Diaspora Diary.

Useful stories from the diaspora.

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Diaspora Diary: To Be A Man…

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Family is not an important thing. It’s everything. ~ Michael J. Fox As a growing kid, my dad always gave me pep talks on how to become a responsible and successful man. More than once he ended the talks with one line; “Ayichaa ka ara fhulu ulo, ayia ka ara fhulu ogalanya”. It means that friendship will be according to age as you grow but it will later be determined by success. The lucidity of this statement wasn’t exactly grasped by my juvenile mind then but it is a line that nevertheless remained engraved in my subconscious. As a young adult thrust into the hectic terrain of the Nigerian oil business when I lost my dad at 21, I mostly related with older men who had years of business experience. The wisdom I gained is invaluable. In Lagos, I had a boss who wasn’t much older even though he was almost at the peak of his career then. I would visit him in the office and we’d chat about business, life and politics. On this particular day, I was going home from work and decided to pop in. He was staring out of the window overlooking the sprawling and ever-busy Victoria Island Lagos. After the usual pleasantries, we got talking and at one point he said, “I wish I could fly over this traffic to the welcoming embrace of my loving family”. I could feel him. Lagos traffic can be debilitating. With a wry smile, I told him to be calm since he just left them in the morning. He said “Well, my wife just left here a few hours ago”…and continued about how much he would have loved to have his family around him at work, at home and everywhere. I can’t be too sure now but I think I said he can imagine my situation. He’s aware that my family lives in Ireland. As we talked about family and the joy they bring he asked a question that triggered what I now consider a life-changing introspection. “ When last did you see your family Cmoni?” I replied that I couldn’t be exact but that it’s been at least 3 months. Then he asked another question I would remember for the rest of my life. “How do you cope?” Initially, the question didn’t sound too weighty because I smiled and said I speak with my family daily. Moreover, I visit regularly too. Sometimes twice, thrice a year and when I can’t bring them home for Christmas I rarely spend it without them. With a resigned look he told me he couldn’t possibly cope in my shoes. As I drove home that night I thought about our chat. Here is a man who is at the very top who could have anything, nice clothes, fancy cars and so on. He goes on vacation to the best spots yet his top priority isn’t money. It is his family. I remembered my father’s pep talks. Can I possibly claim to be responsible and successful if I don’t actively and fully play my role as a father? Yet living abroad was not my immediate or future consideration. I could move my family back home of course. After all, the initial plan was to give our child a second citizenship. My wife only stayed back because she was offered a path to naturalisation. On second thought the benefits of having European citizenship surpassed those of living in Nigeria. When a friend asked me what would put food on the table after I informed him about my plans. I replied that I would be visiting every quarter to oversee my businesses. He said, “Cmoni it is time to build”. Again, I thought about this statement hard and long. Relocation could trigger a mid-life crisis for me. I mean who would effectively run my businesses? What would I be doing abroad? 9–5 wasn’t an option because I needed some flexibility to travel often. However, I was relieved after some research. I realised that significant changes and accomplishments made early in life can prevent a mid-life crisis. In Igboland, your foremost responsibility as a man is to your family. The resources you should deploy to provide for them go beyond money. To provide counsel, affection and protection you must devote your TIME. Following all the musings I concluded that for now, ‘building my family’ was more important than ‘building my business empire’. The reason for this is simple. You can always build an empire at any time but if you miss parenting and the bonding that a single roof provides especially during your kids’ teenage years, you can never recover it. Hard decisions are often the best. So, on the 15th of January 2015, I relocated. For a man who, barring a few years in the UK, had lived his entire adult life doing business in Nigeria, it was indeed life-changing. All the same, my family was already well settled in Ireland. And with my versatility, I could easily adapt anywhere. I had things planned, or so I thought… Yet, it is one of my best decisions. If you enjoyed this please share it. You can also hit the follow button and join our cmonionline community of digital creatives let’s grow together. Thanks for reading.

Blog, Diaspora Diary.

Diaspora Diary: Why You Should Emigrate.

