Jelili in the Abroad-Episode 2-The Cold Welcome.
The first thing that hit Jelili at Heathrow wasn’t culture shock. It was the cold. As he stepped out of the airport in full ankara regalia, sunglasses on and chest out like a local celebrity, the wind punched him square in the lungs. Within seconds, his royal posture collapsed into survival mode. He gasped, “Ah! Which kind air is this?!” A woman nearby giggled.
Jelili adjusted his cap. “Just breeze, no problem,” he muttered, shivering like a leaf in repentance. He scanned the crowd for his host, Tunde, who had promised to pick him up “sharp-sharp.” After thirty minutes of waiting, his fingers had gone numb and his confidence was leaking like a faulty gas cylinder. Finally, a Toyota Prius pulled up. “Jelili!” Tunde waved, stepping out in a puffer jacket that made him look like a well-fed astronaut.
“My brother!” Jelili shouted, hugging him with the desperation of a man who had just escaped Antarctica. “Guy, you no check weather forecast before coming?” Tunde asked. “I checked! It said ten degrees and i thought that was good,” Jelili replied, teeth clattering. “Ten degrees here is not ten degrees in Africa o.” This one is ten degrees of suffering.”
In the car, Jelili admired everything, the clean roads, disciplined traffic and eerie silence. Nobody honked and shouted “Oga move your motor!” He was impressed and slightly suspicious. “These people no get emotions?” he whispered.
At Tunde’s flat in East London, the house rules came fast: “No heater during the day, energy bill too high.” “Flush twice; these pipes are sensitive.” “Don’t touch the thermostat, it’s on an auto lock.” Jelili nodded politely while silently planning a coup against the thermostat.
When Tunde went to work the next morning, Jelili decided to take a “quick shower to refresh destiny.” He turned the knob confidently. What came out wasn’t water. It was liquid winter. He screamed so loudly that the neighbour upstairs dropped a hairdryer. After five seconds of shock, he began praying mid-shower. “Father, I reject pneumonia by fire!” He finally figured out the heating system after pressing random buttons for twenty minutes, but by then he was half-frozen and emotionally exhausted.
Then came breakfast. Jelili opened the fridge, grabbed the milk and paused mid-pour. The thing flowed like confused tap water. “Which kind milk be this?” He tilted the carton again, hoping it would thicken out of respect. No luck. Back home, milk had presence and was more viscous. This one had an identity crisis. He quietly pushed it aside, boiled water and poured that into his cornflakes instead. “At least this one better,” he muttered, consoling himself as he ate with the pride of a man choosing dignity over disaster.
Later that afternoon, boredom struck. He decided to explore the neighbourhood. He walked out in slippers and ankara, whistling loudly, only to realize everyone around him was wearing coats, gloves and quietness. A woman walking her dog smiled politely. Jelili, eager to be friendly, waved and said, “Good afternoon, my sister!” She blinked and walked faster.
At Tesco, the automatic door opened for him and he whispered, “Blood of Jesus.” He spent twenty minutes in the snack aisle calculating the price of bread with an exchange rate in his head. “So one loaf is ₦1,400? Village people must never hear this.” When Tunde returned that evening, he found him under a duvet fortress, surrounded by empty teacups and confusion. “Tunde, your heater is wicked,” Jelili complained. “Ah! Did you use it?” “Just small,” Jelili said, eyes darting toward the blinking electricity meter. Tunde sighed. “You’ve used all the emergency credit. Welcome to the UK.”
That night, the two sat in coats, wrapped in blankets, watching their breath form fog indoors. Jelili whispered, “This abroad na test of faith.” Still, as he drifted off to sleep, he smiled faintly. Cold or not, he was finally here, living his dream, freezing one finger at a time.
**To be continued next Friday → Episode 3 – The Bus Stop Baptism**
