Kate* (32) moved abroad in 2021 after losing her husband to a preventable death, determined to raise her children in a sane environment. However, her work hours and inability to afford child care make her often rethink her decision.
As told to Boluwatife
Five years ago, if you’d asked me if I’d ever leave Nigeria, I’d have said a big no and probably lectured you about the importance of staying to build your motherland. That’s how much I believed in the Nigerian dream.
But look at me now. I’m far away in Canada, with almost no connections to home and the only regret I have is how relocation is affecting my children.
My Nigerian dream died on the same day as most other Nigerians. Oct 20, 2020, the day Nigeria killed her citizens for demanding better from her leaders. My husband, Lanre*, and I had given our all during the #EndSARS protests. We weren’t just fighting to end police brutality. In our minds, we wanted to remove all the rotten eggs that were giving our beloved Nigeria a bad name.
Lanre was just as patriotic as I was, if not more. He would stand at the junction reading newspaper headlines at the vendor stand and argue with everyone else there about politics.
His favourite thing to watch was the news, and we bonded over the latest political events. It sounds weird, but that was our preferred type of gist since we married in 2014.
So, of course, it was a no-brainer that we’d participate in the protests. But then the shooting happened, and everything changed.
I think the first time Lanre brought up japa as a possibility was when the Lagos governor went on air to say he didn’t know who ordered the shootings. We’d discussed japa before, but it had always been about others who chose to leave. It’d never been a possibility for us.
It took me a while to accept his new vision. We had good banking jobs in Nigeria, our two children were under three years old, and our immediate family members lived in Nigeria. My Nigerian dream was dead, but I knew starting afresh in a new place would be difficult.
Still, I followed Lanre’s lead, and we began the Canada Express Entry process in 2021. We even created two individual profiles to increase our chances of getting the Invitation To Apply (ITA). We wrote IELTS and sold our landed properties to raise money.
Unfortunately, Lanre passed away four months later. The bus he was travelling in had an accident, and onlookers thought it was better to film the scene than actually rush the victims to the hospital.
When they finally took my husband to the hospital, the nurses said they didn’t have enough oxygen. My husband was already dead before I heard and rushed to the hospital.
I wanted to die. It was like my whole world had crashed before my eyes. I must’ve suffered functional depression in the weeks that followed because I didn’t want to live anymore, but I still had to turn up for my children. I still don’t know how I managed it.
Ironically, I got the ITA about a month after my husband passed. I was prepared to ignore it, but I told my mum, and she encouraged me to take the opportunity. Nigeria had killed my dream and taken my husband, too. What else was I staying back for? Wasn’t it better to move somewhere that works and secure my children’s future?
So, with the help of family and friends, I raised money and arrived in Canada with my children in 2021.
We first lived in Manitoba for two years with someone I got introduced to through a church member back in Nigeria. Manitoba felt like a home away from home. Our host was extremely kind and helped look after my children when I had to look for jobs and even when I finally found work.
My children adapted well at first. It was a strange land with no familiar faces around, and they didn’t know why they suddenly had to wear heavy clothing, but we were still together, and they were fine.
But we had to move to Toronto in 2023 because of my new job, and it hasn’t been as easy. I work two jobs and often can’t spend time with my children after they return from school.
I also can’t afford a live-in nanny, so most of the time, I drop my children off with my Nigerian neighbours after school so I can rush off to my next job. My eldest has complained that one of my neighbours’ children is always stealing his snacks, but there’s not much I can do apart from giving him more snacks. I can’t complain to people who are helping me out.
My youngest has also taken to crying for her daddy every time I drop them off. I’m not sure if she even remembers him because he died when she was barely a year old. But every time she’s upset now, she asks for her daddy.
I’m working towards getting a trusted babysitter who can come in for a few hours and leave so my children don’t have to stay out of their home after school. But I also fear it may not be the solution. What if they resent me because I don’t spend enough time with them?
I also had long work hours back in Nigeria, but daddy was also there, and we lived close to family members, so they always saw their cousins. Even in Manitoba, there was always someone familiar with them. Now, they have to deal with daddy’s absence and spend time with people they don’t like.
I try to focus on why I came here in the first place: Securing a better future for my children, but I’m concerned I’m failing in the present. What’s worse, I don’t really have people to talk to. Many Nigerians are in Toronto, but there’s no real sense of community. Everyone has their own wahala to face.
I also can’t tell family back home about my parenting struggles because I’ll sound stupid. Like, how do you have an opportunity people would kill for, and you’re complaining?
Sometimes, I wonder if I should’ve stayed back in Nigeria, but the news I hear daily from back home renews my resolve. I can only keep pushing and hope it all works out soon.
*Names have been changed for the sake of anonymity.
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