This is the continuation of my story, moving to Canada as a Nigerian. Canada is really a beautiful place, it has nice structures with policies that affect both its citizens and immigrants positively. I never wanted to go back to that place called Nigeria, at least not for now, I will go when I have made enough money that I can use to paint the town red, so I thought. I went home depressed and alert, thinking of a new strategy to embark on, which will give my stay a validation.
Then I began checking for schools online and enquiring on their admissions, some had closed admission process while some were still admitting, but their school fees was enough to build me a house back in Ikorodu. At this junction, I had no choice, I had to put in for a program with an institution, pretending I was in the country to study, but where was I going to see 3million naira to pay for my tuition? I asked my friend who I am staying with, he only has 1000 Canadian dollar as his savings, I was amazed, in my mind of mind, I echoed, “with this beautiful car and house, and you using an iPhone6, you only have $1000 as your entire savings? Village people are certainly here- they have followed you across the sea/Atlantic down here”. The reality hadn’t done on me then, how you can be in a lower class and still live comfortably in a developed country. If this was so in my country, I wouldn’t be here playing hide and seek with Canadian law authorities. Over here, as long as you have a job and a valid stay visa- with a personal identification number, you can put in for a mortgage, even if the job pays you less than $500 every month.
It was then I remembered home, a month and few weeks have passed since I arrived Canada, I needed to cook a lie to tell them, explaining the reasons I hadn’t called. When I eventually called, they didn’t buy my lies and they were not ready to loan me any other money, considering I hadn’t paid my previous debt. It felt like the floor should open and swallow me, I was short of ideas and help was far away from me. Depression started setting in. Each morning, my friend rushes to work and comes back at 11pm, poor boy, he manages about four jobs, just to survive and pay his bills. He practically lives on coffee-black coffee, just to stay awake and alert. I didn’t envy him, was this the life I signed up for? On the other hand, however, I saw many Nigerians making it and flashing every material thing worthy of flashing, into our faces, I wondered who these guys are and what they do. My friend told me, those are children to Nigerian politicians, “their parents steal Nigeria money and the children come over here to spend it, they live luxurious lives more than governors and past presidents of this great country, not to mention their children. Hearing this further made me depressed, and so, I did the unthinkable…
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Dayo, writing from Canada.