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    Diary of an Economic Migrant
    Diary of an Economic Migrant
    Diary of an Economic Migrant
    Ebook63 pages52 minutes

    Diary of an Economic Migrant

    By Agnes Olayemi

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    About this ebook

    I remember that day twenty years ago as clearly as I remember the breaking of this mornings dawn. The cleansing spirit of faith, hope, and rebirth of a new life released within me as my flight taxied down at Heathrow Airport. The pilots voice through the cockpit pierced my thoughts: Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain. Welcome to London Heathrow Airport. The time is 7:05 p.m. I am delighted to announce that we are approximately on time. Please remain seated until otherwise advised. Was this the reassurance I needed to confirm this wasnt a dream, like the many others I dreamt and had woken up from, feeling disappointed? This was reality in Great Britain.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherAuthorHouse UK
    Release dateMar 10, 2015
    ISBN9781496999283
    Diary of an Economic Migrant
    Author

    Agnes Olayemi

    Agnes Olayemi is an IT support analyst by profession; however, she has a deep passion for writing and reading.

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      Book preview

      Diary of an Economic Migrant - Agnes Olayemi

      1

      Life in Lagos, Summer of 1988

      The lowered voices of my parents across the family compound washed over me like sea waves caressing my toes, welcoming me into its presence as I walked along the shore, sending a shiver through my body. I suddenly felt myself jarred out of a world of deep slumber, with the gushing sound of water filling my eardrums. I listened to my father and mother talking very softly in the living room, both unaware of my presence on a chair outside the window.

      My father’s deep, resounding, defeated voice saying ‘I know’ was what caught my attention as I closed the book I had been deeply engrossed in minutes earlier. My mother resumed the conversation where my father seemed to have stopped, talking in her all-familiar, soothing tone, as if trying to comfort me or my brother over a scraped knee.

      ‘I am aware of the key decisions we made when we left Britain with the children in 1979 and brought them back home. As a mother I’ll never regret this; however, times have changed. Unfortunately for us, our financial situation presently prevents us from providing a better future and life for her here in Nigeria. In the next few years she’ll be ready to marry and settle down. With no educational qualification or learned trade, what sort of future opportunities will be available to her? She won’t have a promising start. Despite all our best intentions, we may be robbing her of a better chance and future in life by keeping her here, holding on to tradition. The other day, I caught her talking to Steve, that good-for-nothing boy who lives down the alley near Mama Fish’s house. She wakes up in the morning, takes a bath, has breakfast, and wanders around the neighbourhood aimlessly from morning till night doing nothing tangible.’ My mother sighed before she finished. ‘She came in very late last night, tiptoeing across the room, though I pretended to be asleep.’

      It didn’t take a genius to figure out the person being discussed. I knew my parents were again having their usual bouts of pessimism and discussions about my not-too-bright future and potential life of failure.

      As I sat listening to my parents talking, my knuckles clenched tightly round my novel, I felt for the first time the switch of a light bulb illuminating an enclosed space of darkness in my mind, as it suddenly dawned on me how much of a concern and burden I’d become to my parents, in addition to the financial problems they were experiencing. I immediately forgot my initial displeasure at being the object of discussion as I became aware of the subtle determined change of tone that had crept into my mother’s voice, a tone that seemed bent on driving home the seriousness of the situation, demanding a solution immediately.

      It was the loud thud of my book falling to the floor that broke the entranced state I seemed to have fallen into, bringing an immediate rush of dizziness to my head, coupled with the audible sound of my heart beating so loudly through my eardrums, instantly triggering a flashback in my mind eye’s to the scene in a movie I’d watched years ago at a wealthy cousin’s house. As I watched the great Titanic gradually began to sink after hitting an iceberg, I saw the uncertainty, fear, and panic etched on the faces of those passengers whilst they fought to stay alive.

      With my thoughts momentarily spiralling out of control, I had to focus on the conversation at hand in order to fathom exactly what was going on here. I had completed my daily chores for the day. That morning I had swept the entire house clean, fetched water from the well to fill three drums – one drum in the bathroom and two bigger drums in the kitchen, which held our drinking and cooking water. The mackerel fish which Mother had instructed me to buy from the market earlier, was cleaned and in the fridge, waiting for her to cook in a stew for dinner.

      As I sat listening, pondering a way out my dilemma, I remembered Mother telling Father a few minutes ago that she had been awake but had pretended to be asleep when I had come in late the night before, as I tiptoed around the

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