While I was schooling in Nigeria, there was this rogue publication called The Watchdog, an evil write-up that seemed to get into every one’s business and mock them like hell. I was the first victim of this insidious publication but despite all these, I was continuously linked as being the man behind it all by friends like Demola, Osho, Ayomide Tayo and other classmates.
Less I digress; this is about me, about my new life experiences in the Land of the Queen (a damn expensive place where everything is taxed). Leaving Naija was kinda hurried, got my visa on a Friday and travelled on Sunday, so everything at that point was like I was on a fast-forward button. Leaving my friends was very hard, harder than I imagined, a whole me actually shed tears, as in REAL TEARS! The worst was at the airport when I was saying goodbye to Ma Nizzle, it started with a whimper and almost turned into a wail. Also had to say goodbye to my friends, my dad and last of all Miss Nizzle. At that point, I thought I would break down and had to hurriedly walk away before security guards at MM Airport arrest me for bring a crying nuisance.
The flight with Arik (a very cool airline) lasted like 7 hours, in-flight I kept eating like a rabid monkey and touching the on flight entertainment system. Damn! I was like a kid in a candy store. I had to stop though when I noticed some stares plus the fact that i didn’t want to press that button that would/might crash the plane. On the plane, i reminisced about everything I was leaving behind; from my job, St Bottles Celebrations every Friday, my family, Miss Nizzle, Gidi... For the first time in my life, I was going to be alone, truly alone...
After landing and waiting for a while for my two heavy luggages (loaded with stock fish, garri and other African paraphernalia) which took some time to come, I confidently swaggered to the front of Heathrow. The first blast of cold weather almost had me running to Nigeria. As in, it was freaking cold! I had heard that it was cold and actually bought jackets but ii wasn’t prepared for that kind of cold. Worse still, I was told that it was still warm, that the actual cold had not even started s till dreading when that time comes. At the terminal, I saw a lot of black dudes, hustlers, all speaking Yoruba who were cab drivers. I looked around and picked the oldest and seemingly responsible one who agreed to take me to Waterloo station for 20 pounds. I walked towards his cab and wanted to get into the passenger side only to find out that was the driver side, Silly me! The driver sensing this smiled and after seeing me shivering with teeth clattering like a drenched puppy, he switched his heater on. He was a Nigerian who had resided in England for around 6 years. Looking at him and with no disrespect, he was at the bottom of the British class system but with the tale he told me, he was a big boy in Ibadan, Nigeria with a lot of houses. We stopped at a fuel station which had no fuel attendants. He paid and sold fuel himself. I asked if he could just sell without paying and he said yes but that CCTV was monitoring and he would be apprehended. In my mind, I was like ‘Yeah Right’ Imagine that system in Naija? He was friendly right until the point when he wanted his money; his parting shot was that ‘In London, we don’t play with money’
With my heavy bags, I trudged along to the station. Citizens of London all looked at me and pitied me, really I was a pathetic sight, carrying such load and shivering + looking extremely lost. I stood straight, I was here for a purpose and i was going to achieve it, BELIEVE THAT! I bought my train ticket and headed towards Bournemouth...
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