The Untold Truth About Sharing Apartments With Fellow Nigerians Abroad

The hallway is narrow, the radiator is always either too hot or useless, and the kitchen carries two smells at once: yesterday’s stew and someone’s instant noodles. Your phone keeps lighting up, WhatsApp pings about electric, Wi-Fi, and who “forgot” to buy washing-up liquid. Someone laughs loudly in Yoruba at 1 a.m. because Lagos time is still in their body.

This isn’t a hit piece. Sharing a flat with fellow Nigerians abroad can be sweet. It can also be stressful in ways people don’t say out loud until they’ve packed their boxes and blocked a number. The truth sits in the small moments: the quiet resentment, the unspoken rules, the “I’ll sort it tomorrow” that turns into a month.

Nigerians share apartments abroad for real reasons: high rent, faster savings, and the comfort of familiar people in a strange city. This is real talk about what works, what hurts, and what to fix before friendship turns into cold war.

Why Nigerians Share Flats Abroad and Why It Feels Like the Smart Move

For most newcomers, sharing isn’t a lifestyle choice, it’s survival maths.

In cities like London, Manchester, Toronto, Dublin, Berlin, or anywhere with a housing squeeze, rent moves like a taxi meter. Landlords want deposits, references, proof of income, sometimes credit history, and sometimes a local guarantor. If you’re fresh off a plane, even a good job offer can feel “not enough” on paper.

So you do what many Nigerians have always done well: you form a small unit. Somebody knows somebody, a church member has a spare room, a cousin’s friend is leaving and needs a replacement fast. You move in quickly, get a roof, then start building.

But the smart move can have hidden costs. Not only money costs. Peace costs too.

Money maths that makes sharing feel like the only option

Sharing often starts with a simple promise: “Let’s split everything and save.” That promise sounds tidy until you remember what “everything” includes abroad.

It’s not just rent. It’s also utilities, Wi-Fi, heating, and, in many UK homes, council tax. It’s furniture when the place is unfurnished, kitchen basics, cleaning stuff, and transport top-ups when you’re travelling for shifts.

Then there’s pressure from home. Some people are sending money back, paying school fees, supporting parents, helping a sibling “just for this month”. It can make someone look okay on the outside while they’re drowning inside.

A simple example in words: imagine four people share a flat. Rent is split, bills are split, but one person covers the deposit upfront “so we can secure it quickly”. Another pays Wi-Fi because their name is on the contract. Two months later, one flatmate’s hours get cut at work. They start paying late, then partial, then promises. The savings plan turns into quiet panic.

If you want context on wider settlement pressures that hit many Nigerians in the UK, this overview of common challenges faced by Nigerian immigrants in the UK captures the mix of money stress, adjustment, and work realities that often sit behind shared housing choices.

The comfort of ‘my people’ when the city feels cold

Money is one part. The other is the heart.

A shared flat can feel like a mini-village. You come back from work and someone is cooking. There’s a familiar accent in the sitting room. You can ask, “How do I register with a GP?” without feeling stupid. Someone shows you how to use the washing machine that looks like a spaceship. You join a church group, a WhatsApp community, and suddenly the city isn’t as loud and lonely.

That comfort matters. Abroad can be cold in ways that aren’t weather. It’s the silence of neighbours who don’t greet, the way you have to book appointments for simple things, the feeling of being unknown.

Still, closeness has a flip side. When everyone is always around, kindness can turn into monitoring. Help can turn into unsolicited advice. Small mistakes can become gist for other people. The same community that holds you can also squeeze you.

The Untold Truth: The Problems People Don’t Admit Until They Move Out

The biggest problems aren’t dramatic. They’re repetitive.

They’re the same issue, every week, wearing a different outfit. And because everyone is trying to “keep peace”, problems stay unspoken until they explode.

If you’ve read stories like “I Left Nigeria and Ended Up With a Roommate Who Made …”, you’ll recognise the pattern: the warning signs were there early, but survival made people ignore them.

Bills, debt, and the one person who is always ‘sorting it tomorrow’

Shared flats run on trust. Bills don’t.

One person often becomes the “house accountant” by accident. Their name is on the tenancy. Their card is saved on the energy app. Their email gets the reminders. When payment is late, the landlord doesn’t message the group chat, they message that person.

That’s how resentment is born. Not from wickedness, from repeated pressure.

Common lines show up:

• “I’ll pay you after my shift.”
• “My bank is doing maintenance.”
• “Let me send it tomorrow morning.”
• “You know I’m not working this week.”

Sometimes it’s genuine hardship. Sometimes it’s poor planning. Either way, when one person keeps carrying the house, they start feeling used. And when they finally speak, it comes out sharp.

A shared home can survive low money. It struggles to survive unclear money.

Privacy goes missing and small issues become big fights

In many Nigerian homes, people are used to movement. Someone’s cousin can stay for a week. People gist in the kitchen. Noise is normal. Abroad, the walls are thinner and the neighbours complain faster. Also, many people start craving personal space more than they expected.

In a small flat, every habit is louder:

• One person takes work calls late because of time zones.
• Another blasts gospel in the morning to “set the day”.
• Someone watches football in the sitting room like it’s a viewing centre.
• Guests sit in the kitchen and suddenly you can’t cook.

