December in Nigeria is a festival on its own, a social ember season packed with concerts, owambes, weddings, traffic, and an inflated cost of living that behaves like it’s preparing for the Olympics. But nothing colours this season more than the returnees, the famous IJGBs (I Just Got Back).

They land with accents that sound like they were freshly downloaded from Heathrow, outfits that have “soft life” written all over them, and expectations about Nigeria that Nigeria has no intention of meeting.

Every December, without fail, you’ll encounter these eight legendary categories. And trust me — once you see them, you’ll recognize them instantly.

1. The “This Country Is Not Working” Lecturer

Barely 48 hours after landing, they’ve turned into national analysts and economic experts, yapping about how the country can become better.

And what actually makes every December gathering interesting is that it has at least one of these. They’ve spent months abroad, and now they suddenly hold a PhD in Nigerian socioeconomic restructuring.

Just a 10 minutes conversation, and they are dropping lines of restructuring:

“The problem with this country is the government, you people don’t understand.”

They compare everything: “In the UK, buses keep to time.” “In Germany, the hospitals are clean.” “In America, nobody uses cash.” “In Sweden, they don’t even have mosquitoes.”

They forget completely that they left Nigeria because this same Nigeria frustrated them and they couldn't bear it and now their mouths are loud.

But don’t argue, just nod and say, just allow them yap.

2. The “Let’s Go Out!” Type

This is the IJGB whose body clock refuses to align with Nigerian reality. They believe Lagos nightlife operates on London time and their energy level is permanently stuck on “Outside!”.

They come with an itinerary that looks like a travel agency brochure: Land → Shower → Eko Hotel → Circa → Sailors → Grill by Yanna → One random after-party at 3 a.m.

They don’t understand why you can’t “quickly meet them on the island” at 10 p.m. Even worse, they’ll message you: “Pull up na, I've ordered Uber and it's here.”

Meanwhile, you’re thinking whether your salary can shout "God forbid!" on your behalf.

What they don’t know is that after two weeks, fatigue will slap them into reality and that everybody is busy. But until then, they are outside — fully.

3. The “I Don’t Eat Nigerian Food Again” Ambassador

This one usually comes with an upgraded digestive system. They spend time outside the country or two semesters in the US, and suddenly their stomach no longer recognizes Nigerian food.

They now say boldly:

• “I can’t eat roadside food.”

• “My system doesn’t accept pepper anymore.”

• “Is this water bottled or sachet?”

• “Please do you have almond milk?”

They carry probiotics around like amulets and raise their noses at suya, even though they used to buy N300 suya at the junction every night before traveling.

But don’t worry, give them one plate of good jollof or even amala and ewedu and watch how their memory will reset.

RECOMMENDED READ: IJGB Season: December In Africa And The Reunion Of The Continent.

4. The Silent Big Boy/Girl (The Real MVP)

They are the opposite of the flexers.
No noise. No social media updates. No unnecessary outing.

They come in quietly, dress simply, speak normally, blend effortlessly, and yet—they spend money like breeze.

These are the ones truly making it abroad.
The ones who discreetly buy 50 bags of rice for their family, sponsor community projects, and still send people home with envelopes.

They don’t tell stories; they do actions.

If you see someone who landed last week and their Instagram has not felt it, just know you’re dealing with a silent heavyweight.

5. The “Ahhh! How Much?!” Type

This one didn’t prepare for Nigerian prices. Not at all.

You’ll see them calculating conversion rates aggressively.
This plate of food is too expensive, you'll hear them say
“Ahh! That’s £5! For what?!” always comparing with foreign rates.

Bolt from VI to Lekki: “₦9,000?! Is the driver taking me to heaven?”

They’ll ask the waiter, the keke rider, the market woman, the hair stylist, and even the church usher: “Has Nigeria always been this expensive? Behaving like they are strangers to the economy of Nigeria.

But in all, let them know that they are welcome to the real world and let's continue fighting for our lives together.

6. The “What Did I Even Miss?” Type

Many of the IJGB have no idea what happened in Nigeria all year. Zero clue. They don't keep tabs neither are they even interested in the news. They don’t know the latest slang, the trending songs, the new roads, the latest scandals, or even the new celebrities.

You’ll mention something or someone trending, and they’ll reply:
“Who is that? When did that happen?”

You’ll say something that shouldn't need an explanation and they will be blinking like a confused LED bulb waiting for explanation.

It's just that they try to spend the entire December trying to catch up on a year’s worth of gist, which they still fail at and then disappear after December, eventually continuing the cycle the following year.

7. The “Audio Gifts” Type

These ones! Don't stress yourself about them, just live your lives without their dramas because even Nepa light is more stable than them, They will promise heaven and earth before flying down.

“I'll bring something for you.” “Don’t worry, I bought plenty of stuff that will go round for everyone.”

“You na my guy na, I dey come with your gift.” this and many more you would hear from their mouth .

But once they arrive, amnesia sets in.

The “gift” suddenly becomes: “It’s still in my other box.” “ooh i forgot it.” “Just be patient, I've not settled in fully.” “I will bring it next week.”

Just know the truth: There is no gift. There was no gift. In fact there was never a gift. Not even gum.

Their love language is “audio promises.”

8. The “I’m Not Going Back Again” Survivor

Every December, this species arrives with emotional baggage and a hidden agenda: they are tired of abroad and want to relocate back home permanently.

You’ll hear: “Honestly, Nigeria is not that bad.” “I’m thinking of starting something small here.” “There’s money in this country if you know what you’re doing.”

They are always planning to come back, when in the actual sense they never will.

They begin scouting for business opportunities, asking about land prices, and acting like motivational speakers.

But after December traffic, fuel scarcity, heatwave, bank network issues, and one encounter with LASTMA, they suddenly remember something:

“My flight is on Monday, I can’t miss it.”

In The End…………

IJGBs bring drama, gist, excitement, and sometimes stress — but December wouldn’t be December without them. They are part of the rhythm of the season, a reminder that Nigerians are everywhere in the world, yet December always calls us back home.

Whether you’re welcoming an IJGB or you are the IJGB this year, just know:
December in Nigeria is a movie — and every character is important.