Lost in the Diaspora (READ ONLY!!!)

As Ibuzor (not implied) stared down the ceramic toilet bowl, richly decorated and arabesque with fecal matter, his thoughts and mind were like the stormy seas, thrashing about from the tumultuous winds the foul smelling bowl brought to his nose, mouth and stomach. He couldn't understand it and didn't even realize when he muttered under his breath "Kai, so Oyibo children can do this kind of thing". "See how it looks, ah ah!!! How can somebody mix soap for washing hand, with shit and still decide that the best thing to do is the shove toilet roll inside THAT same bowl?". He shut the toilet bowl, shook his head and said more audibly than before, "Mba oh!!! I am not washing this." He closed the four toilet stall in the female children's bathroom of Digbeth's community primary learning center in Conventry, West midlands UK. He shuffled across to the next stall, the 10th toilet on his cleaning route and last for the night. With a gentle yet firm shove, the toilet stall door popped wide open, exposing its vile content. He looked straight down its already open bowl, heaved a sigh of relief , assessed its shit stained surface and he said thankfully, "Thank God, this one is better."
Now, lets not get it twisted. Ibuzo was not a janitor by choice. He was a fully educated, Nigerian man. He was a graduate of the prestigious University of Nigeria, Nsukka. A lion who studied Mechanical Engineering in his first degree and had just recently completed his Masters in Conventry university. He was a bright man, very astute and intelligent. He was working with a company in Nigeria and earning an average salary. He decided he wanted to climb up the corporate ladder faster and discerned that getting further qualifications would help him do so. He then decided to go for a Masters degree in the UK. That way, when employers see his CV they will be more compelled to employ him because of his external qualification.

Armed with this plan, he made arrangements to travel abroad. He invested his life savings in a ticket, a visa and a very expensive, £30,000, tuition fee. He was pleased when his efforts paid off when he received his visa application back in the mail. They had just granted him a One year student visa with no extension. He was very pleased with the visa and snorted at the "No extension" policy. "One year ke" he scoffed. "I will just find a job there and they will give me work permit. Levels don change be that." Soon enough, he was on a plane bound for the other, greener, part of the world. It had been a lengthy goodbye with friends and family. All were excited about his exit. They were pleased to send him off to a better life.

All of a sudden, a disgusting image of a toilet bowl crammed to the brim with a dense mix of toilet roll, soap bars and Shit instantly flashed in Ibu's mind. He was jolted back to reality. He looked around in desperation and gasped. He was in the janitors closet surrounded by all kinds of cleaning chemicals and detergents. He shook his head in disappointment. He wasn't a JJC or a learner anymore. This was first-hand experience of Life. No dreams, no illusions, no fantasies. Just hard life. It had been 6 years since the times he just reviewed in his memory. He got dressed and made his way to the bus stop to catch the 210A bus home.

On the bus, more thoughts began to pour into his mind. Thoughts of how many rejection emails he had received. His inbox had to be cleaned out soon though, they were beginning to take too much space. He thought about the distinction he achieved on his Masters degree. And how 4 years ago he believed that this was all he needed to land that dream job. He hadn't fully recovered from the dejected way he felt after every interview ended with the examiner asking in a crisp britico accent "So, we just want to know if you have a work permit." To which Ibuzor would answer, quite honestly, "Err, not really. No!". The interviewers responses have always been the same after that "We are sorry, we are only looking for nationals or people who have work permits. Goodbye" *Click* as the phone hangs up. Job selection was tough on non-nationals, he reckoned.

"Oh No!, Not again". Ibu hissed. He was reacting to something. His eyes squinted as though trying desperately to un-see something that was right in front of him. He pushed up his upper lip, using it to cover his nostrils, It was an attempt to stop an unwanted, imaginary, smell from getting into his nose. He couldn't believe the sight. Tissue paper, Soap and shit, mixed together. Insoluble in the water the toilet had assigned to carry out the dissolution task. Talk about mission impossible. He muttered "There are somethings, one cannot just unsee." He looked out the window of the doubledecker, his bus stop came up in view. He sighed in relief... he was happy to be home.

He unlocked the bruised, white, door of his studio apartment. What our people back home refer to as self-con. He wasn't that well off though. Studio apartment would have a huge cost attached. Heating, electricity, internet and council tax bills on one head? He dare not. It was a little too rich for someone of his income status. He shared this little living space with Kokoette, a young man from Akwa Ibom who he met during his UK school days. They had become good friends and had been on the run from Border agency UK together. They were close. They share a lot of triumphs (not many) and defeats, failure to acquire valid UK stay visas. They believed staying together was the best way to avoid being deported. They were right as their adventures had brought them to digbeth to hustle after Immigration officials almost nabbed them in Milton keynes. As Ibu entered, they shared a knowing smile.

"How was your day?" Koko asked. "It was just aight jor!!!, I saw shit mixed with tissue paper and soap in the childrens bathroom today." Koko's mouth fell agape "Ah ah!! Jah Jehovah!!!Ewwww!!! What kind of oyinbo people are these sef?" Visibly shaken,  Ibu responded "Omo, I don't understand it. And they call us uncivilised. Just imagine, Mshewww!!!". Koko laughed loudly. "Bro, your own is still good. If you know what I saw today". Koko continued without waiting for Ibu's response. "Shit, right there in the middle of the hotel room. On the floor, very close the bed." "Eh!!", Ibu said frightfully. "You saw what?, where?". "SHIT oh! my brother. I couldn't believe it either. I called the manager to show him and he told me its my job to clean it." "The manager said "its your job"?" Ibu retorted looking sharply at Koko. Ibuzor began to drift away into his subconscious thought, Koko's continued narration of his trials as a hotel room cleaner slowly fading away into silence. "What nonsense, what kind of life is this?, Cleaner ke? When my mates in Nigeria are marrying wives? Building houses? Bad as e bad, in Nigeria, Masters graduate will NEVER be a cleaner. If all else fails, I can go to my village and farm. Ibu shouted out, cutting koko mid-sentence, "Koko, I am going back to Nigeria".

Yeah,  this was one long a** post wasn't it. Sorry about that. I don't know if you read it or if you relate (you should know by now "i don't care either ways). But I am pretty sure, you are aware of this issue. So many of our brothers are out there looking for a better life on the greener pastures of "Diaspora". They are ready to pass through the sahara desert or the Mediterranean sea just to get there. What is chasing them from their home country? Why can't they stay and help solve the problem? Why abandon your home? Why endure hardship (cleaner, janitor, traffic man, prostitute jobs) abroad instead of building a better life here? Why endure racism, direct or indirect? Why? Why? Why? I don't know for them oh. But as we say in football, Return Home, Home is better. Yours angrily, Nigerian.