When you’re scrolling on X and you see takes like, “You don’t owe your parents anything, you didn’t ask to be born” it’s easy to double-tap and move on. But for Adeife, those takes don’t land. Not when his parents sold not one, but three plots of land just so he could chase a better life in Canada.
We talked about what it really costs to leave Nigeria, why “Black Tax” isn’t always a burden, how amala, gbegiri and ewedu becomes therapy when you’re far from home, and why money is more emotional than mathematical for him.
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Hi Adeife. What kind of financial background did you grow up in?
I grew up in Bodija, Ibadan. We weren’t poor. We were average—Nigerian middle-lower class, if that’s even a thing.
We didn’t beg, but there was no room for reckless spending. Everything had a purpose. There was rice, but only one meat. You went to private school, but your shoes had to last the full session even if your toes started fighting for air. My parents aren’t educated. My dad’s a welder, my mum is a trader. But they made sure we were in school early. I started nursery school before I could properly spell my name.
They believed that education was our ladder out. That belief cost them everything.
What was the “japa” moment like?
After University in 2022, I knew I had to leave. I felt that I was made for more and moving to Lagos wouldn’t fill that gap. So, I applied for my Master’s in International Relations. When I got the admission letter, I was excited but that was short-lived. Tuition was in Canadian dollars. You don’t pay that kind of money with welding and trading. That’s when my parents started selling land.
First, it was a small plot my dad inherited from his late father. Then, another one in the outskirts of Ibadan. Then, a land my mother inherited from her uncle in Badagry, Lagos. These weren’t big properties, just land they had dreams for. “We’ll build later,” they used to say.
They sold those dreams for me.
That’s a huge sacrifice. What does that do to you? Emotionally?
It makes you scared to fail. It makes you feel like every dollar you spend must produce fruit. Sometimes I feel like I’m not just studying for myself, I’m studying for the soil they let go of. That’s why I don’t tweet things like “you don’t owe anybody.” I do. I owe them more than money. I owe them meaning.
You’ve been in Canada for almost 3 years now. What’s it been like?
Beautiful and brutal. I landed in winter, and Canada did not greet me kindly. I was depressed for the first six months. School was demanding. I was working part-time in a grocery store—mopping floors at 6 a.m., attending lectures by 11 a.m. It felt like I was constantly chasing air.
But I adjusted and found a way to balance everything better. It was hard, but I built a system.
Let’s talk about money. What takes the most out of your wallet?
Rent. I live in Ontario, and the rent here is mad. Like, minimum $1300–$1500 for shared accommodation. After rent, groceries and transport follow.
I also spend a lot when I’m homesick. Sometimes I’ll randomly buy ingredients to cook amala, gbegiri, and ewedu, just so I can smell Nigeria. The issue is that the soup doesn’t even slap like my mum’s own. But it’s comfort.
Do you budget? Save? Send money home?
Yes to all three. I use a Google Sheet for budgeting, nothing fancy. Just income, expenses, and something I call ‘guilt’. I try to save at least 15% of any income. Some months, I fail.
As for home, I send money. Not every month, but when I can. My parents don’t ask, but I send. ₦100k here, ₦150k there. I also send money to my younger sister in the university. I know how much it means to them to hear “check your phone.” It’s not Black Tax for me. It’s gratitude.
You mentioned guilt. Do you carry a lot of it?
Yes. Even when I rest, I feel like I’m being ungrateful. Like, “people sold land for you, and you’re sleeping?” That mindset is hard to unlearn. But I try to remind myself that they gave this for me to live, not to suffer. Still, it’s a daily wrestle.
What’s your biggest financial goal?
Freedom. Not the billionaire kind. Just the kind where I can take care of my family, live comfortably, and have margin—room to breathe. I want to be able to say, “Mummy, don’t go to the market this week. I’ve sent something.” Or buy them land again. Better land.
What’s one money lesson you wish more people knew?
That money is never just numbers. For some of us, money is how we say “thank you.” How we heal trauma. How we carry our people with us across oceans. And that’s okay.
You don’t have to post every win. You don’t have to send your whole salary home. But if someone built a bridge for you to cross, maybe don’t spend your whole life pretending you did it alone.
So…what’s next for you, Adeife? Relationship? Rest? Return ticket?
I want to breathe. That’s next. Not just survive, breathe. I finished my Master’s, and I’m working full-time. I just want to save with peace, not pressure. Relationship? If it comes, it comes. But right now, I’m building a life that someone else can join, not rescue. Will I return? I don’t know. Nigeria is home, but right now, I’m just trying to build enough life here to make going back a choice, not an escape.