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We are not going to make progress. We are not going to develop. We will not be secure. We will remain poor. These are not curses. They are the most highly probable consequences of our social paradigms. Almost mathematically certain. No amount of prayers will stop this. ~Ayo Sogunro Before I write the 2nd instalment of American Wonder please permit me to do this important piece cum pitch. I know I shouldn’t be writing about politics in our Diaspora Diary, but let’s conveniently categorise this as a sociopolitical topic. The above quote from Dr Ayo Sogunro was part of his reaction to the debate over Tinubu’s certificate scandal, and you can read his entire tweet here. This story was specifically captioned to catch your attention, but I hope it will also persuade you to reflect and act. There are countless reasons why Nigeria will not make progress, but here is a poignant one, so read on. I recently met a wise guy in Vegas who aligned with the Sogunro’s position and illustrated it by analysing his experience in Nigeria before migrating to God’s own country. Here goes! The 62-year-old man holds a degree in Business Administration and worked as a banker for 22 years in Nigeria after about a decade of job hunting. He finally decided to check out like Andrew at 49 when he visited America in 2010. During that vacation, his interaction with old mates revealed that these guys were making steady progress while the reverse was his case back home. How you may ask. Here is the thing. Rising through promotions and salary increments in the bank, he attained a managerial position by 2004 and thought he had arrived. Who wouldn’t think so? A bank manager is an enviable achievement anywhere in the world. Well to the less ambitious folks, not necessarily our guy. While in the US, he discovered that his mates were able to set targets and meet them because they had stability in their chosen vocations. Consequently, they achieved more in terms of wealth, academics, and self-development. Particularly the last for this simple reason; Self-development doesn’t depend on money but if you attain a certain level of financial stability, you are more likely to start thinking about developing yourself and others. It was then that a stark realisation hit him like a ton of bricks. As he progressed in rank and salary, he was actually getting poorer in real terms because the combination of inflation and incessant devaluation of the naira continuously eroded his purchasing power. His situation was akin to the classic Fela hit ODOO ( Overtake Don Overtake Overtake) where the Afrobeat legend sang about a man who was saving to buy a fan. Go and look up the lyrics. Our guy told me that when he landed in God’s own country, he started as a gas station cashier in Atlanta while his wife did some courses and joined the healthcare sector. Having saved up some funds after 2 years, they moved to Vegas where he partnered with a friend to start valeting. Today, he owns a valeting agency and a vehicle salvage business. He said that in less than 10 years, he achieved more in America than he did in over 2 decades as a banker back home. When he finished his story he concluded thus; “Nigeria go survive is a soundtrack we started singing since childhood. Check am bro. The 70s was better than the 80s and the 80s was better than the 90s, it just keeps getting worse. Nigeria will not develop as it is PRESENTLY STRUCTURED. Anyone who tells you otherwise is deceiving you. It is better to go where you will make progress because you have only one life to live.” There and then I was reminded of another wise man, my good friend Tony Alika Igwebuike who told me in 2016 that the real value of the naira would be around N1000 to a dollar. That’s a story for another day but of course, he has been vindicated. Now it’s not as if there aren’t successful people in Nigeria, after all, Dangote, Otedola, Elumelu et al made it so why can’t you? The devil’s in the details if you ask me. But I can bet those three would have more than tripled their wealth if they put in the same effort and leveraged similar patronage in saner climes. The food for thought, however, is why the tech gurus who develop innovative solutions for real-life problems are now richer than merchants and bankers in the Western world. For my friends who will mockingly ask why I suddenly realised this after supporting Buhari. Well, some of us hoped that Buhari would at least start reducing the cost of governance, curb the insecurity, and improve our infrastructure. Those areas are supposedly his forte, or so they claimed. His record did not include economic prosperity. Unfortunately, he failed woefully in all areas. And yes including infrastructural development viz a viz the borrowing/implementation indices. Again I’m sorry to disappoint my other friends with an unpopular fact: If you give Peter Obi 16years he will not perform magic. The best he can achieve is some prudence in Aso Villa. I believe that the Peter I know will not sign off billions for Aso Rock kitchen and that’s actually a good start considering the rot in our system. But that’s about where it ends. He can’t possibly sanitise the entire executive controlled by a monumentally corrupt civil service. Then of course he wouldn’t dare the legislators because more than anyone he knows that would definitely end in his impeachment. You all know I’ve been an optimistic promoter of Nigeria. But who would have known that after 8 years of living abroad on earnings in naira, yours truly will need a job to sustain himself? Is €=N1056 a joke to you? My dear friend, I’m now satisfied to contribute my quota to the development of our country from the diaspora. I’m neither optimistic nor pessimistic rather I remain hopeful. If any administration delivers any form of progress in the future, I will rejoice

