Scenes playing out in Nigeria during holiday periods could be in a movie: emotional reunions at airport terminals, champagne flowing like water in high-end clubs and A-list Afrobeats performers dominating stages to packed audiences nationwide.

This is when Nigerians abroad return for a visit to the home country. They are nicknamed I Just Got Back (IJGB) and bring with them more than full suitcases.

Their Western accents dip in and out of Pidgin, their wallets are boosted by the exchange rate, and their presence fuels the economy.

But it also highlights an uncomfortable truth.

Those who live in Nigeria, earning in the local naira currency, feel shut out of their own cities, especially in the economic hub of Lagos and the capital, Abuja, as prices go up during festive periods.

Residents say this is particularly the case for “Detty December”, a term used to refer the celebrations around Christmas and New Year.

Detty December makes Lagos almost unliveable for locals – traffic is horrible, prices inflate and businesses stop prioritising their regular customers, a radio presenter based in Lagos tells the BBC.

The popular media personality asked not to be named for voicing what some might consider controversial opinions.

But he is not the only one to hold these views and has some are pondering, with Easter and the diaspora summer holiday season approaching, whether the IJGBs are helping bridge Nigeria’s class divide or are making it even wider.

“Nigeria is very classist. Ironically, we’re a poor country, so it’s a bit silly,” the radio presenter adds.

“The wealth gap is massive. It’s almost like we’re worlds apart.”

It is true that despite oil-rich Nigeria being one of Africa’s biggest economies and the continent’s most populous country, its more than 230 million citizens face huge challenges and limited opportunities.

At the beginning of the year, the charity Oxfam warned the wealth gap in Nigeria was reaching a “crisis level”.

Statistics from 2023 are startling.

According to the World Inequality Database more than 10% of the population owned more than 60% of Nigeria’s wealth. For those with jobs, 10% of the population took home 42% of the income.

The World Bank says the figure of those living below the poverty line is 87 million – “the world’s second-largest poor population after India“.

Martins Ifeanacho, professor of sociology at the University of Port Harcourt, says this gap and resulting class divide has grown since Nigeria’s independence from the UK in 1960.

“We’ve gone through so much economic hardship,” the academic, who returned to Nigeria after studying in Ireland in the 1990s, tells the BBC.

He points the finger at the greed of those who are in position of political power – be it at a federal or state level.

“We have a political elite that bases its calculations on how to acquire power, amass wealth for the purpose of capturing more power.

“The ordinary people are left out of the equation, and that’s why there is a lot of hardship.”

But it is not just about money in the bank account.

Wealth, real or perceived, can dictate access, status and opportunity – and the presence of the diaspora can magnify the class divide.

“Nigeria’s class system is hard to pinpoint. It’s not just about money, it’s about perception,” explains the radio presenter.

He gives the example of going out for a meal in Lagos and how peacocking is so important.

At restaurants, those arriving in a Range Rover are quickly attended to, while those in a Kia may be ignored, says the radio presenter.

Social mobility is difficult when the nation’s wealth remains within a small elite.

With odds stacked against those trying to climb the ladder, for many Nigerians the only realistic path to a better life is to leave.

The World Bank blames “weak job creation and entrepreneurial prospects” that stifle the absorption of “the 3.5 million Nigerians entering the labour force every year”.

“Many workers choose to emigrate in search of better opportunities,” it says.

Since the 1980s, middle-class Nigerians have sought opportunities abroad, but in recent years, the urgency has intensified, especially among Gen Z and millennials.

This mass exodus has been dubbed “japa”, a Yoruba word meaning “to escape”.

A 2022 survey found that at least 70% of young Nigerians would relocate if they could.

But for many, leaving is not simple. Studying abroad, the most common route, can cost tens of thousands of dollars, not including travel, accommodation and visa expenses.

“Japa creates this aspirational culture where people now want to leave the country,” says Lulu Okwara, a 28-year-old recruitment officer.

She went the UK to study finance in 2021 – and is one of the IJGBs, having returned to Nigeria at least three times since moving.

Ms Okwara notes that in Nigeria there is a pressure to succeed. A culture where achievement is expected.

“It’s success or nothing,” she tells the BBC. “There is no room for failure.”

This deeply embedded sentiment makes people feel they must do anything to succeed.

Especially for those who come from more working-class backgrounds. The IJGBs have a point to prove.

“When people go out there, their dream is always to come back as heroes, mostly during Christmas or other festivities,” says Prof Ifeanacho.

“You come back home and you mix with your people that you’ve missed for a long time.

“The type of welcome they will give to you, the children that will be running to you, is something that you love and cherish.”

Success is chased at any cost and putting on a foreign accent can help you climb Nigeria’s social ladder – even if you have not been abroad.

“People fake accents to get access. The more you sound British, the higher your social status,” says Prof Ifeanacho.

He recalls a story about a pastor who preached every Sunday on the radio.

“When they told me that this man had not left Nigeria, I said, ‘No, that’s not possible.’ Because when you hear him speak, everything is American,” he says in disbelief.

American and British accents, especially, act as a different kind of currency, smoothing paths in both professional and social settings.

Pushback on social media suggests some IJGBs are all front – they may lap up the returning hero adulation but in fact lack financial clout.

Bizzle Osikoya, the owner at The Plug Entertainment, a business that hosts live music events in West Africa, says he has encountered some issues that reflect this.

He tells the BBC about how several IJGBs have attended his events – but who have gone on to try and get their money back.

“They went back to the US and Canada and put a dispute on their payments,” he says.

This may reflect the desperate effort to maintain a façade of success in a society where every display of wealth is scrutinised.

In Nigeria, it seems, performance is key – and the IJGBs who are able to show off will certainly be able to climb the class ladder.