What Happens To The Family After Japa?

When Tunde and Amaka moved to Canada, it felt like a miracle. For years they had prayed for a way out. Better schools for the children. Stable income. A system that worked. The day their visas were approved, the entire family gathered for thanksgiving. There were tears. There were hugs. There were promises.

“We will call every weekend.”
“We will visit every Christmas.”
“This move will help all of us.”

And they meant every word.

The first few months abroad were overwhelming. New weather. New bills. New work culture. The children struggled in school at first. Tunde worked double shifts. Amaka tried to balance survival with settling in. Weekend calls slowly became once in two weeks. Two weeks became once a month. Not because they stopped loving home. Life just became loud.

Back in Nigeria, Grandma waited for the phone to ring.

At first she defended them. “They are busy. It is not easy over there.” But as months turned into years, she began to feel something she could not explain. It was not anger. It was not exactly sadness. It was a quiet distance. The kind that grows without announcement.

When the family finally visited after three years, something felt different. The children did not speak Yoruba fluently anymore. They were shy around their cousins. They preferred staying indoors. They complained about the heat. Relatives whispered, half joking, half serious, “These ones are now oyinbo.”

The children laughed. But inside, they felt out of place.

That is how relocation sometimes works. It does not break bonds loudly. It stretches them slowly.

Let us be honest. Many Nigerian families are living this reality. Somebody relocates to the UK, Canada, or the US. At first, there is excitement and constant communication. Over time, effort reduces. Not intentionally. Just gradually. And gradually is powerful.

We grew up in a system where extended family was part of daily breathing. You could not avoid your cousins. You saw your grandparents regularly. Your aunt could discipline you and your parents would support her. Weddings, burials, naming ceremonies, Sunday visits, everything reinforced connection.

Today, that structure is shifting.

A child born abroad may know their grandparents through a phone screen. They may know family members by names saved on WhatsApp. They may only experience Nigeria through December visits and wedding parties. Their sense of belonging becomes complicated.

They are Nigerian at home. Foreign outside. Too foreign at home. Too Nigerian abroad.

And parents carry their own silent struggles. They are grateful for opportunities abroad. They are proud of the progress. Yet sometimes, late at night, they miss home in a way that surprises them. They miss the noise. The familiarity. The way family felt automatic.

Relocation solves financial problems for many families. Let us not ignore that. School fees get paid on time. Medical bills are handled. Houses are built for parents. Younger siblings are supported. In some cases, relocation becomes the lifeline for the entire extended family.

But money does not replace memories.

It does not replace children sitting at their grandmother’s feet listening to stories. It does not replace cousins growing up in the same compound. It does not replace showing up physically when someone is sick or grieving.

Technology helps. Video calls are beautiful. Family group chats are active. But screens cannot fully replace presence.

Yet here is where we must be careful.

Relocation is not the enemy. Distance is not the villain. Neglect is.

Some families relocate and still remain deeply connected. They schedule weekly video calls and actually show up. They teach their children their native language even if it sounds imperfect. They explain family history. They send voice notes to grandparents. They make visits home a priority, not just a holiday option when it is convenient.

They choose connection deliberately.

Others assume love will sustain itself without effort. It rarely does.

Relationships are like plants. If you stop watering them, they do not die immediately. They fade slowly. By the time you notice, revival requires much more work.

There is also another layer we rarely discuss. Resentment.

Sometimes relatives back home feel abandoned. They may think the ones abroad have changed.

 They may feel forgotten. On the other hand, those abroad may feel pressured. Every call becomes a request. Every conversation circles back to money. They may begin to withdraw emotionally to protect themselves.

Without honest conversations, assumptions grow.

And assumptions quietly damage bonds.

So is relocation destroying extended family bonds?

It can. If families become passive.

But it can also strengthen bonds in a different way. When distance forces intentionality, families who truly value each other step up. They communicate more clearly. They plan reunions. They create new traditions. They make sure children know where they come from.

Maybe the real shift is this. In the past, extended family closeness happened naturally because everyone lived near each other. Today, closeness must be chosen.

And maybe that is the real test.

If you relocate and forget where you came from, distance will do the rest. But if you relocate and carry your roots with you, connection can survive oceans.

At the end of the day, geography changes. Love must remain active.

Relocation may change how we express family, but it does not have to erase it. The question every family must ask is simple and honest.

In the middle of chasing a better life, are we still protecting the relationships that made life meaningful in the first place?

Because success feels different when you can share it with people who still feel close, even if they live far away.