By the time the plane touched down in Lagos, 180 Nigerians had made it back home. But their arrival raised a troubling question: what makes leaving Nigeria seem worth the risk of never returning?
At about 4:20 pm on Tuesday, a plane from Sebha, Libya, landed at the Cargo Terminal of the Murtala Muhammed International Airport in Ikeja, Lagos.
On board were 180 Nigerians returning under a voluntary return programme coordinated by the International Organisation for Migration (IOM) and the Federal Government.
Among them were 143 adults, 26 children and 11 infants.
Thirty-seven of the returnees were children and infants who had travelled away from home and were now returning to Nigeria.
Their arrival was recorded as another successful return exercise involving government agencies and humanitarian partners. Food, drinking water, medical screening, counselling and other forms of assistance were provided to help them begin the process of settling back into their communities.
But beneath the official figures lies a more uncomfortable question about migration, desperation and the Nigerian dream.
Why do some Nigerians look at the dangers of travelling through the Sahara Desert, entering Libya and potentially crossing the Mediterranean Sea and still believe the journey is worth attempting?
Why does the possibility of a better life abroad sometimes appear more attractive than the prospect of building one at home?
And when the destination is Europe, how much danger are people prepared to endure before the dream becomes a nightmare?
This is the story behind the phrase Nigerians have come to know as japa — the desire to leave the country in search of better opportunities — and the perilous route through Libya that some migrants pursue in the hope of reaching Europe.
The dream begins long before the desert
For many Nigerians, the decision to leave does not begin with a map, a passport or a conversation with a travel agent.
Sadly, it begins with frustration.
It may begin with a graduate who has spent years searching for a job without success. It may begin with a young person who watches friends struggle to establish themselves despite their education. Or it may begin with a family whose income cannot keep pace with rising expenses, or with someone who believes that their abilities will be better rewarded somewhere else.
These circumstances do not explain every migration decision, and Nigerians leave for different reasons. Some travel through regular channels for work, education or family reunification. Others seek safety from insecurity or displacement.
But for those considering irregular migration, economic pressure and the hope of a better future can become powerful motivations.
In conversations about japa, the destination often receives more attention than the journey. People discuss salaries, foreign currencies, employment opportunities and the prospect of supporting relatives back home.
The less visible question is how some people intend to get there.
When regular travel appears financially out of reach, or when people believe they have exhausted their opportunities at home, irregular routes can begin to look like alternatives.
That is where a journey that begins with hope can expose migrants to risks they may not fully understand.
Libya: A transit point that can become a trap
Libya occupies a significant position in migration routes linking parts of sub-Saharan Africa to North Africa and Europe.
Its location makes it a destination for some migrants seeking employment and a transit point for others hoping to cross the Mediterranean.
The International Organization for Migration’s Displacement Tracking Matrix estimated that 936,134 migrants were present in Libya during January and February 2026. The agency’s assessment illustrates the country’s continuing importance in regional and trans-Mediterranean migration movements. <Cite refs={[“turn445239search2”]}/>
But reaching Libya does not guarantee that a migrant will find work, secure legal status or successfully continue the journey to Europe.
The route can involve several stages across different countries, with migrants relying on transporters, intermediaries and other facilitators to move from one location to another.
That dependence can leave people vulnerable, particularly when they lack reliable information about their route, the people handling their journey or the conditions awaiting them.
Investigative reporting published in September 2026 by Nigerian journalist Fisayo Soyombo documented the dangers along a route from Nigeria through Niger and the Sahara towards Libya. His account described experiences and risks including starvation, physical assault, abduction, torture, sexual violence and death. <Cite refs={[“turn445239search1”]}/>
Such accounts reveal the distance between the popular image of migration as a journey towards opportunity and the reality of a route in which migrants can lose control over their own safety.
The danger is not confined to the sea crossing. It can begin far inland, where extreme heat, limited access to water, isolation and dependence on others can turn a breakdown in transport or a failed arrangement into a life-threatening emergency.
For those who survive these conditions, reaching Libya may still leave them facing exploitation, detention or uncertainty about how to proceed.
The dream of Europe can therefore become a journey in which every new stage brings another risk.
The price of leaving — and the danger of turning back
One of the most difficult aspects of irregular migration is that people can become trapped between the dangers of continuing and the fear of returning home.
A migrant who has invested money, borrowed from relatives or sold personal belongings to finance a journey may feel enormous pressure to keep moving.
Turning back can mean admitting that the money has been lost, returning to the circumstances that prompted departure and facing questions from relatives who expected the journey to succeed.
These pressures do not mean that every migrant will continue regardless of the danger. Individual circumstances differ, and some people return when they find that their plans cannot be fulfilled.
But the possibility of financial loss and social embarrassment can make it harder for some to abandon a journey, even when the risks become apparent.
This is one reason the public conversation about irregular migration must go beyond telling people that the route is dangerous.
Warnings matter. So does access to accurate information, safe migration channels and practical alternatives for people who feel they have no future at home.
