I told you everything will be alright, but the storyteller in me wants to share how it happened. This is it;

There’s this adorable toddler, he calls me Atoya. I embrace it fully cos it’s cute and I am used to having the abridged version of my name because that’s what toddlers do, they rename you. Beepy. Fatoya. Towa. Beema. Veekoya. Name it, I’ve answered it.

We are having a little hangout at my house and I am in a meeting with my manager, he keeps peeking, and it’s funny, we giggled and jokingly agree that he should be paid for attending the meeting. Before the Zoom call ended, my application for a Certificate of Sponsorship renewal was approved. What a beautiful beginning! My heart was filled with laughter.

In a fortnight, we come home from feeding the ducks. I’m excited to have him. Two of us, while the rest of the world are working, are without worries, looking after each other. He steps on my belly to peek out the window, a new habit he has learnt and is practicing relentlessly. I can’t tell if my torso looks like a familiar stool or it’s just a toddler-thing to ignore all available space and stand on me. He is people-watching, occasionally waving courteously as they go about their day. He babbles to a complete stranger, an old lady engages him, when she walks away he yells “bye!!!”, waving like they’re buddies of some sort. I laugh at the absurdity of it. Then scroll my phone and find a mail with a document attached. It’s the Certificate of Sponsorship that was approved the last time he was here, a physical manifestation of an answered prayer and I cry, happy, ugly tears. The toddler mirrors my emotions. He cries too. Gratitude flows like water down our faces.

A week later, my employer would lose their sponsor license and our happy tears would be replaced first, by disbelief, then shock, then the harrowing ordeal of being an immigrant in England with a pending visa application whose sponsor lost its license. A story that is so unique it feels isolating. Nobody can possibly get it, no one understands except the one who knows all about my struggles and promised to guide till the day is dawn.

I made an attempt to suffer in silence because yunno maturity or something like that. March rolled around without a glimpse of hope, I knew I needed to speak up, get a megaphone if necessary and scream like the woman in Aba market trying to sell okrika “everybody come and see ooo”. Except there was nothing to bend down select.

I only want people who genuinely care to know because I can’t navigate this phase on my own. I wait till they call or ask very specific questions before I tell them. I tell my Pastor too.

They took it very personal, a lot more seriously than I assumed they would. Prayers. Kind words. Advice. Financial support. Hugs from the sisters (very important clarification). Food. Lawyer (I did not know I needed one). Tolerance (my young adult fellowship prayed for my CoS for 4 months in a row, their patience was probably stretched thin). And goodwill. A lot of goodwill. It’s a sad phase with a lot of unbelievably happy days. I laugh a lot. The tide had changed without warning and I laugh at the fickleness of it all. One day you have a visa and the next, it’s you and Master Jesus trying to figure out your immigration status.

I want to write about Helen and how she randomly sent money to my account and insisted I take as much as I need. She was afraid I would run short while being shy to ask for help. About Chisom, and the very many calls she answered when she did not have to. The same Chisom that paid my last-minute flight ticket for my brother’s wedding in 2024 after she’d only known me for a few months. About Precious who sent job links, offered a staycation, followed up and worried so much about me. I was concerned that she was overworked on my behalf. About Grateful that was not informed and was not happy when she got to know it late and graciously offered prayers and a lot of goodwill. Sis Rachel Oluwaseesin, shared her own journey and followed up regularly with good counsel and job links. The Onis, Adesoyes and John Babalolas who cared so deeply, it was humbling. Two years ago, I had not met some of these people who’d become the succour I did not realise I needed.

My mother thinks the Bamiduros are angels. I told her they couldn’t possibly be extra-terrestrial because I’ve seen them physically in church for over 2 years. But my mother is just what she is, a wonder. So, I laugh at that too. My very holy father is occasionally taken aback by her religiosity. And for a moment, I agree they’re angels. It was their newborn I snuggled while I wrote Ogadinma. Their home that was my first refuge. When they told me I could visit at anytime, I’m not sure they expected I’d visit 17 times in a month. And on some days, twice. But they were patient, very patient with me and every-time I felt low, I showed up for warm food and baby snuggles. The world is truly a better place because they exist.

