MY MOTHER AND SISTER SÇAMMÊD ME WHILE I WAS IN THE UK. I CAME BACK TO NOTHING BUT BETRAYAL. Written by: Janet Writes EPISODE 1 My mother and elder sister are the worst enemies I’ve ever encountered. They both stâbbéd me in the back so deep, the pain still bleeds fresh till today. The level of betrayal? Out of this world. Seven years ago, I left Nigeria for the UK in search of a better life. My baby was just 4 years old then, and I left him in the care of the people I trusted....my elder sister and mum. Growing up in Benin City wasn’t easy. We hawked on the street daily....pure water, plantain chips, sachet Milo… anything we could sell. We had suffered too much. We lost our father when we were still in primary school. Our mother became everything: father, mother, provider. At some point, the hardship was too much, and my mother told us to start fending for ourselves from whatever we made. That hunger… that street life… it changed me. ● At a very young age, I got pr€gn@nt. Peer pressure and lack of guidance pushed me into the arms of someone I shouldn’t have trusted. When I told my mum, she almost collapsed. “Lucy! So this is how you’ve decided to bring shame to me?” She said those words with so much pain and tears in her eyes. Friends laughed. Neighbours mocked. But my mother and my elder sister stood by me. That’s why what happened years later cut me so deep. I would never have expected betrayal from the one who held my hands through l@bøur. Nine months later, I gave birth to a bouncing baby boy. He became my world. When he clocked one year, I couldn’t afford a cake. I molded eba (Cassava flour dough) in a plastic plate, decorated it with vegetables, and snapped a birthday picture just so he wouldn’t miss out on childhood memories. ● I did everything I could to support my baby. I braided hair, fetched water, ran errands....anything to put food on the table. But I could feel it....my mother’s love for me was fading. She hardly smiled at me. I don’t blame her. Even till today, I’ve never told her who got me pr€gn@nt, because at that age, I was too young and naïve to even understand what 0vul@ti0n meant. I was just a child, blindly seeking attention and love in all the wrong places. I sl€pt with different m€n, but when the pr€gn@ncy came, not a single one took responsibility. That kind of shame is enough to turn a once-loving mother into a bitter woman. ● Three years passed. One evening, I came back from work and greeted my mum. “Good evening, mummy.” “My dear, good evening. How was work today?” “Fine ooo,” I replied, dropping my bag. She smiled at me....something she hadn’t done in years. “Lucy, I saw one of my old friends today. She said she can help you travel to the UK.” “Mummy, you don’t mean it!” I said, quickly adjusting my seat. “She said you should come to her house tomorrow so she can explain the details.” “But mummy, what kind of work will I be doing over there?” “When you get there, she’ll tell you,” she said, still smiling. I wasn’t convinced. “Why can’t Rebecca go instead?” I asked. She snapped immediately. “Rest! You ask too many questions. Your sister is already used to me. I need her around.” It wasn’t new. My mother had always treated Rebecca like gold and me like clay. But I didn’t argue. This was my opportunity. ● The next day, I met the woman. The arrangement was simple but harsh. I was to work in the UK for seven years. But for the first two years, 20% of my salary would be deducted monthly to pay back for visa and flight expenses. After that, I’d be free. I agreed. The only part that broke my heart was this: I couldn’t go with my child. They needed a caregiver, and children were not permitted. It was painful, but the suffering I had seen pushed me to accept it. My mother assured me they would take good care of him. I believed her. I trusted my family. The day of my departure came. Unlike many others, I didn’t go through the desert. I had proper documents. ● When i arrived the UK, reality humbled me. It wasn’t as rosy as I had imagined. The family I worked for assigned me to their mother....an old woman who had strøk€. I was to care for her day and night. It was draining, but I kept pushing. Every month, I sent money back home for their upkeep...especially for my son. I wanted the best for him. Even if I had nothing left for myself, I made sure he lacked nothing. Back in Nigeria, I always made time to call home and speak with my family. Hearing their voices, especially my son’s, gave me the strength to keep going...even on the toughest days. “Hello mum, good evening ma.” “Lucy the Londona!” my mum would hail me. If you’ve ever heard a typical Nigerian woman pronounce “London,” then you’ll understand how funny and sweet it sounded. “Thank you for the money o. Your sister will call you when she comes back from work.” Those calls gave me life. ● But everything changed when the husband of the woman I worked for started t0uch!ng me inappropriately. It started in the kitchen… light t0uch€s when his wife wasn’t around. “Sir, please… you don’t have to do this. I’m here to take care of your sick mother-in-law.” That was what I told him the first time he t0uch€d me in the kitchen. But he just smiled and whispered, “Don’t worry. My wife is hardly ever around… and my mother-in-law can’t move about, she’s always in one spot. Nobody will catch us.” He said it like it was normal. Like what he was doing made sense. I was disgusted. But in that moment, I realized something painful. I was alone. Far away from home, with nobody to fight for me. But he wouldn’t stop. I warned him many times. Then one day… he crossed the line again. And what I did next rolled the dice against me. ● TO BE CONTINUED…. React with your favorite emoji 😍