A message that says only do not go may fail to address the circumstances that made leaving appear necessary in the first place.
When the dream comes home in an aircraft
The 180 Nigerians who arrived in Lagos on Tuesday came home under a voluntary return programme coordinated by the IOM and the Federal Government.
According to the National Emergency Management Agency (NEMA), the returnees arrived aboard an Air Buraq Airlines flight from Sebha, Libya, with registration number 5A-BAE.
The group included 75 men and 68 women, alongside 12 boys and 14 girls, as well as three male and eight female infants.
NEMA’s Lagos Operations Office received them in collaboration with the National Commission for Refugees, Migrants and Internally Displaced Persons.
The Nigeria Immigration Service carried out biometric registration and documentation, while returnees received food, water, medical screening and counselling. Ambulance services were also available for those requiring medical attention.
The agency said reintegration assistance was provided to help them settle into their communities.
These measures address immediate needs. But returning to Nigeria is not the same as rebuilding a life.
Some returnees may have family members willing to receive them. Others may need to find accommodation, secure employment, recover from difficult experiences or reconnect with communities after a prolonged absence.
The information provided about this particular group does not establish that every returnee experienced abuse, travelled irregularly or attempted to cross the Mediterranean. Their individual circumstances should not be assumed.
What their arrival does demonstrate is the importance of providing support beyond the airport.
The return journey is one part of the process. What happens in the months that follow may determine whether people can establish a stable life at home.
Thirty-seven children and infants: The detail that demands attention
Among the most striking details of the latest return exercise is the presence of 37 children and infants.
They accounted for more than one-fifth of the 180 people who arrived.
Their presence invites difficult questions about the responsibilities adults, governments and migration networks have towards children caught up in cross-border movement.
Children do not always determine where their families travel or what risks their parents are willing to take. Yet they can experience the consequences of those decisions, including disruptions to their education, healthcare and family stability.
The supplied report does not explain the individual circumstances of these children, so it would be wrong to assume what each one experienced in Libya.
Nevertheless, their numbers underline why migration policy cannot focus exclusively on border crossings and return flights. The welfare of children and other vulnerable people must remain central to protection and reintegration efforts.
For the youngest returnees, the immediate priority is not the debate over whether migration was a good decision. It is ensuring that their basic needs are met and that they have the support required to grow and thrive.
The uncomfortable question Nigeria must answer
It is tempting to frame the Libya route entirely as a story about people making dangerous choices.
But that explanation is incomplete.
Personal decisions matter, and the risks of irregular migration should not be minimised. Smuggling networks and exploitative facilitators must also be held accountable where evidence establishes wrongdoing.
At the same time, a serious examination of the issue must consider the economic and social circumstances influencing people’s decisions.
What opportunities do young Nigerians believe are available to them? How accessible are education, decent employment and pathways to financial independence? What information can prospective migrants obtain before committing money to a journey? And what support awaits those who return without achieving what they set out to do?
These are not questions that can be answered by a single return flight.
Nor should the presence of 180 returnees be treated as proof that every Nigerian who travels abroad is desperate, unsafe or unsuccessful. Millions of people migrate through different routes and for different reasons.
The challenge is to distinguish between migration as a legitimate personal choice and journeys in which people face serious risks because of irregular arrangements, exploitation or a lack of safer options.
The response must be equally broad: stronger public awareness, accessible legal migration information, protection for vulnerable migrants, accountability for criminal networks and meaningful reintegration support.
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Long-term efforts to expand opportunities at home are also important, not because Nigerians should be discouraged from travelling, but because leaving should not feel like the only possible route to dignity and economic security.
Japa: How much is a better life worth?
The word japa has become part of everyday Nigerian conversation. It can be used humorously, as a sign of ambition or as shorthand for the desire to escape difficult circumstances.
But the Libya route gives the word a much more serious dimension.
It forces a distinction between the desire to migrate and the risks involved in particular ways of doing so.
A person can legitimately dream of living abroad without having to depend on dangerous routes or people whose intentions they cannot verify. Seeking opportunities outside Nigeria is not, in itself, a failure of patriotism or a rejection of home.
The deeper concern arises when the prospect of a better life appears to justify risks that could result in injury, exploitation, disappearance or death.
No headline, social media success story or promise of a foreign salary can guarantee that the journey will end as planned.
The Next Challenge
For the 180 Nigerians who arrived in Lagos, the immediate journey from Libya has ended. Their next challenge is the work of returning to their communities and rebuilding their lives.
For the 37 children and infants among them, the priority is ensuring that their return leads to safety, care and stability.
For Nigeria, the wider challenge remains: understanding why people leave, protecting those who travel and supporting those who come home.
Because the real tragedy of the Libya route is not simply that some Nigerians are willing to risk their lives for a better future.
It is that the promise of a better future can become so powerful that the dangers along the way begin to seem like risks worth taking.
And until the forces driving that calculation are taken seriously, the debate over japa will remain about far more than who leaves Nigeria.
It will also be about what people believe they must escape — and what they hope to find on the other side.