Still Speaking - Return to London....

I faced a brutal and cold introduction to the harsh realities of London, the initial euphoric feeling of return was swiftly replaced with months of fruitless job searches, hundreds of polite letters, concealing the obvious rejections.  The great Panaf who bestrode the lawns and the roads of Ife like some 'colossus' was now reduced to a shadow of desperation, clutching at every gilmmer of hope and reliant on the UK government’s bi-monthly financial handout popularised as ‘dole’. I was cobbled together in a space adequate only for a single sized bed, a wardrobe. The compensation offered was the bitter morning freeze that emerged daily was sometimes neutralised by my small sized radiator.

The truth dawned like orange streaks of sunshine seeping through the curtain gaps on my windows. Whilst my twin sister and contemporaries were making hay in the hot stifling sun of Nigeria, I was idling away in unemployment, drifting from job centre to job centre. I recoiled into a shell, hid away and simply began to rue the day I left the shores of Lagos.

Mitcham in Surrey, where I lived became a blurr, life a meaningless routine, and I needed to master my situation and plot away forward from the depth of rot that began to consume my existence. Yes faith, I had faith but for now all I saw was a quick sand of swamp submerging my dreams and hopes.  My twin sister’s was on the horizon and here was I immobilised ……