Blog, Diaspora Diary., FEATURES

Diaspora Diary: American Wonder Part I

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Come and see American wonder, come and see American wonder! ~ Anon This post was delayed by a combination of jet lag, COVID and lousiness but finally, here we are. I could have captioned it “How To Migrate To America” or one of the numerous Hows to get hits but naaah, that has never been my style because I write for a special audience. Yes, a growing community of friends, writers and other creatives who appreciate my versatility and not-too-recent transition from political opinions to texts that add real value. So American Wonder will be a multi-part treatise that offers information, tips and resources on migrating to God’s own country. If you grew up in the nostalgic 80s Nigeria like I did you will be familiar with my opening verse which is a song commonly recited by journeymen while performing tricks. It was so popular that the audience would often sing along as they watched and those who witnessed American wonder often turned out to be streetwise. I think we should seek out the originator of this song and give the person a befitting chieftaincy title because America is indeed the land of plenty. Oh yes, it is so vast and rich that a single state can match countless nations in size and GDP. Little wonder the average American is usually confident and willing to tread where eagles dare without trepidation. In global competitions, their athletes howl and bark with authority as if the trophy is already in the kitty. A friend joked that it is so because they already feel like winners since national tournaments like the baseball championship are referred to as the World Series. You can’t possibly enumerate the things that are different and unique to Americans. From the light switch to the confusing date order and non-metric measurements. There are drive-thru restaurants everywhere, and then you have huge coffee/soda cups and endless refills. The iconic yellow school buses are kings of the road, don’t mess with them. And then you have the annoying but cheaper price tags that are exclusive of taxes. Why not just include the damn taxes?! From the expansive George Bush Intercontinental Airport to Dallas and Las Vegas, 9 out of 10 vehicles are trucks. With a population of about 332 million, America has almost 300 million registered vehicles as of 2021. These people practically drive to the restroom! It is no wonder President Bush Jnr once declared that “America is addicted to oil”. Yet they have oil. And in abundance too. States like Mississippi, Louisiana, and Texas have some of the cheapest gasoline prices in the Western world. But the sweetest thing about the country is the Americans. They are hospitable and incredibly friendly to strangers. And not just that, they are boisterous about it. It seems more like a rule than a deliberate innocuous attempt to make eye contact when they say hi or good day. At the shops, cashiers strike a conversation with new faces like they are regulars and the person next to you in a queue will likely ask how your day is going as if you are the next-door local. It is too palpable to miss and curious as always I asked a cashier at the Ross branch in Richmond if her pleasant demeanour is a part of her or the job. Her reply: “I would say both, you ain’t gon get hired in this country with a straight face”. At Sugar Land Texas, I sauntered into my hotel lobby after jogging in the morning and was disappointed to discover that breakfast was already over by 9.30 am. I asked the young man seated in the dining hall if I could get a few bites for my family upstairs. He replied that he was an applicant waiting for an interview. Casually dressed in a jumper, denim and trainers, I thought he was inappropriately dressed for the occasion. To my amazement, the beautiful and exceedingly nice receptionist beckoned him over to a corner and immediately started the interview. I overheard everything, and the guy performed excellently. I would later ask the receptionist if the dress code isn’t a consideration for such an exercise, to which she replied “It is, you can appear casual or formal, but we are trained to focus more on what’s inside.” Profound! At Main Event Grand Prairie, the barista requested my ID and I was mirthfully asked if my grey beard didn’t count for something. “Sir, you coulda walked in here with a cane and I would still ask for an ID, it’s the law”, she replied with a very warm smile. Again I had to ask if the courteous manner came with the job or her upbringing. “Of course, it’s part of the job but out there you are likely to see me smiling a lot more”, she said this time with a throaty chortle. Yet in another instance, I was told not to worry as I reached for my wallet to pay for filling my tyres. “It’s just air, you don’t have to pay for it”, he said. It’s not that I don’t get free air at gas stations back in Ireland, but this guy particularly reminded me that the best things in life like air should be free. A lady who sells drinks at the iconic Welcome To The Fabulous Las Vegas park offers a free snack for each drink and repeatedly announces that the peanuts shouldn’t be missed. I politely refused mine because I had a cough. Minutes later my daughter who savoured hers went back to buy another pack and she told her “You can have your daddy’s pack, it’s still free”. For her candour, I felt I should tip her as we left the place. Her daughter informed me that she was on a call in her car. I looked and saw her in a hybrid Hyundai. Surprised that this woman who hawked drinks in a park owns such a nice car I could have left with

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Diaspora Diary: Why Honesty Is Your Best Path To Migration.

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If you do not tell the truth about yourself you cannot tell it about other people.~ Virginia Woolf In his younger years, Okoro was your normal guy man. Smart, suave and sophisticated. He found his way to Europe after graduating from the University and joined friends who made money the usual way: thru deals! He enjoyed the fast lane and soon married an upscale lady. It didn’t take long for that union to crash. The collapse of his marriage rang the first alarm that man shall not live by bread alone. It was becoming clear that his lifestyle as a bachelor won’t cut it if he wants to be a responsible family man like his dad before him. Some things must be ditched. Okoro decided to do real business. He will ship goods back home to Nigeria and sell them for profit. The business progressed and soon enough he was introduced to a beautiful working-class lady in Lagos. Their relationship blossomed and was enough to pull him back home for good or so he thought, after all, he already has a growing business. Our man flew back home, had an elaborate wedding and started building a family with a child coming the following year. However, as the years flew by, the economy continued on a downward slope. Once again the thought of relocation resurfaced and having discussed this with his wife they agreed that being an American citizen, she will move first with their kid and he will join them later. She moved and filed the necessary papers for him. After a couple of visits to the embassy, the visa officer invited Okoro into the inner room for further discussion. As he was led through a hallway, his heartbeat felt like an Uber driver ploughing around a parking lot in an endless search for a free space. He didn’t know what to expect but something didn’t feel right. In a small room with scanty furniture Okoro sat with palms on knees. He just didn’t feel comfortable. The months that passed since his family left suddenly paled in comparison to the infinite seconds that ticked by. His confidence was at the nadir since his embassy sojourn as the young Afrasian officer started the conversation. “Your application has been approved”, he said pointedly. “Thank God!” the exclamation escaped Okoro’s breath before he could hold back. “But… there is a caveat. You must prove your genuine identity before the visa will be granted”, said the visa officer in a flat tone to his chagrin. Our man was perplexed. He didn’t seem to understand what that meant. He had supplied all the required documents to prove his eligibility. Hesitantly he stuttered, “Sir, but sir please can you explain….” The visa officer cut him short. “Mr Kojo Abotsi” Okoro froze! With a sardonic smile, the visa officer said, “Our investigation revealed that you have multiple identities. You have to prove that you are either Okoro Uzondu, Kojo Abotsi or any of the other aliases you took up. Consider yourself lucky to have been accorded this privilege. I see you have a young family that needs you. It is now up to you to convince us that you also need them. Have a good day” Those stark words will remain vivid in Okoro’s memory for the rest of his life. He didn’t know how he left the embassy. The drive back home to Lekki also didn’t register in his mind. All he could remember was waking up in the evening to see several missed calls from his Missus. When he called back, it was well worth it as the soothing words of encouragement from her reignited his hope that it will just be a matter of time. His visa is only being delayed not denied. Thus the wearisome journey to prove that he is Okoro Uzondu began. Firstly, he will travel to Aba to gather the necessary documents. And each was to be verified by a notary public approved by the Embassy. Luckily his birth cert, baptismal cert and FSLC were all in his mother’s possession. The old lady had carefully filed all the original documents for each of her children. Okoro had them notarized and sent to the embassy. After 2 tortuous months, he got a reply. They needed notarized originals of his WASC and degree certificates too. He was also requested to get reference letters from his teachers attesting to his good character. In addition, he should include any other document that will support his proof of identity. He didn’t have his original WASC so he had submitted his secondary school testimonial, statement of result and a sworn affidavit. How the hell were all those inadequate? Another trip to Aba was inevitable. On reaching Aba, Okoro was informed that the WAEC branch office moved to Umuahia ages ago. Good Lawd! Knowing the frustration that comes with public services in Nigeria he anticipated that his stay will be extended by God knows how long. The next day he was in Umuahia and was shocked to learn that WAEC had his records intact. After a small fee, a certified true copy of his WASC was handed to him. To fulfill all righteousness he also paid for a copy to be dispatched directly to the Embassy via courier. He managed to get the addresses of his former teachers. One was retired to his nearby village in Ukwa West Local Government Area while the other, a gracious old lady still ran a nursery school in Umungasi. Both wrote in long-form confirming that he was an obedient and promising young lad. He also took pictures with them as advised by his friend in the US and gave them envelopes as tokens. By the 3rd day, he was back in Lagos, got copies of his first degree and WASC notarized and then mailed the parcel of documents along with old pictures of school activities with classmates, siblings and friends. His sigh of relief was laced with “America here I

