Jelili in the Abroad… A Survival Story.
Meet Jelili
Meet Jelili Jelili Adeyemi was born in Oyo, raised on amala, ambition and unsolicited advice. He was that child who argued with his teacher about destiny, who believed his village was too small for his greatness. By age ten, he’d already declared, “One day, I will go to London and buy snow.” His mother laughed. “Snow is not for sale.” Jelili replied, “Then I will borrow it and return it later.” Years later, he became a proper Lagos hustler, part-time dreamer, full-time survivor. He worked hard, prayed harder and developed a PhD in hope. For Jelili, “abroad” wasn’t just a place; it was the final proof that all his village critics were wrong. So, when the chance finally came, he was ready or so he thought.
Episode 1: The Visa Miracle
For three years, Jelili’s morning devotion had one consistent prayer point: “Oluwa da wo le won ni embassy” meaning, “Lord, touch the embassy official’s heart.” Every visa rejection had felt personal. He’d once accused the British High Commission of using his destiny as a motivational case study. However, one bright Tuesday morning, he opened his email and there it was. “Your visa has been approved.” Jelili screamed so loud his neighbour shouted, “Are you watching football?” He wasn’t. He was watching prophecy fulfilled. In his mind, angels were clapping. Even the embassy security guard who once told him, “Sir, come back next week,” was probably now humming his praise song. Jelili had won the spiritual Champions League.
“When God says yes, even flight attendants must agree,” he told himself, already picturing CNN covering his departure. By afternoon, he was at Muniru, his tailor’s shop commissioning a “travel outfit”: a crisp Ankara, golden embroidery and a cap big enough to receive blessings mid-air. His plan was simple: step into Heathrow looking like royalty. He even practiced his accent in front of the mirror. “’Scuse me, where can I catch the taxi?” It came out sounding like “tax see,” but Jelili was confident. With or without an accent, he was going abroad.
The night before his flight, he packed everything, egusi soup ingredients, family pictures, a Yoruba bible and a small bottle of anointing oil “for journey mercies.” However, his village people were not sleeping. At 3 a.m., his cousin Funke called: “Jelili, check your ticket again. Your flight was yesterday!” “Ah! My village people,” he screamed. Silence, confusion and then spiritual warfare.
He dashed to the airport like a man pursued by destiny itself. At the counter, he tried tears, then prayer, then charm. Eventually, the attendant, probably tired of his parables, squeezed him onto another flight, middle seat, next to a crying baby and a man eating tuna.
As the plane took off, Jelili looked out the window. Below him, Lagos lights twinkled like unfinished promises.
“London, prepare yourself,” he whispered. “Mo de tan,” which means “I am coming.” Little did he know London had its own plans.
In that moment, he didn’t see a man leaving Nigeria. He saw prophecy boarding a plane, unaware that Heathrow immigration doesn’t process miracles.
To be continued next Friday: Episode 2 – Cold Welcome
