Lonely Londoner – My Priceless Experience

This story was written by Dare Babatunde for thenet.ng

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The euphoria of traveling out of the country is usually overrated. People leave the country for different purposes- educational, conferences; holidays and so on are some of the reasons why people travel abroad.

Traveling abroad in many cases does not mean a search for greener pasture; it is an irony of situation usually misinterpreted by many. I have always wanted to travel out of Nigeria for educational purposes, leaving the country for good was never a plan I had in mind, I just wanted to go achieve my aim and return home quickly.

However, the society has a way of making plans for you. I had folks, friends alike who wanted me to stay put after my master’s degree and become a citizen of Britain by force. It was not so easy a journey.

During my youth service, plans were on going to leave the country immediately after, my service year was so busy with travel plans and activities, having to prepare for the English test, communicating with the school abroad, getting my transcript ready and preparing my mind for the task ahead.

As expected, I kept these plans to myself and allowed friends to guess what my move was going to be after service. Two months before the end of service, I had everything in my hand including the test result, medicals, admission letter and confirmation of payment; I was only left with the master of all, an appointment with the embassy. This was at a time when the British Embassy started conducting interviews for international students.

In February 2014, we had rounded off the youth service and during the hand-over session as the Corpers Liaison Office (CLO), I announced to my colleagues that I would be leaving the country for my postgraduate education. Their advice was not different from what I have heard before  but I alone knew what my plan was.

Getting to Lagos from Osun State was not a big deal for me after service, I quickly moved on to the next phase in life without looking back. I fixed an appointment with the embassy; arriving there I was told to submit my application form together with other documents and then told about the interview as a new development.

However, I was given the choice of a later date for the interview but I asked to do it on the same day I submitted my form.

It was a Skype interview and the interviewer was a black woman. A black British lady in her mid 30s wearing dreads and not looking dreadful. I was able to hear her own version of the British accent; you know I had initially passed the English test of which listening test was a part of.

I was confidently armed with sincere responses to her many questions…‘can you confirm your date of birth to me please?’

I started sweating because I expected her to ask for my name first and then my qualification but this interview was not about all this, instead they wanted to know how desperate I was to travel out of the country in search of a ‘greener pasture’.

That question was to throw me off balance. Imagine I was impersonating someone or someone went on my behalf, I could have given my own date of birth in place of who I was impersonating. I was asked a series of question that bothered on my reasons for wanting to go abroad and my plans afterwards. My sincere approach to the interview earned me a three year visa instead of 16 months for my master’s degree programme.

It was a night flight to Madrid which will connect to London Heathrow on the Iberia Airbus. At this time, my dad just got a new whip; so yes I was going to the airport in this new ride.

All was set and ready to leave for the airport; it was my first international flight so everything seemed new and I couldn’t wait for the experience. Food was not a problem, I just wanted to get on that flight and land in London. Family and friends were there to say goodbye but the best was that of my mum, a warm embrace and a little prayer for her baby, she would miss me, she said.

Earlier that day she had given me £70 in case I needed to buy anything on arrival. After passing security checks and the airport, I got on the plane and it was an all-black affair. That was where it all started.

I had to switch off my phone after speaking with my parents who were still held up in Lagos traffic…’we are about to move honey, please don’t forget everything we discussed, I will keep to my promises but stay with me in prayer’.

I could see tears drop down her eyes as she bade me goodnight. The lady sitting next to me looked at me in the eye…

’Your seat belt, we will take off in a bit, I am Lizzy’. Her eyelashes were almost touching my nostrils, with a smile on my face…

’Hi, I’m Dare, thanks.’

She offered me a chewing gum to keep me awake all through the journey probably so that we could have a busy flight chatting through the air to our destination.

I collected it and straight into my pocket; that would be a souvenir. We were already 45 minutes into the journey when Lizzy tapped me and handed me a sealed foil, and a can of Coke; it was time to eat. I opened the plate and all I was familiar with was the rice, the other green stuffs in it were totally strange to me. A plate of rice and stew with beef or fish would be more interesting.

