I remember the day I left Nigeria. My box was small, but my hope was heavy. Everyone called it japa—escape, survival, breakthrough. 

I told myself the UK was the land where effort meets reward, where my sleepless nights would finally make sense. 

I hugged my mother at the airport and promised her I’d be fine. I truly believed that. 

What I didn’t know was that belief alone doesn’t pay rent, doesn’t feed hunger, and doesn’t protect you from the cold both weather and human.

The first crack appeared quietly. My accommodation arrangement collapsed two weeks after I arrived. The “friend of a friend” stopped answering my calls. My savings, once converted to pounds, suddenly looked like a joke.

 I walked the streets pretending I was okay, charging my phone in libraries, timing my meals so hunger wouldn’t embarrass me in public.

 Some nights, I stayed on buses until morning just to avoid sleeping outside. I had crossed continents chasing dignity, yet I had never felt so invisible.

Pride almost destroyed me. I was too ashamed to tell people back home the truth. On WhatsApp, I posted old photos and smiled. In reality, I cried in public toilets and prayed in silence. 

The UK didn’t owe me anything but I learned quickly that preparation is more important than passion. Dreams without structure can turn into nightmares abroad. Migration doesn’t erase problems; it only changes their accent.

Help came from where I least expected it. A Nigerian woman I met at a food bank noticed my accent and asked one question: “Are you okay?” That question broke me.

 She helped me find temporary shelter, explained the system, and connected me to a support group. I learned about legal work options, budgeting, and most importantly humility. Struggle didn’t mean failure. It meant learning.

Today, I’m no longer stranded. I’m standing. Slowly. Carefully. Stronger.

 If you’re planning to japa, hear this from someone who has slept hungry in a foreign land: do your research, have backup plans, build legal pathways, and prepare emotionally. Abroad is not magic. It’s a system and systems reward knowledge, not desperation.

I didn’t leave Nigeria to suffer. I left to grow. But growth, I’ve learned, can be painful before it becomes powerful.