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Diaspora Diary: Japa Should Be About Skills, Skills And Skills!

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To grow capacity in your career, you need to move from the place of position to a place of skill acquisition.~ Olawale Daniel When I talk about skills it is because I’ve seen what a lack of it can cause. Some of us emigrated late in life and I can tell you it’s tougher to integrate. Firstly, you have to get a job and many entry-level vacancies target younger people. If I knew what I know now I would have stayed back in Cardiff after my masters over a decade ago. By now I would be an associate Professor. But my belief and businesses in Nigeria were far too convincing so I went back to oil money. As you can see, that decision didn’t age well because, like some people I mentioned in my defence of japa, I moved again after 4 years. This time to Ireland where my family had been since 2004. I’ve now lived here for 8yrs. Who would have thought?! My plan was to return after meeting the following objectives. 1. To be with my family as the kids navigate their teenage years. 2. To get the citizenship that will facilitate my globetrotting lifestyle. I travelled to Nigeria almost every quarter to oversee my businesses. But as the years flew by, the naira continued plummeting as the Buhari administration plunged the economy into deeper turmoil. When the situation continued to worsen with rising insecurity and unbearable economic hardship something had to give. Yours truly wisely decided to make the relocation permanent, and here we are. I’m rambling again innit? Ok, back to our story for today and it will do intending japarists (migrants) and new immigrants as well a lot of good to read to the end. It is an interesting encounter with some valuable lessons. I usually dispose of my recycle heap bi-monthly. Sometime in 2021, I called my usual man with a van, an Albanian named Fitor who has previously helped me with more than disposal to do the job. But he had moved on to bigger things. He informed me that he is now a software developer. So I searched online and called a few numbers but received high quotes till I got Mohammed. Yes! I knew I had someone who should understand a fellow immigrant’s budget constraint and be amenable to negotiation. Mohammed was polite and charged me €20 cheaper without requesting a picture of the load. What more can I ask for? When he showed up he was like I imagined. A slender Arab-looking guy in his 30s or thereabout. We immediately hit off and got talking as we loaded the van with sacks. He was more energetic than I thought and in 10–15 minutes we were done. As we drove to the dump our gist shifted to the usual “Where are you from?” that immigrants rarely miss when they get together for the first time. “I’m from Somalia,” he said proudly to my delight. When I replied that I’m a Nigerian he exclaimed “Bruv are you new in the area? Cos I know most of the Nigerians in this hood. I run disposals for them.” I explained that I don’t have many Nigerian friends over here as I’m almost always back home in Nigeria. “So what do you do?” he asked. “I’m currently studying for a postgraduate diploma at UCC.” “Oh that’s good, are you working too?” “Not really, but I have businesses in Nigeria that’s why I’m always there but I do a little trading on Donedeal.” “No bruv No, you need to get a job or get into self-employment like I’m doing. You will pay me €80 for a job that will take half an hour. Believe me, scientists don’t earn that. There is more money to be made here and if you can delegate your businesses, do it and start earning here.” Mohammed ended up telling me his life story. He migrated to Ireland in 2003. As a 20-year-old boy he had hopes, the land was full of promises and the future looked bright. The state welcomed him, gave him a home and placed him in CIT where he started studying Engineering. He took up a part-time telesales job to augment his welfare package from the state. By the time he graduated the Irish economy was struggling in a severe recession with rising job losses and unemployment. After many unsuccessful attempts to secure a job, our fresh engineer continued to his telesales job to make ends meet. As God would have it this disappointment proved to be a blessing in disguise. Mohammed worked hard and had a limited social life. He told me that he didn’t know what nightlife looked like because he often used the weekend to work extra hours. As 2 years flew past he was surprised to learn that he had saved over €30k. It was time to evolve. He would quit the job and start a business. Fortunately, he partnered with 4 pals to start a carwash but unfortunately, that meant he had money to spare which he used to build a house back home in Somalia — a mistake as he later confessed. The carwash business did well but he realised that his income wasn’t steady. Some days he will go home with €200 and on rainy days he will close for the day without a dime. He wanted regular income as he now had a family. One day he was chatting with an elderly customer. Each month the man usually visits Portlaoise to spend time with his grandchildren. So he leaves his Jaguar S-Type at the carwash and Mohammed will walk him to the train station across the road. As they strolled along the following exchange ensued; “Sir, I want to be rich like you”, said Mohammed. “I’m not rich, I’m just a comfortable pensioner. It is people like you that get to be rich in this country”, the man replied. “Well, I find that hard to believe because I’m struggling to

