Coming for my Baby
11
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With financial help from Special, I begin the process of applying for my UK visa. I navigate through the pages, carefully filling in the required information. I uploaded the necessary documents required—proof of funds, travel itinerary, and a letter of invitation. When I reach the section where they ask for the purpose of my visit, I take a deep breath,
Truth or not?
I filled my visa application for Ireland which I heard is way difficult than UK to get all by myself, so this shouldn’t be beans.
In the purpose of visit section, I type in the words: “To visit my boyfriend, Omehia Special.”
A flutter of nerves causes my tummy to rumble when I review the information one last time. My heart forms a heartfelt prayer my lips can’t .
I commit this to you, Lord. Please, let them approve this visa. Use this visa to validate our relationship. Let it be a sign that you’re ready to bring us together, even if only temporarily. Please, Lord. Please. Amen.
Done praying, I click the submit button.
A confirmation page appears on my screen, and I lean back in my chair.
Hmmph! Now, all that’s left to do is wait.
In the days that follow, my routine continues as I check my email inbox. Each time a new email notification appears, my heart skips a beat, only to realize that it’s not the one I’ve been waiting for. My laptop becomes my constant companion as I refresh the visa application page, hoping to see an update.
During quiet moments, I find myself sending up silent prayers, asking for everything to go smoothly. I also imagine myself exploring the streets of the UK with Special by my side, sharing laughter, making memories, and discovering new places together.
Any moment now, I will receive a mail or email that will determine whether my dream of visiting Special this school holiday will come true. And no matter the outcome, whether I’m by his side or miles away, our love will remain unbreakable.
In between classes and study sessions, I find myself navigating the currents of everyday life. Itohan, knowing of my impending trip, extends invitations to pubs and gatherings, eager to get me to explore the city. But despite her friendly offers, the memory of my previous misunderstanding with Special still lingers in my mind. Although I sometimes hang out with her, I do my best to avoid anything that might jeopardize the harmony I’ve worked so hard to maintain with Special.
When she invites me out, I politely decline, offering a smile and a vague excuse about managing my funds. It’s not that I don’t want to socialize or experience the local culture—it’s just that I want to make sure every step I take is in line with the trust I’ve built with Special.
And so, while I miss out on the pub invitations and the chance to meet new people, I find solace in studying, work, and my man.
**** *
Days pass by in a blur. Mary and I stop working at the factory to write our first exams and when we return, I am the only one they accept to return to work. It hurt, not just because I won’t have company walking back home with, but because Mary also needs extra funds like me, too.
Barely three days after my return to the factory, I am told to wash the toilet.
Excuse me?
That’s not part of my duties!
Just because you’re doing me a favor by giving me a job under the table doesn’t mean you should demean me and my role. I’m studying for a master’s degree in computer science and majoring in data analytics! Do you know what that means? How does that relate to cleaning toilets?
If I had a choice, I would have said all that. Instead, I begrudgingly do it.
The toilet cleaning in the factory gets noticed by one of the seniors and they ask if I am interested in other gigs outside of the factory. As an immigrant trying to make extra money to keep up with the cost of living, of course I say, yes!
Is it the monthly stipends Mama Gee sends, and I convert to euro that would buy me a worthy UK-boyfriend-visiting wardrobe?
Now, during the weekdays, after classes, I work as a cleaner for about ten hours a week. The sound of mop swishing against the floor, the scent of cleaning products in the air—it’s a far cry from the world of computer, data science or classes that I’m used to. But I don’t mind. Every swipe of the mop, every polished surface, is a step closer to my goal of being with Special.
My evenings are dedicated to studying and preparing for classes. The hours are long, but my vision of the future keeps me going. I remind myself that this sacrifice, this hard work, is what those before me have done to nurture their relationships and lives.
On the weekends, I wear a different hat—I become a caregiver. The hours are longer, the tasks more demanding, but I approach them with the same commitment I bring to every aspect of my life. I take care of those in need, providing a helping hand and a listening ear, all the while holding onto the promise of the visit that’s just around the corner .
My days are a whirlwind of activities, that I can’t make excuses to Itohan because it is glaring. And with each paycheck, I remind myself that this is a temporary phase, a means to an end, and that the memories I’ll create during the visit will be worth every moment of hard work.
I keep refreshing my email and checking the mailbox for the UK embassy verdict. Mary is tired of my constant repetitive questioning. At this rate, I have to slow down if not, anxiety will become my middle name. My calmness doesn’t last for two days as I arrive home to Mary handing me a unique letter I have no doubt is from the UK embassy.
