Life in the diaspora: A Nigerian’s experience in the UK
By Mary Opii
Arrival: First impressions that stick
There is a peculiar kind of silence you notice when you land in the United Kingdom — an orderly hush that feels like a world apart from the ever-buzzing streets of Lagos or Benin City. For many Nigerian immigrants, stepping onto British soil for the first time is a cocktail of excitement, anxiety, and culture shock. It marks the beginning of a new chapter — one filled with both dreams and disillusionment.
I still remember the day I arrived the UK; it was my first winter morning in the UK. The sky was grey, the air damp, and the cold had a way of creeping into your bones no matter how thick your jacket was. I had come prepared — or so I thought. My travel box was filled with the essentials: garri, peak milk, seasoning cubes, ground pepper, crayfish, and of course, that heavy coat I’d bought from Balogun Market in Lagos. But nothing could have prepared me for that chill. It wasn’t just the weather — it was the realisation that I was now thousands of miles away from home, trying to build something from scratch.
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One of the earliest challenges was understanding how things worked. The transport system was efficient but confusing. Buses arrived on time—sometimes early—and if you missed one, nobody would stop and explain; you just had to figure it out. The accent was another surprise. I’d watched enough British TV series to expect the Queen’s English, but Yorkshire, Scouse, and Cockney sounded like entirely different languages. You find yourself saying “Sorry?” more times in a day than you ever did in a week back home.
Then came the systems: opening a bank account, registering for National Insurance, finding a GP, and filling in forms — so many forms. Everything had to be done by appointment. Time is sacred here! If you were five minutes late, the opportunity might be gone. Back home, we’d say “I’m coming” and arrive an hour later; here, that didn’t fly.
But in the midst of all this, there was something deeply humbling about starting over. You’re reminded that survival is universal. Some say that the UK is a leveller. How true that is! Whether you’re sweeping offices at dawn, working double shifts in care homes, or juggling part-time jobs while pursuing a degree, there’s a shared hustle among immigrants that binds us together. You find solace in the small things —spotting Maggi cubes at the African shop, hearing Pidgin English on the bus, or being invited to a local Nigerian church where jollof rice and praise worship ease your homesickness.
And then there’s the loneliness. Back home, there’s always someone around — a neighbour, a brother or sister, a cousin, or a friend. In the UK, you can go days or months without a knock on your door. Everyone’s busy. Everyone’s moving. It forces you to learn solitude and self-dependence. But over time, you also learn to build community — carefully, slowly — with people who understand the journey you’re on.
“Arrival” in the diaspora is not just about geography; it’s an emotional and psychological shift. You leave behind the familiar to chase a version of success that sometimes feels just out of reach. Yet every step forward — no matter how small — is progress. Every cold morning survived, every bill paid, every skill learned is a quiet victory.
And that, for many of us, is the beginning of our new story.
- Mary Opii, a former staff of TheNiche, is a Nigerian writer, lawyer, HR professional and community advocate living in the UK. Passionate about storytelling, she shares through this column, every week, real-life experiences of immigrants navigating life in the diaspora, blending insight, humour and hope in “The Diaspora Diary” column.