Blog, Diaspora Diary., Resources

How You Can Change The Narrative by Enkay Nwangene.

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Is nursing the only profession for Nigerian immigrants in the US? I asked a question some time ago on Facebook and got some very interesting responses. Some said it was the vocation of choice for many who seek to start earning as soon as possible while others suggested it is one way of skipping the endemic racial prejudice in many other sectors. There were varying reasons but the aforementioned two formed majority opinion. Perusing through Facebook recently I saw this interesting story by US-based Enkay Nwangene and decided to publish it. Read on and share…. No Need To Start Life From Scratch While Living Abroad. Do This Instead. “My people, I Dey Greet Una. Let’s get practical here, gone are the days when starting life afresh abroad with new certificates was the norm. You know, the usual enrolment for the ‘high-demand’ professional courses/programs (healthcare, business analyst, information technology, you name it). You may still do so if that’s truly your calling. Most of us know it’s more to get out of that survival mode that we find ourselves in upon arrival in a strange land. Thankfully, the new norm is actually Entrepreneurship. Yes, I said it, Entrepreneurship. Most economies in the western world reward passionate, solution-driven individuals and families as history record how Entrepreneurs or employers of labor impact any economy much more than employees. In fact, it doesn’t matter if you’re just arriving or been abroad for decades. The fact is that leaving the familiar (your home country) to the unfamiliar is a huge step outside your comfort zone. If you already did that, what then is stopping you from harnessing endless privileges available to better your life abroad? Every government needs assets not liabilities. Be an asset. Be different. Build wealth. It takes courage to be different. While you’re here, start a business rather than spending on things of less value or borrowing and getting into more student loans for courses that you may never use. If you must, borrow to build a sustainable business that would out-live your extra certificates and diplomas. On the average, most careers need skills upgrade every 3-5 years. So how long would you keep doing that? In my case, almost 3 years ago, I made a decision to start a digital business that completely changed the course of my life. Little did I know that 16 months later, I would be in charge of my own time. I don dey Canada 10 years, my people. My only regret be say I wish I see this business much earlier than I did. While building a digital business from my laptop, I was able to: -Retire early from my nursing career -Clear off ALL borrowed consumer obligations -Travel around before the global crisis hit -Acquire properties in various destinations -Fulfill one of my ultimate goals which I was just not able to do during the 10 years prior All happened in my early 30’s! The best part is these days, I spend my time impacting lives positively. My calendar is now filled with things I want to do. Living the way I want to. I’m excited to share my journey, as well as to give you a wake up call. Well, it’s your turn to learn! Find out how by signing up for a free one on one coaching and mentoring program that would help you until you feel independent and start living how you want. All you need is just 10% personal effort and the system does the remaining 90%. Full Training Is Provided. No experience is needed. It all starts with our introductory webinar, which is offered at absolutely zero cost. Access that on my webpage: WWW.OASISCONSULTINGINC.NET and check your inbox or spam/junk folder for more info. I can’t wait to connect with you! I tell you, you can actually start enjoying that greener pasture sooner than you anticipated.”

Creative Essays, Diaspora Diary., Essays, Writers

Diaspora Diary: Three Words To Sum Up Life.