I want to write about the Shepherd of the church over DLBC Leeds but again, there’s so much that words cannot sufficiently express. He’s ineffable.

I was not without help. Love. Care. Concern. Support. Help. The invisible thread that sews humanity in unity.

The RGN job market is not what it was during the pandemic, post-pandemic or even a year ago. The economy is squeezing everyone and the news is rife with British nurses being out of jobs. The cards were stacked high against me. Like a realistic person, I packed up and reserved my flight with the knowledge that this phase is over and I am loved, very loved at home. I donated my stuff to the charity store and asked if I needed to give a donation for it to be accepted. She stifles a giggle and says no.

I have come to enjoy the beauty of walking with Jesus. The knowing that if I am stripped of every worldly good, my Jesus would still be enough. Armed with this knowledge, I know Ogadinma, everything will be alright. I am comforted that I will thrive, “anywhere with Jesus I can safely go…” God’s mercies can also look like unanswered prayers, returning home and new beginnings. This saga has stretched me emotionally but it has also taught my heart to pray. To hope. To trust. To be still. It has made me holier.

The Friday before my Monday flight, the lawyer was on a business trip and called me from an airport lounge to get my task sorted. And by Saturday morning, less than 48 hours before my flight, my application was successful. I wept with relief.

“When the Lord turned again the captivity of Zion, we were like them that dreamed.” Psalm 126:1

But this was a temp visa to avoid being an overstayer. A game you didn’t want to play with Home Office. At least, not in the current anti-immigration climate. My orthodoxy raised me to believe that disregarding government regulations is sinful, so I would have left for conscience sake but the temp visa stops that.

I have the toddler again. It’s May 27th- Nigerian children’s day and as a responsible neighbourhood aunty, I found an event for us to attend. First, an outdoor bird-feeding at a park, then, a career event and lunch. We get home and he’s tired. It’s the May heatwave- we’re all being baked by the the 30C heat. He’s missed a nap and doing his best to self-regulate. I’m holding him, he’s asleep. I scroll my phone and my CoS, from a recent interview has arrived. At first, I want to scream but he’s asleep. So I whisper my gratitude. This time, he does not join me. Months and months of hope, intercessions, tears and the evidence of my miracle is in my mail.

I want to apply for my visa but the lawyer says to follow due process. So I have this long-awaited document but can’t apply because wantin happened to wantin. The lawyer understands better and I follow her counsel. That’s the sane thing to do.

It’s 11th June and this time, I’m not holding the toddler. He’s drumming. I’m thankful for his skill but I’m at the verge of an headache. I have played Judah by Dunsin Oyekan for the gazillionth time. At least, he’s not calling out to strangers “see you tomorrow!!!” knowing very well he won’t be here.

I look over and he’s adorable in a very cutesy way. My name has graduated to Veetoya with occasional slips to Atoya. I am getting very close to being named properly. Huge achievement, if you ask.

My visa arrives in the mail and I feel like a tight knot dissolves in my chest, a load I didn’t know I carried until it was relieved. I’m happy and I dance, he gets up and joins me. It’s the same dance step he’s had since the year began. But it’s still an acceptable offering of thanksgiving. My birthday present came early. God has caused me to laugh and all who hear will laugh with me!

And it suddenly occurs to me that he’s been here through every mail of answered prayers. Considering the rarity of his visits, the coincidence is a little too striking. And I look over at him, he’s still dancing and going on about “the battle formation is the mystery of praise…”. I don’t want to make much of it, so I plugged my laptop in and start to tell the story. A story of God’s goodness through the lens of a stunning coincidence.

PS1: I have two CoS and I’m spoilt for choice.

PS2: My tier 2 visa application fees was repaid by Leeds Care Association yesterday, the Bamiduros signposted me to the organisation when I was desperately searching.

PS3: Home office mailed today to say they’ll refund the FLR visa and IHS fees. So actually, I’m recovering lost finances too!

I’m stunned beyond words. Please play “See what the Lord has done by Nathaniel Bassey”. Keyboard bre à Key F. 💃🏾💃🏾💃🏾💃🏾

Tutu Mkpong.

Yours, with exploding joy!

Edima.