Episode 1: The Good
If someone had told me five years ago that I would leave my cozy life in Austin, Texas, pack my bags, and move to Nigeria — of all places — I would’ve laughed in their face. But life, in its ever-twisting nature, had other plans.
It started with a job offer. I was a development consultant with a non-profit that focused on agricultural reform in developing countries. An opportunity opened up in Abuja, Nigeria’s capital. It was supposed to be a one-year contract. “Think of it as an adventure,” my boss said. An adventure? That was an understatement.
I arrived in Abuja in the middle of March — right at the cusp of the dry season. The sun didn’t just shine; it glared, like it was personally offended by my skin. As I stepped off the plane, the heat hit me like a slap. Sweat pooled around my collar before I even made it to immigration.
Despite the initial shock, it didn’t take long for Nigeria to work its way into my heart. From the very first day, I experienced a kind of hospitality that made me feel like I’d walked into an open embrace. My host, Mr. Okoye, who had been hired to help with my transition, didn’t just pick me up at the airport — he brought along his wife and two kids, along with a plate of jollof rice wrapped in foil “just in case hunger dey catch you.” That was the first phrase I learned in Nigerian Pidgin: hunger dey catch you. It means you’re starving — which I definitely was.
Over the next few weeks, I discovered something Americans rarely hear about Nigeria: the people are stunningly warm. Not just polite — warm. It’s the kind of kindness that shows up unannounced, brings you food, stays to gist with you, and then helps you fix the leaking tap in your bathroom before heading out.
My colleagues at the office were equally friendly. Chika, the office administrator, became my unofficial language coach. Every morning, she’d greet me with “Good morning, Oga Whitey,” a nickname that stuck longer than I care to admit. She taught me how to say “how far?” as a greeting and laughed every time I tried to pronounce words in Igbo.
One of my favorite memories from those early days was attending a traditional wedding in Kogi State. A colleague had invited me, and I didn’t want to be rude. I expected a simple church ceremony and some food. What I got was a full-blown cultural festival: colorful aso-ebi, loud talking drums, women dancing with calabashes on their heads, and the groom arriving in style on a horse, draped in native regalia. They dressed me in a custom agbada, and by the end of the evening, I was doing a very clumsy version of the shaku shaku in front of strangers who cheered like I was Beyoncé.
I also learned that Nigerians don’t do anything halfway. Whether it’s parties, politics, or pepper soup — they go all in. There’s something infectious about the way people here celebrate life. Even with challenges everywhere — from poor infrastructure to economic instability — people still find joy in small things. Church services feel like concerts. Markets buzz like carnivals. Even birthdays for toddlers turn into mini-weddings.
Food was another pleasant surprise. I came with a basic American palate — burgers, fries, and grilled chicken. What I encountered in Nigeria was a flavor explosion. At first, I thought I’d play it safe. But the first time I tasted pounded yam and egusi soup, I felt like I had unlocked a new level in life. Suya became my favorite midnight snack, jollof rice was my go-to comfort meal, and moi moi? Let’s just say, if you haven’t tried steamed bean cake with boiled egg inside, you haven’t lived.
But the beauty of Nigeria goes beyond just people and food. It’s in the landscapes. I took a road trip to Jos Plateau once, and the scenery left me breathless — rolling hills, cool air, and a calmness that reminded me of Colorado but with the soul of West Africa. I spent a long weekend in Obudu Cattle Ranch, where clouds floated so low I felt like I could touch them. I even camped out under the stars at Erin-Ijesha Waterfalls in Osun State, where the sound of cascading water drowned out every anxious thought in my head.
Yet, what stood out the most was the spirit. Nigerians are among the most resilient, optimistic people I’ve met. My neighbor in Abuja, a mechanic named Emeka, once said to me, “Life no dey easy, but we dey manage am with laugh.” That stuck with me. I’ve seen people hustle from dawn till dusk, get swindled by corrupt officials, yet still share their last bowl of rice with you — just because you’re part of the community.
There was also an unspoken camaraderie among strangers. I once got stuck in the rain at Wuse Market without an umbrella. Within minutes, a woman I didn’t know pulled me under her shop canopy and offered me a plastic chair and a cup of steaming zobo. She didn’t ask for anything. She just smiled and said, “Rain no dey select person, abeg sit down.”
That was Nigeria. That was the good.
Sure, I wasn’t blind to the problems — but we’ll get to those in the next episode. For now, I’ll leave you with this: behind the chaos, Nigeria has a heart — and if you take the time to feel it, it’ll welcome you like one of its own.
A Coolvalstories Original