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  We are in a strange time. A period when a tiny microbe is changing our way of life. We are now left with books, tv, music, the internet and memories. I have a memorable story to share. You know that type of incident that sticks with you for a lifetime. My dream to relocate abroad looked to have come true when I met a young man from my town named Chuks. We met at a friend’s wedding reception during the Christmas celebration. He was visiting from London and I could tell by his dress and accent. We had a couple of dates and attended some other social functions together. We had a lot in common and started seeing each other more and more. We shared jokes, fun times and stories from our life experiences and we both had ambitions to become academics abroad. While he was already doing his master’s while I had plans with my mum to apply once I finish my national youth service. When he wanted to return to his base he asked me to accompany him to Lagos. That was when he surprised me and proposed the night before he boarded a flight back to London. I was already in love or so I believed and accepted on the condition that I will join him in London. Initially, he started giving excuses that the visa process will take a long time. But I shocked him by revealing that I had dual citizenship and needed no visa to migrate to the UK, all I needed to do was renew my passport. I first became suspicious when he started acting funny after I asked for some money to make up my flight ticket. He promised to give me some money but came up with one excuse after the other. I finally told him to forget about the money when my mum made up the balance. I told him I will be coming over during the summer after passing out from NYSC. He was happy— or so I believed —  and promised to refund the money when I come. When I arrived in London that summer I discovered that he was living with a friend instead of in his own flat as he said. Again I shook off my suspicion that something was not adding up. He lied that his flat was undergoing renovation and even arranged a visit to a property his friend was renovating. I was appeased and I became hopeful that we will move back in after some weeks. Weeks turned to months and he came up with a story about an expected insurance payment that was delayed. After some time he asked me to get a loan from my mum which will be repaid once the insurance firm pays in 3 months. I hesitated but I later agreed. After all, it is ‘our house’ and my mum will happily lend it to his future son-in-law. After discussing it with my mum, she raised about four thousand pounds for him. After several months during which he sometimes travelled for ‘school excursion’ and stayed out for days, I summoned the courage to ask him about ‘our flat’. It turned out to be another fairy tale about the complications of the insurance process and all that. By this time I was already pregnant. I informed him about it and he pretended to be excited only to leave the next day without returning for three nights. I couldn’t reach him, I was horrified and confused. To make matters worse on the second day after he left I woke up to discover that his flatmate was also gone. Was this a bad dream? This can’t be happening. It gradually started dawning on me that I could have been used. Pieces of events and stories started flashing back at my mind. Is it over? Could my dream have crumbled so in just a few weeks? Luckily I already had a care job through an old friend in a church rectory. So I was busy and was earning a little but that wasn’t the plan. All subsequent attempts to reach Chuks yielded nothing. Even his friends who I know had no idea of his whereabouts. I was almost devastated. Almost but not completely. Determined to have the baby, I told my mum the whole story. She prayed for me. One of the longest prayers in my life. She then advised me to go into self-isolation for the duration of the pregnancy so that I can focus on safe delivery. I did. I deleted all my social media profiles and maintained contact with only my family and a few close friends. I wasn’t much of a religious person but I started praying more and more. God knows I needed it then. The parish priest was wonderful. He asked me to move into the guest room at the rectory at no cost. His wife always brought hot food during the winter and sometimes she stayed back to help me with cleaning. I had Chioma in June. She weighed almost 4kg but I delivered her like a Hebrew woman. I didn’t even bother to search for her father because that will spoil the joy she brought. When I got a better job with a telecoms company I moved outside London. Today, I am married to a pastor and we are now a family of five. I am also an evangelist with two books to my name. When my mum visited last month we discussed my journey.  She asked if I ever heard from my dubious suitor and I told her that I have never bothered. When she asked why, my reply was, “I have forgiven and forgotten”. She then asked how I was able to move past all the trauma. I looked at her for a long while and then slowly replied. “Mummy, it was my daughter. She brought back life into my being with her cries and smiles. Through two years while living alone

Blog, Diaspora Diary., FEATURES

Diaspora Diary: Creating The Spiderweb.

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It only takes one person to mobilize a community and inspire change. Even if you don’t feel like you have it in you, it’s in you. You have to believe in yourself. People will see your vision and passion and follow you. ~Teyonah Parris   Scene 1: We gathered for a BBQ at a friend’s stately new home at a quiet estate located in the northwest region of England. Seated in the garden on the day were 7 Nigerian men. Some had flown in from other European cities while others drove down from other parts of the UK. While we feasted on the barbecue and drinks the conversation shifted to the usual topic about happenings back home. Following the usual lamentations one of us stated that he may NEVER step into Nigeria again. He wasn’t alone in that line of cerebration. Another friend echoed his sentiments and added that he had instructed his uncle to sell off his village land and share the proceeds with his cousin. I was a little perplexed. Not because this was new to me but because I usually hear it from struggling diasporans and JJCs. My guys are none of these. They are worthy and successful professionals in their respective fields. Why would they say this? I always believed that prosperous Nigerians in the diaspora owe the country the duty of regular visits. Either to see relatives or to contribute to her development. This should be more so for those of us that lived there during our formative years. My friends would go on to explain the reasons behind their decision and of course, the rising insecurity topped the chart. One told of his harrowing experience in the hands of kidnappers along the notorious Benin axis on his last visit back in 2017. Another narrated how a police officer threatened him at gunpoint over vehicle particulars. Insecurity, insecurity, insecurity… Scene 2: A few days into the new year and my phone rang one early morning. My friend who lives about 90 minutes away wanted to visit later in the day. He has just returned after his late mum’s funeral in Nigeria. I ran off to the local African shop and bought pounded yam for the Nsala soup my wife had made the previous day. So when he arrived we got into you guessed right; the usual discussion! He decried the worsening situation since his last visit 5 years ago. I heard about how the funeral had to be fixed in a hurry and so soon after his mum’s demise because of the uncertainties that often mark our general elections. They had to mobilise personnel from the police, DSS and the navy to ensure adequate security for the duration of their stay in the village. There was frustration with the funeral organisers while some of the locals extorted the family not minding their bereavement. At the bank, a cashier wasted over 30 minutes on a transaction and added to his indignation by asking him to “search for a superior who may have gone outside”. By the time he was leaving later in the evening, my friend divulged that his itinerary in the coming weeks involved two house-hunting trips to southern France and the Andalucian region of Spain. A befitting retirement home will have to be somewhere warmer that the temperate British Isles where he had lived all these years. Scene 3: While writing the first two scenes I remembered another US-based friend who started a business back in 2016. Before then we had discussed investing in Nigeria to create employment with another stream of income that can be efficiently and remotely run. The business can then grow into branches nationwide. He actually started before me and opened the pharmaceutical store in the federal capital. However, he was forced to close down after what he termed as “too many stories from his staff”. Employees entrusted with running the business were lousy and repeatedly made little or no returns. My guy just closed shop and focused on his hustle abroad. In my own case, I believe that my extensive business experience in Nigeria and perhaps lady luck are factors that have kept my shop open since 2019. But of course not without the challenges. I had to temporarily close down twice in the first year while the search for a salesperson lasted and subsequently for the pandemic lockdown. There are countless examples like these when the good intention of our brethren abroad are met with frustration that discourage visits and the attendant investment. But we cannot give up on Mama Africa. We must continue to do what we can. Those who may not want to visit can still assist by utilising the power of the internet in providing the opportunity for young Africans to acquire marketable digital skills. By so doing we can create multiple talent pools that diasporans can avail of to invest back home. So you see, it is actually a win-win approach. In the past, I have written about how Africans in the diaspora can help to improve productivity in our homeland. And before then I already started a weekly essay competition to revive a waning literary culture and encourage budding writers. I also created a weekly #SundayPuzzle on Twitter for young people to exercise their brains. To date, we have published more than 1,000 essays from over 50 writers and paid out over N3 million in cash prizes as tokens of encouragement. We now have a growing audience of over 10,000 followers. All thanks to your magnanimous contributions. Beyond these, we have other e-tivities/training on digital skill acquisition and self-development. Some testimonials of our writers can be found here. We are still pushing and we solicit your support/collaboration to reach more youths with this noble initiative. You can become our Patreon or donate via Paypal.  Thanks for reading. Please if you like this story feel free to peruse and share our free content at https://cmonionline.com/ or follow us on Twitter and Facebook. You

