For many Africans, marriage is serious business. Many women want to wear that white gown. While many guys have resigned to the idea , that to be taken seriously as responsible members of African society, they should be married. But, what happens when a marriage goes awry and the woman decides that she wants to go it on her own.

Dear Diary,

Yes, I passed the class.  The next issue was the logistics of my getting to these classes.  Knowing when he was going to be around.  Trying to time everything just right.  As I mentioned earlier, he had disappeared but he was used to appearing oftentimes without warning and he always expected me home. But, really, this was a chance to have something of my own.

I prayed that night that I will at least get a call from him with some tentative dates. I couldn't eat the following day as I felt myself jumping at every sound of the  phone ringing.  The following day was the same as I mentally started preparing myself that I might need to forget about this training.   The phone rang and it was him.  We exchanged the usual pleasantries and then he mentioned that he was going to check out some businesses and he won't be back for two months.  He continued talking but internally, I was dancing a little jig and feeling so thankful that the gods seemed to be on my side.

I couldn't wait for him to get off the phone.   The training was for two weeks and then I could become a paraproffesional. 

Today, I laugh at where I started from.   Working with patients who didn't know I existed, wiping them, taking their insults, working with nurses who for reasons best known to them felt that their little power within the agency setting made them demi gods.  It is often quite ironical that those that they look down upon, often times are much more highly qualified than they are but that is what it means to be an immigrant in a country that isn't yours.  Sometimes, you stay with the dregs and slowly push your way up.  My  Nigerian friends have a common saying which goes like this," na condition which make crayfish bend" 

It was an eyeopening experience as I mixed with foreigners of different races who had so much to share and so many stories to tell.  Sometimes, their story was just like mine but they were of a different race. I never shared mine.  It was just not the right time.

I remember receiving my first cheque after dealing with the most horrific patient, that agency ever had.  I looked at it and almost cried.  After how many hours of working? Putting up with the mental abuse?  This was it??

My first client was horrible.   She had dementia and she used to say the filthiest things ever.  She felt that people of my color were slaves and she was the slave master.  She lived in the ritziest part of town.  Her family didn't mind keeping her there if they didn't have to deal with her.  But, she was nasty.  I remember, slowly walking up her door and smelling the waft of the mixture of poop,urine, dirty clothes, and just dirt and I wanted to throw up.    I knew the reason , I got this case was because my strong accent, my newness to this field meant that I was going to stay at it and that I will work it out.  For some reason, there is this belief that being a foreigner, means that one is mentally strong to put up with crap.  That is not always the case.

"good morning mrs xyz"  I said as I stepped into her apartment

"My name is 'ugochi', I was sent by xyz agency and I am here to take care of you" I said quietly and with a calm confidence I definitely didn't feel.

She looked at me quietly.   She was sitting at the dinning table and around her were piles and piles of newspapers.  She clearly was a packer.  Dirty dishes littered the sink.  There was urine all over the floor and I swear on the seat next to her was poop or something that looked like it. 

" We definitely have a lot of work to do today, but it is so bright and sunny ,maybe after getting you ready - we can go outside for a little bit"  I continued while taking note of all the work that needed to be done.  It was quite obvious that all the aides that had been sent either never showed up to work or stayed at the corner  of the room all day and didn't do anything. 

"Nigger, Nigger, Little black Nigger, African Nigger" Mrs XYZ started saying and as each word poured out of her mouth - the tone of her voice got louder and stronger. 

I ignored those words.   

"Mrs xyz, we will work together even if you don't like me" I said  as I calmly walked to the fridge to look at the careplan which thank goodness was still there.  

"Black bitch , black bitch, black bitch" she said looking at me and smiling as she calmly enunciated each word.

I had mrs xyz  until she passed away.  We never became friends.  Her lost words as she took her last breath and looked at me were, "black nigger bitch" but her family definitely loved me.  They left me with more than 2000 pounds. Money I reinvested that  he never knew about.