I ignored the plate of food and thought to have the little loaf of bread and butter but trust me, the bread was as hard as you can imagine, far from the soft white Agege bread on the streets of Lagos.

I watched Lizzy enjoy the meal like it was from her mother’s pot, she was so quick to finish everything and asked for a can of Coke to step it down.

At this point, I was already in a haste to land. I wanted to see London, I wanted to see the people of England; I was so excited about this. I was wide awake and I could hear fellow passengers on board discussing like there was a village meeting, some laughing as hard as possible. Yes it was a community, not different from the one I used to know.

At 4.45am, we landed in Madrid, and were ushered to the connecting flight going to London. I forgot to take Lizzy’s number, we didn’t have too much to talk about on board but I remember she told me she was staying over in Madrid for a family function; she stays in London on a student visa too.

I was looking ‘fresh’ on the flight to London as it was a little different from Lagos to Madrid. There were not too many familiar faces on board. As at 5am, it was already bright, this was very different from what I experienced in Nigeria and it was so cold, I could feel it right in my bones. Jeez!!!

Arriving London Heathrow airport, it was more interesting to me; security dogs, police officers and immigration officers all looking so busy with their eyes searching the arriving crowd. I quickly connected to the airport WiFi and sent a message to my sister that I had landed; she was already five minutes away from the airport.

I hadn’t seen her for two years since she left home for her masters. She had told me about the interview at the immigration desk so I could be prepared. She also sent me her address if they asked for my destination, she lives there legally so there should be no problem.

It was my turn to be screened so I quickly stepped forward…

’Welcome to London, can I have your passport please?’

I handed it over to her; she was going through the pages …

’Can you confirm your date of birth please?’

I had that in my head already…

’So tell me why are you in the uk?; she asked,

I gave her a perfect answer, for my master’s degree.

She nodded hysterically and asked to see my admission letter which I showed her.

At this point, I was already getting nervous because I had been told people got sent back home from the airport because their visa was terminated. I didn’t want to think about that, so I kept a straight face.

She looked at me and smiled as she handed me my passport and other documents in her possession…

‘Welcome and all the best’.

I dragged my suitcase and left her desk. I had already passed all security screening so I was good to go. It took me another 20minutes to locate my sister who was all smiles to see her baby brother.

She quickly introduced me to the cab driver, dark skinned, average height who looked like he spends some time in the gym…

‘Hi I’m Seun, welcome to London’

He quickly took my suitcase from me and put it in the trunk. I had missed my sister so much and I was just meeting my six-month old nephew who was being cuddling by Aura, the Mexican child minder who was taking care of Philip. We all got into the car and zoomed off.

It was my first night and I kept on wondering why it was still very bright at 8.45pm, the weather was yet to change I was told. I went to bed so early as a result of the travel fatigue and stress.

As a visitor, the cold welcomed me with its coldest embrace; it was like I put on ice throughout the night. I wasn’t very comfortable but yes it was a nice night.

I woke up to a bright Monday morning, my sister was already dressed and ready for work, my nephew was kitted for nursery and me, a JJC from the heart of Lagos still stretching and yawning at half past 7. Hey man, this is London, time is money! You have to be smart.

She gave me a map and pointed at the train station from the balcony. I had to get my registration done in school as I was already missing out of lectures. From Deptford high street to London Bridge took us six minutes on the train.

I got to school and everyone knew I was fresh from Lagos,…

’Are u here for registration’ the receptionist asked with a welcoming smile making me feel relaxed. I followed the arrow on the wall to an office where I had all my credentials checked and my student account was opened. A quick look at my time table, my next meeting with the school was Wednesday morning, 9.45am.

Every face was new to me, white, black, Caucasian, Latino, Asian. I sat very close to two black guys I overheard speaking pidgin English, it was my first day at school.

I was as quiet as a snail, I studied the atmosphere very carefully as I was warned to be careful of the friends I choose to keep.