Then there’s the bathroom queue, the wet floor, the missing towel, the hair in the drain. Each thing is tiny. Put together, it feels like living inside someone else’s life.

The clash is real: communal living instincts versus the stronger personal space culture many meet abroad. People start feeling trapped, even when they like their flatmates.

Food, cleanliness, and ‘borrowing’ that turns into a trust crisis

Every shared fridge has politics.

Someone labels their food. Someone ignores labels. Someone “just tastes” your stew. Someone cooks and leaves oil on the cooker like a signature. Someone keeps buying bulk items from African shops and there’s no space for milk.

Cleanliness is also emotional. It’s not only about germs, it’s about respect. When you wake up to a sink full of plates that aren’t yours, it can feel like you’re being told, “Your time doesn’t matter.”

Then there’s borrowing. In some Nigerian settings, borrowing is casual. In a shared flat abroad, it can feel like theft when it’s repeated and unasked.

The usual suspects: chargers, hair products, clothes, perfume, groceries, toiletries. It starts small, then trust starts leaking like a slow pipe. Once trust goes, every missing spoon becomes a court case.

Love, gender, and reputation pressure inside the same four walls

Romance changes the temperature of a flat.

A partner starts “visiting” and soon they’re there more than they’re not. They use the shower, eat food, charge devices, and take over the sofa. The house becomes a couple’s zone, and the other flatmates become extras in the background.

Jealousy can show up too, even when nobody admits it. Not always romantic jealousy, sometimes lifestyle jealousy. “Must be nice” energy is real when one person has a steady partner and another is lonely, broke, and tired.

Then there’s reputation pressure. Some people have family back home who don’t accept mixed-gender living. That pressure can push people into secrecy, lies, and over-explaining. Flatmates get pulled into it, and arguments start over things that should’ve been simple.

If you want a raw snapshot of how hard housing can get when plans fail, this story, “I Went from Having My Own Apartment In Nigeria To Sleeping on Benches in the UK”, shows why many people cling to any shared set-up, even when it’s tense.

How to Make Sharing Work Without Losing Your Mind or Your Friendships

Good intentions are sweet, but systems keep the peace.

A shared flat doesn’t need military rules. It needs clear agreements that remove guesswork. When everyone knows what to expect, fewer things feel personal.

Set house rules on day one, and write them down

Have the awkward chat early. It’s easier before people settle into bad habits.

Keep it friendly, short, and written in one place (a pinned WhatsApp message or shared note). Things to cover:

• Quiet hours (especially for work nights).
• Guests (how often, how late, and whether sleepovers are okay).
• Kitchen rules (clean as you go, or clean at night, pick one).
• Shared items (what’s communal, what’s personal).
• Bathroom basics (leave it dry, restock tissue, clear hair).
• Borrowing (simple rule: ask first, every time).

Writing it down reduces “I thought” and “You never said”.

Use simple systems for money, chores, and receipts

If bills are scattered, arguments multiply. Pick one method and stick to it.

A clean set-up looks like this:

• One main payer per bill (rent, energy, Wi-Fi).
• One house due date (for example, 2 days before the bill leaves).
• Automatic transfers where possible.
• A small shared pot for basics (toilet roll, bin bags, dish soap), topped up monthly.

For chores, match tasks to reality. The person on night shifts shouldn’t be forced into morning cleaning. Keep it fair, not equal in theory.

Receipts also matter, not because you’re stingy, but because memory is unreliable when people are stressed. Even a photo in the group chat can stop a future fight.

Pick the right roommates, not just the closest accent

The hardest truth: being Nigerian doesn’t mean you’re compatible housemates.

Before moving in, talk about:

• Work status and stability (not to shame anyone, to plan).
• How bills will be paid if someone loses a job.
• Cleanliness level (be honest, not aspirational).
• Lifestyle (quiet homebody, social host, party person).
• Guests and partners (how often is too often?).
• Smoking, drinking, and noise tolerance.

Red flags are usually simple. Someone refuses to discuss money. Someone keeps details vague. Someone blames every past roommate. Someone wants to move in “today today” but won’t answer basic questions.

If you can, do a short trial period. Even two weeks can reveal a lot.

Plan the exit before the move-in

Most shared flats fail at the ending, not the beginning.

Agree early on:

• Notice period for moving out.
• How to find a replacement tenant.
• Deposit handling (what counts as damage, what’s fair wear).
• A move-out checklist (keys, cleaning, final bills, room condition photos).

This isn’t pessimism. It’s respect. It keeps the end from becoming war.

Also, protect your name. If you’re the lead tenant, understand the risk you’re holding. If your name is on contracts, late payments land on you first, not the group chat.

Conclusion

Sharing apartments with fellow Nigerians abroad can be a blessing, a burden, or both at once. It can feed you when you’re broke, keep you sane when you’re lonely, and help you settle faster. It can also drain you when money is unclear, privacy disappears, and trust gets chipped away by small daily disrespect.

Choose peace over pride. Speak early, not after anger has matured. Put money systems in place, write down house rules, and plan the exit while everyone still likes each other.

What’s one rule you wish you’d set in your first shared flat abroad? Share it with someone who’s about to move in, it might save them months of stress.