It was a sunny afternoon and I was just returning from the print office. I had been working on some prints I wanted to use for frames in my studio. I call it my new studio, not because it is freshly acquired, but because I recently carried out a major revamp. The kind that forces you to pause, breathe, and ask yourself difficult questions you usually avoid.
While sitting in the cab on my way to the next destination, the city of Ibadan unfolding quietly outside the window, two thoughts crossed my mind almost at once.
Was the over three million naira I had spent so far revamping my studio and apartment actually worth it?
What if I had moved to Lagos and never made it?
That question lingered longer than I expected. And somewhere between traffic stops and passing streets, I realized something important.
Is a small town really about a place?
Because the more I sat with that idea, the less geography explained it.
A small town is not always physical. Sometimes, it is mental. Sometimes, it is emotional. It is found in the limits we accept without questioning. In the stories we inherit about what success should look like and where it is allowed to happen. It lives in environments that tolerate comfort but quietly resist ambition.
A small town can be the people you listen to. Not because they are malicious, but because they have made peace with ceilings you are still trying to break through. It can be routines that feel safe but numb your hunger. Familiarity that slowly turns into stagnation.
The truth is, you can leave a place physically and still carry its fears with you. You can move to a bigger city and still think small. You can chase opportunity and still remain trapped by doubt, comparison, and the need for validation.
I realized that leaving the small town is not about running away from where you are. It is about expanding beyond the limits you have unconsciously adopted. It is about choosing growth even when it is uncomfortable and misunderstood. It is about believing that success is not tied to a specific postcode, but to clarity, discipline, and courage.
Staying does not automatically mean settling. Leaving does not automatically mean growth. What matters is whether you are evolving.
That afternoon reminded me that the most dangerous small town is the one you never question. And the real escape is not always movement. Sometimes, it is expansion.
The second thought felt heavier and more personal.
Should I have moved to Lagos instead?
I live in Ibadan, a city often spoken about with limitations attached to it. There is a subtle belief that nobody truly makes it out from here. That ambition belongs elsewhere. That if you are serious about growth, you pack your bags, relocate to Lagos, and trust that the city will reward your courage.
But when I look back over the years, I have done well for myself. Maybe not in a loud or dramatic way, but well enough. Enough to afford a soft life. Enough to create intentionally. Enough to feel grounded. Still, that afternoon, none of that seemed convincing enough.
I am transitioning. From being just a designer to becoming a photographer and studio owner, all within Ibadan. The possibilities ahead of me feel wide and far reaching, even though the path is not fully visible yet. And still, the voices echoed in my head. The many times people had casually or seriously told me to leave Ibadan if I wanted more.