The Arrival
I landed with two suitcases and a prayer. Winter hit me first, then the cost of air.
Everyone said “it’s greener on the other side.” Nobody told me green also means you hide.
I dey learn new rules for old life.
I dey calculate pounds to naira twice. The cold dey enter bone, not just skin.
But I tell myself “This is where we
begin.” I miss sun, I miss noise, I miss ease.
But I’m here now, so I bend with the breeze.
First job na agency, shift by shift. No guarantee, but I take the gift. “Can you cover?” “Yes I can.”
That’s how survival turn to plan. CVs sent, emails gone.
Rejections came, but I moved on.
I learned “sorry” and “thank you” fast. I learned how to make little last.
Every small win felt like a crown. Because I was building from the ground.
People ask “Why did you come?” I say “for better.”
But better no mean say e go easy. Better mean say you go fight.
Better mean say you go hold tight.
I’m homesick and hopeful in the same breath. I’m tired and grateful and scared of death.
But I keep going because I must. Because of someone back home’s trust. So I work, I pray, I send, I stay.
And believe one day will be okay.
This is the start, not the end. This is the bend, not the break.
I came with nothing but name and faith. And that is enough to build a gate.
I may not be there yet, but I’m on the way. I may not be okay yet, but I’m okay.
One day I’ll look back and say: “I tried.”
One day I’ll look back and say: “I survived.”
Ash and Stillness
I arrived with winter in my pockets and summer still pressed between my ribs.
They called it brave. I called it necessary. The cold taught me how to fold myself smaller, then how to unfold, wider than before.
Challenges came without announcement. Rent due. Silence where I expectedwelcome. Emails that began with “unfortunately.”
I learned perseverance is not a shout.
It is tea at 6am when the house is still dark. It is filling forms with steady hands.
It is saying “I will try again” in a voice that does not tremble, even when it should. There were days I wanted to be ash
To stay there, quiet and done.
But something in me refused the ending.
So I gathered what was left of me, and started again.
Resilience is not the photograph.
It is the thousand mornings before it. The buses missed. The interviewlost.
The accent corrected. The name mispronounced. And still, the kettle on.
And still, the CV sent.
And still, the prayer whispered into steam. I am not unbroken.
I am mended, with visible seams. And that, too, is a kind of gold.
From ash, a different kind of fire. Lower. Steadier.
It does not roar. It warms.
It keeps me.
I dey UK, But I’m Not Okay (Part 1)
I moved for better life, now I Google “seasonal depression”. The sun hides like my savings account.
Rain falls in July, and my mood follows. I pay bills that multiply like rabbits.
I thought growth would feel like sunshine. I thought peace would come in apaycheck. I thought I’d land and finally exhale.
Instead I’m learning how to budget my hope. The meter beeps, the rent comes round,
And my brain asks “How much longer till we’re found?” I make tea to feel human,
Scroll jobs to feel useful,
And tell myself this is just a season.
But some seasons feel like they own the lease. So I laugh a little, before the cry wins.
Mental health here costs more than therapy.
My accent confuses them, their accent confuses me. “Innit” “mate” “you alright?” — Inod like I understand. But inside I translate like a UN interpreter.
They ask “where are you really from?” like it’s small talk. I say the name of my city, they ask again like it’s a trick.
I smile, because anger is expensive here.
I shrink, because being loud gets you marked.
CVs go out like prayers in the night.
Rejections come back before morning light. I’m “overqualified” or “not the right fit.”
Translation: we don’t know what to do with you. Still I apply, still I show up.
Still I believe my name will one day be enough. Na so life be, we dey manage am.
Bill dey come, council tax dey shout.
Oyster card finishes faster than my patience. Grocery bill don turn horror movie.
But I still send money home, to family.
I wear layers like armor against the cold.
I wear politeness like armor against the bold. I wear “I’m fine” even when I’m not.
Because asking for help feels like a lot. Some days the grey sky matches myhead.
Some days I miss the sun and the noise instead. But I’m building something here,brick by brick. Learning the slang, learning not to flinch.
Learning that “okay” is not the goal —
Healing is, and I’m getting closer to whole. One day I’ll say “I dey UK, and Idey okay.”
I dey UK, But I’m Not Okay (Part 2)
I came for dreams, now I dey check weather app daily. Grey sky for Monday, grey sky for Friday.
Vitamin D na luxury item here.
My electricity dey run faster than my salary. I thought “new country” meant new me.
I thought “fresh start” meant finally free.
Instead I’m rationing heating like it’s gold. And learning how to smile when I’m cold. The bills land with perfect timing.
Rent, water, wifi — all of them climbing. I drink tea to stay warm,
I drink hope to stay calm.
I tell my mum “Everything is fine” Then stare at my bank app and lie.
But cry no dey pay bill, so I dey waka.
Job hunt dey give me spiritual headache.
“We’ll be in touch” — na the biggest scam.
My CV get experience, but my name get question mark. And some people hear my accentand think I’m from Mars. They say “you speak so well” like it’s a prize.
I say “thanks” while I’m dying inside. Micro-aggressions come wrapped asjokes.
And I’m supposed to laugh so nobody chokes.
Some days my brain is too loud to rest. Some days my chest feels like a test.
Therapy costs more than my weekly shop. So I journal, I pray, I don’t stop.
I keep showing up, even when I’m tired. Because quitting here means goingback fired.
Na condition wey we dey manage, no be choice.
“You alright?” “Yeah mate” — na the national anthem. But I no sabi when “alright” mean “talk to me.”
Slang dey fly over my head like plane.
And I dey pretend say I catch am, na shame. I’m building credit, building life,building skin. Thicker, tougher, letting the light in.
The cold bites, but so does growth.
The loneliness teaches me what I’m worth. I miss jollof, I miss sun, I miss noise.
I miss not explaining myself by choice. But I’m still here. Still trying. Stilltrue.
Collecting pieces and making something new. One day the weather won’t ruin my mood.
One day “okay” won’t feel so rude.
One day I go shout: “I dey UK, and I dey okay!”
Ololade A. Obadina
Ololade A. Obadina is a poet and writer based in the UK. Combining a background in complex analytical casework within the public sector with a lifelong dedication to literature, Ololade crafts verse that balances meticulous attention to detail with deep thematic resonance.
