The day I landed at Heathrow, I was feeling proud.

Passport in hand, jacket on point, English accent loading. I got to immigration and the man looked at me like I owed him money.

“What is the purpose of your visit?”

I smiled. “I’m here for school, sir.”

He flipped through my passport so slowly I started sweating small inside my winter coat.

Then he said, “Where will you be staying?”

I opened my mouth and forgot the address.

Blank.

Empty.

Brain on airplane mode.

He raised eyebrow. “You don’t know where you’re staying?”

I said, “I know it……”

He took me to one glass room. My heart left my body.

In that moment, I saw myself returning to Nigeria the same day, telling my family, “It was the will of God.”

After 10 minutes, he said, “Do you have any proof?”

I showed him the Airbnb receipt, my school letter, my email, even my church attendance screenshot.

The man nodded slowly and stamped my passport.

“Welcome to the UK.”

I almost hugged him.

As I walked out, I whispered:

“God, you do this one.”