Nigerians Lives: Seven Nigerians Talk About Most Painful Job Rejections

In Nigeria, a job offer can feel like salvation,  a golden ticket out of financial instability, a symbol of dignity, or proof that hard work finally counts for something. But sometimes, that ticket burns before it’s cashed. The email doesn’t come. The call never follows. The role disappears into silence, or worse, goes to someone whose name was always written on it.

This rejection lingers as financial responsibilities pile on, family expectations, and the quiet shame of explaining why “it didn’t work out”.

In this Nigerian Lives, seven Nigerians talk about their most painful job rejections and disappointments.

Chike, 34

When the email from this oil company came through, it felt like everything I had worked for was finally aligning. The salary, the benefits, the housing allowance, all of it was proof that the years of engineering contracts and unpaid field work had meant something. I told my family, signed the acceptance, and packed my bags for Port Harcourt.

Three days before resumption, another email arrived. It was short and detached, informing me that the role had been “put on hold.” I stared at the screen for a long time before realizing what had happened. I had already resigned from my old job, moved into a new apartment, and even advanced rent for the year.

In the days that followed, I oscillated between disbelief and humiliation. I felt like a fool for celebrating too early. Friends kept asking when I would start, and each time I had to pretend the delay was temporary. When I finally accepted it was over, it took a long time to rebuild my confidence. My friend advised I sue, but where is the money? And the judgment would probably drag on. I didn’t have those resources to challenge a multinational.

Funke, 26

I applied for a global tech internship with the kind of intensity reserved for once-in-a-lifetime opportunities. I spent nights perfecting my portfolio, showing how design could solve everyday problems. When the acknowledgment mail came, I imagined the next steps already unfolding in my head: visa applications, relocation, a future that finally made sense.

Weeks later, I got an automated rejection. No explanation, no feedback, just a digital dismissal. I kept refreshing the page, hoping it was a mistake. It wasn’t. I closed my laptop, turned off my phone, and sat in the dark.

What made it painful wasn’t just the rejection, but how impersonal it was. I had poured so much humanity into my application, only to be rejected by a machine. I began to question my worth as a designer. I thought about all the other young Africans who would never know why they were not chosen.

It took months before I could open Figma again. But when I did, I began designing for expression. I built small, local projects, tools for market women, student groups, and small clinics. Ironically, one of those projects caught the attention of a European nonprofit that later hired me.

Emeka, 31

The role was for Head of Partnerships at a fintech startup in Lagos. I had just left a consulting contract and was eager for something permanent. The process was long. Multiple interview rounds, task presentations, and strategy sessions. I gave them everything: frameworks, projections, even a detailed launch plan for cross-border partnerships.

Two weeks after the final interview, I got a polite rejection email. They said they were “moving in another direction.” A month later, I saw a press release announcing a new campaign that mirrored every idea I had shared during the process. It felt like being robbed in slow motion.

I realized then that I had been naïve, but then I learned quickly. I started treating my ideas like intellectual property. I now draw boundaries, ask for NDAs, and hold back details until there’s real commitment. The rejection took something from me, but it also gave me a sharpened sense of self-respect.

Zainab, 38

After years of working in humanitarian programs, I applied for a Program Officer position with a major international agency in Abuja. It felt like a culmination of everything I had done. My experience in northern states, my understanding of local communities, and my ability to manage large donor projects.

I passed every stage. They told me to expect a response. I felt it was going to be a positive response. I even started looking for apartments closer to their office and made mental lists of schools for my daughter. Then the silence began. Weeks passed, then months. Every email I sent received a generic response about “ongoing processes.” Eventually, an update came saying the role had been “put on hold indefinitely.”

I felt hollow. It was a slow kind of rejection, the kind that stretches hope until it hurts. It made me realize how recruitment systems in big organizations can drain people emotionally, reducing them to statistics.

I never got closure, but I learned to find peace outside institutional validation. I started working as an independent consultant for smaller NGOs, where I could actually see the impact of my work. The rejection left a scar, but it also stripped away my illusion that prestige equals purpose.

Tolu, 35

When I got accepted into a European fellowship for software innovators, it felt like my passport had just opened the world to me. It was a two-year placement with a generous stipend, relocation package, and the chance to work with researchers I had admired for years.

I resigned from my job, rented out my apartment, and began planning my departure. Then the visa delays began. Weeks turned into months. The embassy stopped responding. The fellowship administrators eventually withdrew the offer, citing “compliance challenges.”

I remember the stillness of that morning. It felt like a personal collapse. I had told everyone. My name had been printed in newsletters. My friends had organized a send-off. Then suddenly, it was gone.

The pain was deeper because it was beyond my control. I had done everything right, but geopolitics had other plans. It took months before I could think clearly again. Eventually, I built a remote consultancy that served clients across Europe and Africa. It wasn’t the life I had planned, but it was one I could control.

Ifeanyi, 28

I spent six months preparing for the recruitment process of a global consulting firm. I memorized frameworks, solved mock cases, and passed the online assessments, the initial interviews, and the business case presentation. The final step was a partner interview.

Then, suddenly, an email arrived stating that my application had been withdrawn because I “did not complete all required assessments.” I had, and I had confirmation receipts to prove it. I sent screenshots, follow-up emails, and even LinkedIn messages to the HR team. No one replied.

Weeks later, I found out there had been a system error that disqualified several candidates. They reopened applications, but didn’t invite me again. I went into a spiral, replaying every click and submission, trying to find where I went wrong. Then I realized I hadn’t gone wrong at all. I applied to smaller firms, got hired, and now lead projects that make a real difference. The rejection still stings, but it no longer defines me.

Halima, 30

I applied for a project coordinator role with an international NGO working on gender inclusion in the Sahel. The job description seemed written for me. I had the academic background, field experience, and passion for the cause. I wrote the most heartfelt cover letter of my life.

A month later, I received a rejection email. They said I didn’t have “enough regional experience.” It confused me because the role was based in Nigeria, and I had worked across the exact states they listed. A friend later told me the job had gone to someone from Europe who had never lived in West Africa but had “international credentials.”

I began to see how global development often rewards outsiders for understanding our problems from afar. For weeks, I felt like my lived experience meant nothing. But over time, I started building a local advocacy network focused on women’s education. It began small, like in community sessions, mentorship programs, and grant proposals. Two years later, that network became the reason another international foundation reached out to me, and it has been a rollercoaster of beautiful experiences.