Unable to fall back to sleep after waking up at 3 a.m., my mind began wandering around the spheres of life like an eagle hovering the clouds, seeking an iroko tree to perch on. Tired of lying down with closed eyes and an open mind, I decided to sit up. What in the world are you doing here? asked a voice in my head. I stood up and walked around my room, which is more parallel in length than it is in width. Unable to look into the cloud through the transparent windows because of the dark cotton, the room not being up to 2 square meters contains my bed, my clothes hanger, and two mini drawers laying beside the bed and adjacent that have the lantern.
My two travelling boxes on the floor close to the clothes hangers with more winter jackets than ordinary clothes—oh, least I forgot last time I checked—I have been living in Scandinavia for the past decade. Reasons for more winter jackets than the summer wears. But here it’s ordinary and normal anyway. Feeling a slight headache, I couldn’t get rid of my thought even as I kept trying.
The question popped up again, this time in a louder voice:What are you doing here? Living like a refugee, lonely and far from home, void of family and even real friends.
But you are a refugee. Another voice answered living in a foreign country with different races and cultures from yours. Puzzled. I sat back on the bed, which also serves as my couch, not minding its inconveniences the least I should be worried about in my greener pastures quest. I should even thank my stars to have a place I lay my head because thousands of migrants are sleeping outside, an experience that is not alain to me as well. I sighed. This night is going to be a long one, I said deep down to myself. Growing up was a hell of an experience, and such an experience I vowed not to let my children go through, which was one of the reasons I left.
I have always prayed at a younger age to make life better for my family and most especially to raise my children myself and correct my mistakes in them. I also pass on a direct knowledge of things I learnt from my parents, which are essential to life, but here I am millions of miles away from my family, unable to make a direct impact on my child. Their absence has traumatised me, and it’s also the reason for my sleepless nights and emotional stress. How difficult it is to comprehend my predicament, which left me with little or no choice in the sense that my struggle to provide a better future for my family will in turn deny me of their presence and direct affection and closures.
This is the agony of many African migrants whose decisions to improve the well-being and welfare of their families have left them with the choice between the devil and the Red Sea. The pains of our family separation and loneliness are only consoled by a better future made possible for them in our quest. I hissed and decided to check the time again. To my surprise, it’s already 5:30am. Knowing that I must go to work that morning, I tried lying down, praying to have an hour of sleep, taking consolation on the notion that the reason for my loneliness (unhappiness) is also the reason for my family’s happiness back home.
the untold Realities 