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I Never Imagined I’d Be Here

Three months ago, I was a senior NHS IT analyst in Manchester, uk streamlining systems to save lives. Today, I’m rationing electricity in a Lagos hostel, praying my phone stays charged long enough to send this plea.

My downfall began with a call: my mother, in Nigeria, collapsed from a stroke. I emptied my savings to cover her surgery, sold my car, and took unpaid leave to care for her. But Lagos chewed through my reserves. Her medication costs £400/month—half my old salary. I skipped meals to afford it. Then, my UK landlord evicted me for missed rent while I was abroad.

I’ve spent nights in hospital corridors, coding freelance gigs on a dying laptop. Last week, thieves stole my bag—passport, laptop, my last £200. Now, I’m stranded: no income, no home, no way back to Britain. My mother’s eyes haunt me. “You shouldn’t suffer for me,” she whispers. But how do I abandon the woman who sold her jewelry to fund my education?

I’m not lazy. I’ve applied for 73 remote jobs. I’ve begged old colleagues for loans. Pride shattered, I’m here.

£200 would get both Nigeria and British passport reissued.
£1,000 would cover one month’s rent and meds.
£500 would buy a laptop to work again.

I’m not asking for pity—just a chance to stand back up. If you help, I’ll pay it forward. When I’m stable, I’ll mentor Nigerian youths in IT, free.

My mother’s hand trembles as I write this. She doesn’t know I’m here. But if you’ve ever loved someone enough to lose dignity for them, you’ll understand.

Thank you for reading.