A week had already gone and I had still not found friends in my class, there was more to it. After lectures were over, before I could say jack, everyone had disappeared. I never understood at first where they were headed.

Everyone had to settle himself, survival was key, time is money remember; they had to rush to their four-hour a day job immediately after school. Late coming to work would reflect on the wages so I don’t blame them for shutting anyone up who dared to ask questions when it was time for the professor to leave.

There were four modules in the first semester and assignments had already piled up for three of the modules, each of which requires a 4,000 word count. We were warned about Turnitin, so we dare not google-paste any assignment, it will result in failure.

Living in London is quite expensive and could be miserable for a student especially one without a job like me. I had requested for my National Insurance number which will take about nine weeks to arrive. How do I survive? My sister had many mouths to feed already, I didn’t want to bother her with my own expenses so I sought to sort myself.

Spending quality time at the library was fun for me, it was quiet and filled with all sort of books. So I decided to look for those that don’t have the time to spend at the library, I could write their assignments for them and get paid. This was what I was doing for a long time, I was living on this and saving money, since house rent was out of the equation.

I would leave the house in the morning and come back late in the night; it was not the easiest of jobs but the joy of earning a living was encouraging but trust me it was not easy. Life is never a bed of roses.

I had lived in London for eight months before I got a job. I needed the experience to add more flesh to my CV. Finance and operations department, Marks and Spencer seemed like what I wanted but the role was very demanding.

I got my own apartment and moved in immediately. The thought of combining school and work together could be tragic you know? But I promised myself to face it till the end. I would wake up at 2.30am, get to the bus station before 3am and get to work at exactly 4.30 to resume at 5am.

On my student visa, I was only allowed to work for 20 hours a week; I was contracted for five days so I worked from 5am to 9am, everything was on record to avoid future trouble with the home office. I would finish work at 9am and dash to class for the 10am lectures.

This was a daily routine for eight months and the lifestyle became a part of me; even days when I was off at work, I still wake up very early, my body had adjusted to that daily routine.

I was enjoying the struggle. I passed every exam I wrote, I saw a very promising future for myself, I held on to the dreams against all odds. I was getting paid and attending to my bills, I was all by myself. Mom offered to always send additional pocket money for my upkeep but I opted to have a feel of the hard way and I survived it.

Planning was very essential to living abroad, I had planned my salary before I got it, and whatever was left of went into savings. House rent, transportation, food, and a little cash at hand in case of emergency. I stayed far away from trouble, spent my time very wisely because 24 hours wasn’t enough.

I had three months to write and submit my final project after it was approved; my supervisor had visited Nigeria before so we somehow found a connection. He told me how much he loved soaking garri and this helped my familiarity with him. I got really cool with him and things went really smooth.

My project drained me, I couldn’t sleep well, I always thought of the unfinished business, lots of research to be made, originality, in-depth analysis and of course plenty of reading to be done. It was what I signed up for so I had to face it till the end. I already had an image of my dream job in lagos. I had a big dream, I gave everything to achieve it. My project went well and I was cleared to submit. Master’s degree bagged.

Sixteen months had already gone past and it was almost all done and dusted, I was preparing for the graduation ceremony. Dad and mum were proud of their boy, they had left London two months earlier, I wasn’t expecting them at my graduation, my sister represented them and I was proud of myself.

The struggle was real, it was a survival test throughout my stay in London; I was already looking forward to coming back to Nigeria. A lot of people frowned at my returning home but only I know where my shoe hurts, I was in this all by myself, I had looked at my options, and the best was to return to Nigeria.

Paying as much as £40,000 for a PhD was definitely out of it; I would gladly bring the money home and set up a business. Businesses grow in Nigeria as long as you put yourself in the right market and endure the test of time. I was so confident of my success and against all odds I was prepared to return to Nigeria.

A white girl could get me a resident visa but I was not ready to commit my future to that mockery of a marriage. Some friends in London tried to get me some links for an arranged marriage but ‘kole werk’. I was not in support of paying some huge amount of money to a British girl in the name of a fake marriage, with the risk of deportation and ban from the country included. Times are hard but it was never an option I took serious or even considered.

