fufu here in Cairo.”
And honestly — I hadn’t even thought of that.
I searched for African restaurants.
Asked locals.
Found nothing.
Eventually ended up in a Sudanese restaurant.
It was good.
But it wasn’t what I was looking for.
Do you know that feeling?
When your longing is so much greater than what you receive?
Why I Continued Anyway
Sometimes I wondered if I was crazy.
Almost everyone wanted to leave Nigeria.
And I was doing everything I could to get in.
I remember standing there, nearly in tears, overwhelmed, exhausted, full of doubt.
But one of the embassy’s porters saw me.
Invited me into his tiny office to sit down.
I told him my story.
All the years I had wanted to go to Nigeria.
The missed chances.
COVID, which destroyed opportunities.
The NGO I was now about to join — if only it would work.
He listened.
And gave me the feeling: maybe I wasn’t as crazy as I thought.
Between Failing and New Hope
I had to book the flight before the visa was issued.
Direct flights were more expensive than flights with stopovers — so I chose the riskier route.
And then — shortly before departure — my flight was canceled.
The visa process also seemed to be falling apart.
I gave up.
Wrote that I needed to cancel everything.
Maybe God simply didn’t want me to go to Nigeria.
I felt ashamed.
Felt I had disappointed others.
But one day later — I went again.
Without hope.
Just because something inside me whispered:
“Don’t give up yet.”
And then, suddenly, doors opened.
Naivety — or the Secret of Courage?
I had little experience with situations like this.
Today, I would do many things differently.
But back then, I had only one thing: naivety.
And maybe — maybe — that’s sometimes the secret.
When nothing makes sense.
When everything speaks against it.
When fear paralyzes you.
All that remains is to move forward.
Without guarantees.
Without safety nets.
Trust.
The Day of Departure
I had to book the flight again.
This time I trembled.
But I trusted.
Shortly before departure, the person who had invited me wrote:
“A contact person will pick you up in Lagos.”
That meant everything.
It meant: I wasn’t entirely alone.
On the twelfth day, I sat at the airport.
With a racing heart.
With all my fear.
With all my hope.
And with a quiet voice inside whispering:
“You have not lost everything. You have kept your courage.”