Blog, Diaspora Diary., Lifestyle

Success Journey XVIII

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The thing is that no knowledge gained is lost. I read accounting for a reason and never practised as a professional nor did I work in any financial institution. Frankly, I find debit and credit monotonous and tedious. However, the knowledge is there and has been of immense help in all my business dealings.

Blog, Diaspora Diary., Reverie

Diaspora Diary: Prioritise A Driver’s License Over Western Union.

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I haven’t jogged for some time. I‘ve just been doing short 2–3km walks on the banks the river Lee instead of the usual hour-long jogging. To get back to routine, I decided to jog for two hours this morning. The exercise took me through a route which was a favourite for driving schools and I was reminded of the frustrating days I passed through to get my driving license. It seems a long time now but the memory still lives vividly with me today. I will narrate my story and the importance of a driver’s license to inform the newbies and potential migrants to the western world. I had been driving for three decades before relocating to Ireland. I had also been driving for ages across the western world during vacations and visits. Most car rental companies will usually accept your Nigerian driving license and International driving permit so long as you have a credit card to hold down the required deposit. However, it becomes a different ball game when your status changes to “resident”. Regardless of your driving experience, you are required to go through the full driver licensing procedure if your nationality falls outside the ‘mutual recognition’ agreement category. You must first pass a driver theory test, get a learner permit, complete a course of Essential Driver Training(EDT) and pass your driving test before you can legally drive here. Notwithstanding that the EDT is 12 one-hour sessions of driving lessons you still have to drive with a fully licensed driver whenever you mount the wheels with your learner permit. Crazy right? Well, I didn’t think it was much of a problem considering my wealth of experience in driving. My missus fondly hails me “formula 1” each time I do my signature reverse parking very close to the kerb. As a matter of fact, I have never been involved in a crash while driving. The most have been a bump or a scratch on the side with danfo drivers usually the culprits. In any case, I passed the theory test without failing a question. It was easy because I had done a similar one while living in the UK some years back. The only reason I didn’t get a full UK driving license back then which would have saved me the stress here was because I moved back to Nigeria. I just keep moving! I was issued with a learner permit and I started the driving lessons thereafter. Believing it will be a formality I didn’t take it seriously. My only headache then was the bill. The €30/lesson summed up to €360. And then I had to hire a manual transmission car @€150 for the test, plus another €85 test fee. Adding all these up didn’t amuse me when I figured the naira equivalent. All the same, I finished after a boring 9-month period repeatedly interrupted by travels to Nigeria after which I often forgot where I left off. The first sign of trouble I got was when I requested to hire my driving instructor’s car for the test. His response was that I wasn’t ready yet. Goodness me! This oyibo was trying to extort me for further lessons after I had done the requisite minimum of 12. I laughed and bade him “au revoir”, after all, there are countless driving test car hire services out there. On the day of the test, I was brimming with confidence which would be deflated 10 minutes into the test proper. I had made several mistakes and by the time we returned to the test centre I knew I had failed. You are given feedback immediately on a sheet of paper to help you improve on the areas you were found wanting. My commonest mistake was ‘coasting’. It simply means driving with your clutch pedal down. Easy to shake that off one would think. But not so my dear, old habits die hard. I can bet 99% of Nigerian drivers coast and will fail their 1st driving test here. My friend in Dublin failed thrice, his wife 5x and another one I spoke to recently said he cannot count the number of times he has failed. These are all folks with decades of driving experience back home. My second test was even worse. I was so livid with myself that the car hire guy — bless him — refunded my money out of pity. I was to pass the third time but not without a stroke of good fortune. It came through an Albanian van driver whom I hired for removals. In the midst of haggling, I told him I could hire a van and do the job myself for half the cost. “So why did you call me? Do you love wasting money?” He had asked sarcastically. We both laughed heartily when I narrated about my driving test ordeal. He said, “so today, you pay me and after I give you good driving teacher, my brother has the best driving school in Cork”. He recommended his brother who owns Neptune Driving school when I revealed during our chat that I was still using a learner permit. During the pre-test rehearsal, the guy just asked me a few questions and concluded that my problem was overconfidence. He told me that besides coasting I needed to drive like a ‘confident’ rookie for the 20–30 minutes my test would last. So we spent the first half-hour dealing with coasting and the next learning how to drive like a rookie, both hands on the wheel, 10 to 2 position and all the boring details. But you must get them right for the test duration. I passed easily. The test didn’t even last 15 minutes and the tester was satisfied with my driving. It has been a huge relief ever since and besides the countless benefits of a full driving license, I believe it is advisable especially for immigrants to prioritise getting this all-important document. For instance in the US where some states issue driver’s licenses to undocumented immigrants