Deep within me, I knew I wanted to come back home, I had achieved what I wanted; I saw every other option as an enticement or distraction. It was never what I wanted. I had informed friends and relatives in Lagos that I was returning home after some time and as I expected, it was all mixed feelings.

Some were of the opinion that it is better to remain there and ‘sort yourself out’. Many did not believe in this country, they are of the opinion that things don’t work out but hey, it does work out for some others that prefer to go on holiday to these other countries.

I came to discover that the rich people don’t live abroad, they stay at home and enjoy the reality of their wealth. Many foreigners are abroad for a greener pasture and it is what they do there, till the ground.

I had informed them at work that I was leaving the country so I gave them my resignation letter. I had already been there for 13 months, and I knew my way around the mode of operations although there was no promotion for me due to my visa status; it was more like a part time job.

I stopped work, and started counting days because my return to Nigeria was sure and I looked forward to it. I enjoyed everything about the country; the good people there always want to hear about your history.

Nigeria is a very popular country in the world; everyone would quickly say Nigerians are rich people, rich in oil and a lot of big men. These words were very encouraging for me because it is where I belong and I had so much enthusiasm about returning home.

I had missed the atmosphere, the hustle, the weather and most importantly the people. Nigeria is home for me. All I wanted was a good job and I was sure to have a good life.

After exactly two years in England, it was time to return home and I looked forward to it. Medview Airline from London to Lagos was a night flight and most of the passengers on board were Nigerians. It began to look like a community already.

I missed Nigeria, I couldn’t wait to see the Murtala Mohammed Airport. At about 5.45am, we landed in Lagos and I couldn’t wait to get off the plane. I was no JJC to the Nigerian system, it was one of those things that I missed while abroad. I waited for over 45 minutes before my suitcases rolled out.

As I stepped out of the arrival foyer, I saw my parents waiting for me, I could see the joy on mum’s face. She was delighted,

‘He has got a masters degree’,

‘Congratulations‘, dad said.

The driver came around and off we went. Mom had prepared all sort of delicacy for her London boy, I was so excited to be home. Everyone welcomed me and assured me of a good job because of my international certificate.

After a month in Lagos, I had adjusted to the way of life, it wasn’t new to me in the first place so it was easy to readjust. Electricity was not as bad in my area as many people complained. I was already making some calls and distributing my CV.

Job! That was really on my mind, I wanted the best opportunities. I would surf the internet for vacancies and expect to be called almost immediately. I contacted some people and they made promises. Many people were waiting for the approval of the budget and complained about the economy. I didn’t bother, all I wanted was a good job. I sought to create a good opportunity for myself.

I made a proposal and went to some boarding schools in Lagos. I introduced them to my idea of incorporating entertainment in their curriculum. I wanted to do something by myself, I tried a number of them but the school authorities never supported.

It was something I really thought would win their heart but most of the schools I visited didn’t want the idea executed by an outsider. I quickly moved on from that, the job hunt continued.

I had attended an interview that I really felt I did well but in the long run, I didn’t get the job. After three months in Lagos, I had survived fuel scarcity, and shortage in cash as there was no income coming in for me.

I could still not find a job, it was disturbing. I woke up every morning to check my mails and send some mails. In a day, I attended to at least ten vacancies and I sincerely hope things work out quickly. I don’t want to regret coming back home, I was not going to be sincere to my future if I remained in England, I always have that conviction that I made the right decision by leaving and that keeps me going. It hasn’t been the smoothest ride.

Living in Lagos without a job was hell. Out of boredom, I would deliberately walk 30 minutes to a big supermarket in my area to get some things I would need in the house. I had that luxury of time, I would have just mounted a bike and I am back within 15 minutes.

About two weeks ago, I was on a walk to the supermarket again to get some stuff; as I approached the entrance of the supermarket, guess who I bumped into?… LIZZY, you remember her?