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Everyone in the folk landed in Canada safely, except Nelson. Well, for Nelson, there was no flight and no Canada. Nigeria was the real deal. After all, weren't Nigerian youths the leaders of tomorrow? If everyone escaped into different countries, who would stay back to build their ‘own dear native land’?

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From the moment Sandra, Mike, Dele, and Candy arrived in Canada, Nelson's phone did not rest from the blaring notification sounds. Their departmental alumni platform was filled with messages like, 

“Congratulations, guys!”

“This money, all of us go make am (we will all succeed financially).”

“I can't see Nelson here. Are you sure you didn't forget him inside the plane?”

Nelson hissed, dumping his phone on his bed and fishing for his tie. He stood before his dresser and spent almost forever, knotting his tie in preparation for the day's activities. 

His mind was clouded with conflicting thoughts. Jealously? He doubted. You could say a pinch of regret, but not jealousy. He was happy for his best friends. And maybe regretful that he hadn't gone with them as planned. But he consoled himself with, “Not everyone is destined to make it abroad.”

With that, he picked up his file and dashed off into the streets for another routine of job-hunting. 

Nelson's friends seemed to be doing well in Canada. Although they didn't say, they assured him that Canada was the game changer. 

Some months later, about ten of Nelson's ex-coursemates uploaded photos of themselves landing in Dubai. Everything appeared like a dream to Nelson. 

“What is going on?”

He asked himself a thousand times as he paced the small corners of his single-room apartment. The next time he asked, the question was directed to his dilemma. It had been two years since graduation... two years of job-hunting! He was becoming fed up, and he was sure it wouldn't take time to give up the dream of staying back to build his *own dear native land.*

Nelson slumped into the bed, head buried in his palms. 

“Nigeria, I hail thee...” he lamented.

He picked up his phone and unlocked it. Maybe it was time he risked it, too. Luck could shine on him, who knew?

He dialled a number and placed the phone against his ear. 

“Hello, Nelson,” the caller on the other end spoke first. 

“Hi, De... Dele...” Nelson could not believe he was stuttering. 

There was a brief silence for a moment. 

“Can I call you back in the next hour? I'm in the middle of something,” Dele said. 

Nelson only nodded. The call ended. Nelson's eyes landed on the bowl of abandoned garri (cassava flakes) on the table and his stomach growled, not out of hunger, but frustration, as the sour taste of the garri still hung in his mouth. 

Months later, the news of Nigerians relocating abroad had subsided. However, Nelson's mind was made up but his bank account was not. His friends in Canada were ready to receive him.

He needed a visa. He needed money. A lot of it. Only one option surfaced: his only inheritance, some plots of land left for him by his late father.

It was about 3 a.m. after a video call with his friends. The idea dropped like chilled water onto one's soul, making Nelson jump in excitement like a lad who'd seen his favourite biscuits.

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Nelson began to contact everybody whom he knew could help him put the land up for sale. His uncle, brother, and mother. His village people soon got wind of the news: ‘Nelson is travelling abroad!’

If not anything, his photo would have circulated everywhere in his community with the caption, “**Nelson Okorocha 1 of America.**”

When his uncle told him he had gotten a trusted agent, Nelson, out of excitement, rushed off to a nearby bar and gulped down a few shots of alcohol.

*Canada, here I come!*

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The ray of sun streamed in through the curtains to reveal a young man stirring in his sleep, his legs stretched wide like butter on bread. He stirred to the end, chewing funnily. He stirred again but that left him falling off the bed and landing on the floor. 

That was enough to pull Nelson into reality. It had been a bad dream. He sat up and reached for his buzzing phone. Sliding the green sign to the left, he yawned widely as his uncle's voice came out at once. 

“The agent has been unreachable.”

Nelson wiped his face, unsure if it was a continuation of the nightmare he'd woken up from or not. But the reality appeared scarier.

Five traumatic days passed. No news about the agent's whereabouts. How dare he defraud them? On the seventh day, Nelson thought he would not survive the next day until a text message popped up on his screen. 

*Dear Mr Okorocha. We hope this finds you well. Having found you worthy of excellence and value, the Jackson's Company wishes to inform you that you have been employed as the Sales Development Representative of the company. Check your mail for further information. Congratulations!*

Nelson didn't realise how teary his eyes were until a drop of tears landed on his phone's screen. He looked at the text for a long time, too lost for words.
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*All images were generated using ChatGPT*