Blog, Diaspora Diary., Reverie

Diaspora Diary: Doings In Mbiri, Echoes In Cork.

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I know he wouldn’t want this but I just couldn’t help it. I had to blog this one for posterity. Like the Biblical instruction, my friend is a man who would rather conceal the doings of his right hand from his left hand, but here I am, about to blow his trumpet and loudly too. My cab was already waiting while I was still heating water for my usual morning coffee when I glanced at the kitchen clock and saw it was 6.58 am. Damn! I had a 9.20 am flight to catch and in this pandemic era, you had better be at the airport at least 2 hours before your scheduled departure. So I ditched the coffee and rushed out to the cab. The tall elderly African man behind the wheel said hi as I settled into the front seat of the Mondeo. “Good morning sir”, I replied in the normal Nigerian way of greeting. I have never been a fan of that dry hi, hello greeting. He smiled back, a dry smile so to say. Just as I was thinking that there won’t be much to gist about with this one the name on the dashboard caught my attention. He is a Nigerian and an Igbo man for that matter. Nice! I am not one to shy away from starting a conversation and I always derive joy in chatting with a cabby, more especially when he is my “countryman”. So I hit this one up right away. “My name is Cmoni, Chinemelu for long and I’m Igbo too”, I said. “Yea, I guessed” he replied rather incuriously. A chatty driver would have asked where I was headed just to keep the convo going even though he would have been informed by the app but not this one. “I have a friend with the same surname as yours”, I said not giving up, “are you from Okija?”. “No, I’m from Delta”, he replied. “Yea, yea we are all the same, Ndigbo, we are everywhere innit?”, I said trying to liven up the discussion. “Of course we are”, he replied., “I’m from Mbiri and we trace our origin to Mbieri in Imo state, or so I heard but even if it’s debatable the similarity in both names is striking”. “Well, I‘ve read a few texts on the ancestry of the Ika people with some accounts linking them to Benin heritage and so on. But language is a great pointer to the origin of a people and the fact that they speak Igbo is enough said for me. Now speaking about Mbiri, I told him that I have a friend from there named Tony Alika-Igwebuike. His face suddenly lit up. The pale, drawn expression changed to a wide smile as he almost shrieked. “Wow!, so you know my brother?”. “You bet I do”, I replied, feeling more at ease now with the man. “That’s a brother to be proud of”, he said nodding with delight. “a great Mbiri son in whom we are well pleased”, he concluded. I told him that Tony is very proud of his hometown and even owns a farm there. “Is it only that?”, he asked, “the young man is involved in almost everything about the progress of Mbiri”. When I reminded him that Tony isn’t a young man because he graduated from Unizik over 20 years ago, he replied that he was already in his forties back then and so he could refer to Tony as a young man since they are not mates. I agreed with a “sorry sir”. He then reeled out a lengthy list of what Tony is doing for his people. From being the president of one Mbiri association (sorry I’ve forgotten the name now) to helping the youths gain admission, employment, and empowerment. He said my friend is currently leading the drive to raise funds from wealthy Mbiri sons for the rehabilitation of a dilapidated hospital in the town. He could have gone on and on but the ride to Cork Airport was just over 15 minutes that early morning. So when I stopped, he finally asked where I was headed and I told him I was going on a business trip to Naples. He shook his head and wished me luck saying that he gave up after failed attempts to set up some businesses back home. Some day we will discuss how Nigerians at home ruin the hopes of our ‘country people’ in the diaspora but that’s a story for another day. We bade each other farewell and I sauntered into the airport. So you see, we can all emulate Obi Cubana in our own little way by supporting our communities. You don’t have to be a millionaire to help your kinsman, you have everything to gain and nothing to lose. As they say, nothing is too small for Imo airport because anyhow is a how! I was proud of this echo of my friend’s Mbiri ‘doings’ in faraway Cork. I boarded my flight feeling inspired and determined to do more for Amawbia. And as we were about to take off I bent my head in prayer to commit the flight to God as usual but this time I also asked Him to bless Tony.

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