Morning rush: A day in the life of a Nigerian worker in the UK
By Mary Opii
The alarm goes off at 5:30 a.m., sharp. No room for snoozing — not when the bus to your early shift leaves at 6:15. The house is still, but your mind is already racing through the day ahead: work, school drop-offs, maybe an evening shift, and hopefully some time to cook or catch up on laundry before bed.
For many Nigerian immigrants in the UK, this is the rhythm of life — structured, demanding, and driven by a deep sense of responsibility. Back home, we say, “No food for lazy man.” Over here, that phrase takes on a new intensity.
Whether you are in healthcare, retail, security, or logistics, one thing is constant: the early morning hustle. Many of us start our day before the sun comes up. The buses are cold, quiet, and full of fellow workers — most in uniform, clutching coffee cups or flasks of hot tea. There’s a mutual nod of respect among us, unspoken but understood. We’re all grinding.
Work hours in the UK are fixed and punctuality is non-negotiable. If your shift starts at 7:00 a.m., you must be signed in, changed, and ready by 6:59. Unlike Nigeria, where you might get away with strolling in at “African time,” here, lateness is costly — sometimes literally.
For parents, mornings are even more layered. Children need to be dressed, fed, and dropped off at school or nursery. There is no ‘house help’ here, and extended family support is rare and unaffordable. Everything must be scheduled like clockwork — packed lunches ready the night before, uniforms ironed, and shoes by the door. The school run is a routine of its own, often squeezed in between shifts or during brief breaks.
Some parents rely on breakfast clubs or before-school childcare, which adds an extra cost. Still, we do it. Because we must. Because our children are why we came.
The average Nigerian worker in the UK often holds more than one job or works extra hours just to make ends meet. Rent, council tax, electricity, gas, transport — it all adds up quickly. And then, there is the unspoken duty to send money back home. “How far? When you go run something?” That one text message from Nigeria is enough to remind you that your hustle isn’t just for you.
Yet somehow, even with all this, we find moments of pride. When you get your first pay slip. When your child gets a star of the week award. When you manage to send money to support your parents and siblings. Those moments remind you that your sacrifices are not in vain.
Lunch is often taken on the go — a sandwich or microwaved rice and stew, eaten in the staff room or your car. Break times are short, but you use them wisely: a quick phone call home, a YouTube worship song, or a power nap in your parked car.
Evenings are just as packed. You either head to a second job, pick up the kids, or catch up on chores. For some, there’s study after work — nursing, accounting, IT courses — anything to move forward.
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There is a quiet heroism in the everyday life of a Nigerian immigrant in the UK. We are caregivers, cleaners, drivers, key workers — holding up essential services while carrying the weight of two worlds. We strive to belong here while holding tightly to where we came from.
We work hard not just to survive, but to create a better future — for our children, for our families back home, and for ourselves. It is not glamorous, and it is not always easy, but it is honest work. It is honourable.
This is the daily grind. This is the morning rush. This is our life in the diaspora.