Thanking her and bidding her a wonderful evening as she steps out, my heart races as I carefully open the letter with trembling fingers. The subject line catches my attention, and I scan the words with a growing sense of dread.
“Your application for a visit visa to the United Kingdom has been refused.”
The words hit me like a punch to the gut.
Why!
The room spins around me.
Refused. Refused… REFUSED.
The word reverberates in my head, echoing with a sense of finality I can’t quite comprehend.
My vision blurs as tears well up in my eyes. Quickly, I wipe them away.
I won’t cry.
No, I won’t.
What is a visa? Stupid, nonsense UK visa.
What is—oh Special… I groan. Hot liquid filled with frustration, disappointment, and confusion roll down my cheeks, splashing on my winter jacket.
My groaning continues and I attempt to tear the document but common sense reminds me that it’s best I keep it. I toss the rubbish bearer of the bad news across the room with all my strength. It simply flutters in the air before gently resting close to my feet as if mocking me .
How could this happen? I did everything they asked of me. I provided all the necessary documents. I was sincere. I—I... I poured my heart into that application.
I won’t cry. No, I won’t.
God… I feel so hot! I tear off my jacket with lighting speed, flinging it off me. I go for my boots next.
The first one comes off easily, but I struggle with the second, and THUD. I land on the carpeted floor with a grunt.
Why?...
Tears freely flow down my cheeks as the weight of the refusal settles over me, darkening my thoughts. All the plans. All my hard work. My dreams of exploring a new city with Special. Of creating memories together this holiday. Everything crumbles and evaporates in an instant.
Liquid anger flows through my veins with simmering resentment at the unfairness of it all. And beneath it all, a profound sadness lingers. A deep ache that vibrates within the very core of my being.
This is unfair!
Do they know how this unfairness will shape the course of my life?
I’ve worked tirelessly. Sacrificed time and energy. Waited and waited. Only to be met with this cold rejection via mail.
Oh God, no…
I shake as tremors of disappointment rock my body, gripping my heart like a vice and squeezing out any semblance of optimism in it. I raise my head, placing my hands on both sides, fighting with an invisible weight that’s pressing down on me.
God… why? This huge blow is striking at the very heart of our plans! It is challenging the foundation of our relationship.
Minutes drag on, and I remain on the floor. A heavy cloak of hopelessness settles over me like a suffocating fog. It wraps around my thoughts, suffusing them with a bleakness that seeps into every corner of my being. Despite my efforts to push it away, it clings to me relentlessly. Weighing me down with its oppressive presence; pressing my chest. Making it difficult to breathe .
I should reach out to Special. But what would I say? What good would it do? Sharing this news will only amplify the hopelessness that has taken residence within me.
I stay silent, phone ignored, hopelessness tightening its grip, leaving me powerless.
I don’t know how much time has passed, but I take a deep breath, reminding myself of all the challenges we’ve faced in the past—how we even found our way each other, the ups and downs of distance, and so much more.
With trembling fingers, I pick up my phone and dial Special’s number. How would I tell him? Should I just hang up and send a text message instead?
My heart pounds in my chest as anger, frustration, and sadness swirls within me. I sigh deeply when the call connects.
“Fifi baby...” His voice comes through the line, happy and carefree.
Taking a deep breath, I struggle to steady my voice as I speak. “Hi baby…”
“What’s going on?”
“I just received the mail from the embassy. They refused my visa application.”
There’s a moment of silence on his end, and then his voice comes through. “Umm… What happened? Did they give any reason?”
My frustration bubbles to the surface as I explain the reason for the refusal. “Can you believe that? I provided all the necessary financial documents, and they’re telling me it’s not enough. It’s just one week visit! Do they expect me to have one million euro in my account?” Although reasonable time has passed since I opened that letter, there’s still anger in my voice.
“Sorry baby. It happens. We’ll give it time and apply again.”
Tears well up in my eyes, and I blink them away, determined to keep my composure. “I can’t believe this—what will happen to the flight ticket?”
“Don’t worry, I’ll cancel it and rebook it when you’re ready.”
“I was so looking forward to being with you, to experiencing UK together. ”
“Same here? We’ll find a way through this, like we always do.”
Yeah, yeah … I let out a frustrated sigh.
“Don’t we?” he asks, and I can hear the smile in his voice.
I know he’s trying to make the situation less depressing but the weight of everything is pressing down on me. “I’m just so angry right now. Angry that they can just make a decision like this, without understanding the effort and determination it took to get here.”
“I understand your frustration. And I promise you, we’ll figure this out. Whether it’s reapplying or exploring other options, we’ll find a way to make it happen. Soon.”