Looking back, it doesn't feel easy to relive those moments. 18 months on, I still remember raising and waving my trembling hands as I bid farewell to my loved ones. Emilokan, It was finally my turn to be escorted to the place where big birds depart. With pride in my heart and my shoulder raised high to the heavens, I could hardly contain my excitement. So why did my eyes get wet if I was so elated? Perhaps it was the face of reality dawning upon me, or perhaps it was simply too early to grasp what lay ahead.
I have been asked several times why I chose to come to the UK, yet I haven’t told the truth to a single soul. It seems easier to embrace the assumption that I sought a better life, conforming to the stereotypical expectations placed upon a black woman with thick hair and a foreign accent. The shoes seem to fit perfectly.
I came to study, but I wonder if that is true or if it was merely a narrative I used to gain access to promised opportunities. Well, truthfully, I actually did come to study, but as for why I chose the UK... Well, that question remains unanswered, for now.
One random Sunday, with a great deal of courage, I told my mother I wanted to travel to the United Kingdom to study. I knew I would succeed in this quest because as an African, education is a priority and studying abroad looks nice on their CV. Yes, their own CV where they can proudly bask in recognition and earn extra accolades for having a child abroad.
“Why the UK?” she asked. I don’t know, I have always wanted to study in the UK for the longest. However, I hesitated to bring it up earlier because I believed we couldn’t afford it. But now we can, and I’d like to further my education, and earn a master's. Naturally, my mother embraced the idea, as education holds paramount importance in the heart of an African parent, leading to a harmonious win-win situation for us both.
I was determined to do a master's for two reasons: one, I wanted to further my education so I could be a distinction student. Two, to gain some depth of knowledge about an industry that ignites passion within me: tourism. When I applied to study in the UK, I really felt accomplished, on top of the world, and proud. Securing admission to my program of choice amplified these emotions further. I felt seen, an affirmation that I truly deserved to study abroad. The unconditional letter validated my talent and filled me with an indescribable sense of fulfilment and contentment like I was seen and approved. All of these because of an admission? Or perhaps unconsciously, was I excited because I got white approval? Am I deluding myself?
..."Cabin crew prepare for landing". Those words resonated deeply within me. I considered myself truly fortunate to be awake during the captain’s announcement, sharing the news of our arrival in the United Kingdom. THE UNITED KINGDOM! OH, I can’t forget the instant glow on my face, the kind that comes with a blush, except I’m not pale enough for its visibility.
I was a 22-year-old sponsored by her parents to study at the world's top learning destination. I was that girl- the one filled with privilege and a genuine sense of pride like a princess perched on a cloud. Oh, yes, I'm a Nigerian princess, part of that illustrious "whatever per cent" you folks like to throw around, you know, the ones who miraculously escape the clutches of poverty. Can't you see how incredibly privileged and extraordinary I must be?
I am not poor. Is this affirmation true? Or is this a narrative I construct to convince myself that I am not who these people think I am?
School was enjoyable, I met people, I met great tutors, and I saw places. Though I must admit, I couldn't quite fathom why the UK is hailed as the pinnacle of educational excellence. I mean, some insist that my own school doesn't even make the cut. But hey, I'll graciously overlook such trivial details and let your opinions slide.
School was enjoyable, oh, let's rephrase that. School was the only sanctuary where my own complexion seemed to fade into the background. It was my haven, the only place where I could shed my self-consciousness and relinquish constant vigilance over my mannerisms, behaviour, and every move. There, I could exist without the burden of perpetually wondering about people's perceptions of me.
I am not a black girl in English attire. I am simply a black girl in outfits I like and purchased with the British pounds. Indeed, I remember I had a lot of those when I came in, apparently insufficient to procure a genuine sense of belonging or self-worth. With tuition fees paid in full, house rent fully settled twelvefold, and a lot to spare for indulging in travel and sustenance. Now I am not describing what you might be thinking, but I am saying I didn’t come here to beseech you for your penny.
“You need a part-time job”, said Mum. "You know you can’t keep converting Naira to Pounds frequently, the Naira value keeps dropping against the pounds; you will need something to earn a few more to meet your basic needs". Indeed, she makes a valid point. I do need a job.
It has been quite some time since I last utilised my CV for any job application. I have always been a wanderlust at heart, yearning to have the freedom to explore and travel while still being able to sustain myself financially. I did a small thing, my baby, a venture that gave me a sense of purpose. My heart aches with longing for her because she is an integral part of my identity. Without her, I feel adrift, as if I have relinquished a vital piece of myself, a baseless sacrifice in exchange for this? Oh boy!
Why do you gaze at me with such pity? You presume that the shoes on my feet are only there because I now walk on your soil? How audacious of you to inquire whether my backside has graced the seat of a vehicle or how it feels to navigate through treacherous tides? You ponder why my tongue utters your dialect? Do you ask me all these out of genuine curiosity? Or do you mean to mock me? Or do you simply reside in ignorance?
Yes, they said you would get a decent job on the other side, but they conveniently omitted the degrading exchanges I must endure to earn a few hundred pounds.
With each word coming out of my mouth, you ponder why my tongue utters your dialect effortlessly. I thought you had tallied your wins, so why does the utterance of my tongue, a product of your foul victory, alarm you?
Tell me, what can I do to never see you smile at me again? I was simply gazing at the world around me. I never meant to catch you staring, and I hardly wondered if you were a threat to me. I know you now track your moral compass, and I know I have a digital army behind me ready to fight my battle.
I forgot who I was, who I am. Remind me please, I beg out of desperation. My feet must reconcile with the soil of my land, ALKEBU-LAN, lest I become who they say I am. For the grounds here is too cold, it wasn’t designed for me, lest I die. I do not recognise this lady; her skin has started to turn pale.
“Talk to us about a time you have experienced racism?” I, a blackbird in the midst of great egrets was confronted with this question. Did your interview's intentions ring true? or did it masquerade as formality's guise, A spectacle of mockery, meant to minimise?
I know what you are thinking sweetheart, this is only a figment of my imagination. It's 2023, and we have no use for Discord’s ink. We treat you lads nicely! Oh yes, you do. You just forgot to shut your eyes. Wonder why they say it’s the window to the soul.
Jackass or not, best believe, I pen these words with tears in my heart. Do you really not see me? Am I but a black lass in white fitting? One who managed to escape the chain era?
Comments