Homecoming Series #3

I remember when I got on the plane. I remember how I felt when I moved back. I moved back with a £1000 unpaid overdraft in my Lloyds bank account and £30 in my pocket. 2013’s financial hell fire had obviously spread to 2014. I moved back without a visa to return since my wallet had been stolen the previous week in Wimbledon, along with my Resident Permit, all my bank cards and licenses. I had been living abroad for 4 years.

The day I left Nigeria, I ended a ten year relationship. The day after I returned, the lady I ended that relationship with got married. Meanwhile I moved back without telling the person whom I was trying to convince to marry me at the time. Left her in England. Clean breaks, you get?

First thing I did when I moved back was forget my phone on the plane. iPhone 4s. White. I still remember it. I’m that kinda guy. I moved back from living mostly alone in nice apartments, to a fucking hostel in Bwari. Mate, no jokes, I was depressed. I felt like my whole life was flailing in the wind. I felt my life was in the doldrums. Shit, I felt my life WAS the doldrums. To compound things, nothing worked. Same ol’ Naij innit. I did not utter a word to anyone about how depressed I felt. I hardly ever complain, you see.

It has now been a year and six months since I have been back. Things have changed. Your boy is doing okay. Paid off all loans and debts. Nigeria really is home. It’s the only place that I’m aware of where you can make 2000% profit as an upstart doing legitimate business. I now have the wherewithal to do what I want (subject to if madam gives me permission).