Episode 3: Budget Struggles, Job Hunts, and the Dream of Love
It had been almost a month since I arrived in London, and I had begun to feel the weight of reality settling in. The initial excitement of being in a new country had worn off, and now I was grappling with the everyday challenges of survival.
The weather was still cold, the rain still relentless, but those were nothing compared to the tightening of my budget. As a student with limited financial resources, I quickly realized that the cost of living in the UK was nothing like I had anticipated. My scholarship covered tuition, but when it came to rent, food, transportation, and the little luxuries I had taken for granted back home — there was no cushion.
My flat, though small, was a significant chunk of my monthly expenses. The rent, even for a shared apartment, was far higher than I had expected. I had to eat cheap meals to stretch my budget: instant noodles, bread with peanut butter, and rice with whatever I could afford. Occasionally, Ada would invite me to join her and the other Nigerian students for a meal out, but I always felt guilty for not contributing more. How could I keep pretending that everything was fine when I was one missed payment away from a disaster?
Every penny mattered. The thought of running out of money before the end of the month scared me more than I cared to admit. I had to constantly keep track of my spending, calculating how much I could afford for the week. The idea of calling home for financial help was out of the question. I didn’t want to burden my parents; they had worked so hard to get me here, and I wasn’t about to let them know how hard it was becoming.
The job hunt was proving to be an even bigger challenge. I had underestimated how difficult it would be to find part-time work that paid enough to cover my living expenses. Back home, there were always jobs available, especially if you had a degree. But here, it was different. The market was saturated with students, and everyone seemed to have a leg up, whether it was experience, a network of connections, or simply the ability to speak the language with a certain level of fluency that I hadn’t yet mastered.
I sent out applications daily, spending hours crafting cover letters and resumes, only to receive polite rejections or, worse, no response at all. The part-time jobs available were often in retail or hospitality, but they wanted experience that I didn’t have. Every interview I attended felt like another door slammed in my face. I couldn’t help but wonder if being an international student was working against me. Perhaps I was just another number to them, another applicant in a sea of hopefuls.
There were days when the frustration got the better of me. I would walk around the city, head down, lost in my thoughts, wondering if I had made a mistake coming here. But then, I would remember the reason I came to London in the first place — to get an education, to build a better future. The goal was still clear, even if the path ahead was clouded with uncertainty.
In the midst of all the financial stress and the grind of endless job applications, one thing kept me going: the dream of love.
Before leaving Nigeria, I had envisioned a different kind of life in the UK. I imagined meeting someone who would make the struggles worthwhile. Someone who would see me for who I truly was — someone who would embrace my culture, my background, my story. I imagined cozy dates in the city, late-night walks in the rain, or simply sitting together in a café, sharing our dreams and ambitions. I didn’t know exactly what it would look like, but I knew that one day, I would find someone who would make me feel like this journey was worth every sacrifice.
But reality wasn’t as simple as my daydreams. I hadn’t met anyone who caught my attention, and the few guys I had come across seemed to be more interested in superficial connections than anything deeper. Ada had warned me about the “London boys,” as she called them. “They’re not what they seem,” she’d said, “most of them are after one thing, and they’re really good at pretending otherwise.”
I hadn’t experienced that kind of attention yet, but the thought of it made me uneasy. I had never been the type to rush into relationships, and the idea of getting involved with someone who didn’t value me was terrifying. Yet, the loneliness gnawed at me every evening as I sat alone in my tiny flat, the silence in the room reminding me of how far I was from home and everything familiar.
One evening, after another failed job interview, I was sitting on my bed, scrolling through social media, when I saw a post from one of my cousins back home. She had just graduated and was now working at a company in Lagos, posting pictures of her new office and the car she had bought. It was another reminder of how far behind I seemed to be. Everyone else seemed to be moving forward, succeeding in ways that I could only dream of.
That night, I went to bed feeling more isolated than ever. The weight of my budget struggles, the lack of a job, and the growing desire for companionship pressed down on me. But deep down, I knew that this was part of the journey. The early days were always the hardest, and I had to remind myself that nothing worth having comes easily. The dreams of love, of finding a career, of building a life in this foreign land — they were still alive, even if the road ahead seemed long and uncertain.
The next day, I woke up with a renewed sense of determination. I couldn’t afford to let the setbacks define me. I had to push through the loneliness, the rejections, the tight budget. I would keep applying for jobs, and I would find a way to make this work. I would build a life here, no matter how hard it seemed. And if love came along in the process, that would be the cherry on top.
But for now, the most important thing was to survive — to find my footing in this city, to settle into a rhythm, and to believe that all the struggles would eventually lead to something better.
To be continued…
