In March, Nigerian travel content creator Alma Asinobi set out to break the Guinness World Record for the fastest time to visit all seven continents. However, her journey was cut short in Australia when immigration authorities denied her entry due to the limitations of her Nigerian passport. Her experience highlighted the harsh realities that come with traveling on a Nigerian passport, where the journey is often burdened by suspicion, heightened scrutiny, and, in some cases, outright discrimination. For many, that green passport is less a travel document and more a symbol of the obstacles they must constantly navigate.
To understand just how widespread and frustrating these experiences can be, we spoke with seven Nigerians about their encounters with immigration officers around the world. Their stories paint a clear picture of what it means to move through borders as a Nigerian citizen, and the unspoken hurdles that come with it.
“You Don’t Look Like Your Passport” Dami, 26
I was transiting through Frankfurt to Canada for my master’s program. I had done everything by the book—paid my fees, received my admission letter, got my student visa, even printed out all my documents in triplicate. I wasn’t even staying in Germany— just passing through. At passport control, the officer looked at my Nigerian passport, looked at me, and said, “You don’t look like your passport.” At first, I thought it was a joke. Then I realized he was serious. He asked me to step aside and took me into a small white room with two other officers who asked me the same questions over and over.
They held me for over two hours, only to eventually hand my passport back and say, “You’re good to go.” No apology. No reason for the delay. Just the full weight of being Nigerian at the wrong airport, on the wrong day.
“You Nigerians Love to Overstay” Ini, 34
In 2022, I was invited to a friend’s wedding in Casablanca, Morocco. I got the visa, booked a hotel in a nice part of town, and planned to stay for just four days. Simple. However, the moment I landed, I knew I was in for drama. At the immigration counter, the officer flipped through my passport and, without even looking up and said: “You Nigerians love to overstay.”
I wanted to laugh, but I was too irritated. I asked, “Is there a problem with my visa?” and he said no. But he called someone else to come and “verify” my documents. I stood there while three people took turns eyeing me like I was smuggling drugs.
When they finally let me through, I’d been standing for almost an hour. That whole first night, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I didn’t belong — like I had to walk on eggshells or risk being deported. All because of a green passport.
“Are You Sure You’re Here for Tourism?” Uche, 28
I’d been saving up for a trip to Turkey with my friends for over a year. I had everything sorted: visa, flight, hotel, and spending money. I even made a Google Doc itinerary to avoid stories, but when I got to Istanbul, the immigration officer just wasn’t having it. He looked at my passport, frowned, and asked: “Are you sure you’re here for tourism?”
I said yes, and he asked me to come with him for questioning. I spent nearly 40 minutes in a glass-walled room while two officers asked me weirdly specific questions about my life. They even asked to see my Instagram. I laughed nervously and showed them. After scrolling for a while and finding nothing suspicious, one of them nodded and said, “Okay. You can go.”
But the damage was done. For the rest of the trip, I felt hyper-aware of myself, how I talked, what I wore, and where I went. Like I was being watched.
“You’re Lucky I’m In A Good Mood” Abisola, 24
This was my first solo trip. I’d saved a chunk of my salary and picked Milan as a treat to myself. I had a Schengen visa and enough funds for a one-week stay.
At the airport, the immigration officer didn’t even greet me. He flipped through my passport and muttered: “You’re lucky I’m in a good mood.” I wanted to say, “No, I’m lucky I followed the rules and applied properly,” but I kept my mouth shut. He stamped the passport without looking up. I walked out of the terminal with tears in my eyes — not because anything dramatic happened, but because it was so clear that they didn’t want me there.
“What Are You Doing In The UK?” Dayo, 30
When I landed in the UK for my masters, I was feeling proud. I’d gotten a fully-funded scholarship. I’d said goodbye to my mum with hugs and prayers. I was about to start a new chapter. Then immigration happened. The officer looked through my passport and said, “What are you really doing in the UK?” I explained I was here for school and showed my documents. Still, they took me aside and asked what felt like 100 questions. They asked about my school, my course, my accommodation, and my plans. At some point, the officer said, “You know, Nigerians come here and disappear, right?” I almost asked him to call my school to confirm everything. But eventually, after almost an hour, he stamped my passport and said, “Be careful.” Be careful of what? Studying?
“How Did You Get This Job?” – Tomiwa, 27
I work in tech and was flying into Germany for a conference organized by my company. I had an official letter of invitation, accommodation booked by the company, and a valid business visa, but the reason was that at the immigration office, this officer glanced at my green passport and asked: “How did you get this job?” He didn’t mean it in a curious, friendly way. It was accusatory, as if I had somehow gamed the system. I smiled and said, “I’m qualified, that’s how.”
He scoffed, but let me through. I couldn’t shake the feeling of having to prove that I deserved to be there, not as a fraud, not as a scammer, but as a professional like everyone else at the conference.
“He Expected A Reaction” – Nneka, 35
On the way back from a week-long conference in Cape Town, I stood at the immigration counter with the familiar tightness in my chest. I’d heard all sorts of horror stories from friends about profiling, rudeness, even sudden denials.
The officer took my passport, scanned it, looked up, smiled, and said: “I expected more drama.” I raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me?” He chuckled. “It’s just… Nigerian passports usually mean there’s an issue. But everything looks clean here.” I didn’t laugh with him. I just took my passport, nodded, and left.
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