Let me tell you this for a fact: abroad will humble you. It doesn’t matter whether you were a CEO, “Honourable,” church elder, or the area chairman. Immigration doesn’t know your CV.

That your “big man” uncle in Ghana everyone thinks is living the soft life? My brother is doing warehouse. Every evening, Aboniki Balm is doing overtime on his back, knees, and shoulders. The only thing stronger than him is the smell of the Aboniki in the room.

That your auntie you tried to bill last week? Please, leave her alone. She’s probably coming from a 12-hour care shift after cleaning things this article cannot describe. She’s not ignoring your message because she’s proud. She’s asleep with her phone on her chest.

My first job abroad was in a warehouse. Massa, after three days I nearly met my ancestors. The company called me and said, “Don’t come again.” I laughed. I had already fired myself before they called.

Later, I found myself in Wales following a man with severe mental health challenges as part of my job. One day he looked straight into my eyes and said, “You stupid… even my dog doesn’t like you.” Charlie, when a dog you’ve never offended also joins the insults, you know life has entered the knockout stage.

I stood there and asked myself, “Selassie, is this the dream?”

The truth is, many immigrants are going through battles nobody talks about. They smile on WhatsApp, post pictures in front of London Bridge, the Eiffel Tower, or Times Square, and everybody back home starts calculating how much to borrow from them.

Meanwhile, the photo was taken on the only day they had enough energy to smile.

People see winter jackets and think it’s luxury. They don’t know the jacket is fighting for its life against -10°C while the owner is wondering why he ever left 32°C sunshine.

Many can’t come back home—not because they don’t want to—but because they’re afraid of hearing, “Ei, so after all the visa celebration you have come back?” African relatives can organize a press conference without microphones.

The struggles of immigrants are different everywhere. Some battle loneliness. Some battle racism. Others battle immigration paperwork that seems longer than the Bible. Many are working two jobs just to pay rent, send money home, and still hear, “Can you help me small?”

Migration was never the dream for many of us. It was the sacrifice we believed we had to make to keep our families afloat.

So don’t let Instagram deceive you. Some of those beautiful pictures were taken between two shifts. The smile is real, but the back pain is also real.

Africa simply did not give many of us enough reasons to stay. So we left—not because we hated home, but because we were chasing opportunity.

One day, after that encounter with my client, I asked myself, “Why should I stay here until I lose myself?” I packed up and went home.

And you know what?
Coming home wasn’t failure. It was choosing myself.

So to every immigrant going through the fire of the West, hear me: there is absolutely no shame in coming home if that’s what is best for your life.

Your mental health is more important than people’s opinions.

Your peace is more valuable than social media validation.

And please… the next time your uncle sends you a selfie wearing a reflective warehouse jacket, don’t say, “Ei Uncle, life is sweet oo!” Ask him first whether Aboniki stock is finished.

He might just tell you the real story.
Success isn’t measured by the country you live in. It’s measured by the quality of the life you live.