The day my nephew landed at Heathrow and vanished into thin air

Two years ago, my younger sister Bisi called me from Ibadan crying. She said her son, Tunde, had finished his OND and wanted to come to UK for 'further studies'. She begged me to help with the visa. I said, Bisi, you know say this thing is not easy. Visa refusal is high. But she kept calling, crying, saying God will see us through.

I used my savings to pay for his IELTS, school fees, accommodation deposit. The total came to about £4,500. I told myself, it is my nephew, my sister's only son. God will bless me. He got the visa in March 2024. I was so happy for him. I sent him my old laptop, bought him a winter coat, even told my Ghanaian husband to pick him up from Heathrow.

The day he landed, he called me and said, 'Aunty, I don arrive. The airport people are asking questions.' I said, just tell them the truth. Then he switched off his phone. That was the last time I heard from him. My husband waited at the airport for four hours. Nothing.

Weeks later, I found out through someone in London that he had been picked up by some Ghanaian men at the airport. He went straight to work in a factory in Birmingham. No school, no nothing. Bisi called me shouting, saying I should not abandon her son. I told her, Bisi, your son abandoned himself. I haven't spoken to her properly since that day.

Sometimes I look at the receipts I kept. The school fees, the IELTS payment. I wonder if I was too trusting. But I also know that if I had said no, they would have said I didn't love my family. Na wa oh. In this life, you can help, but you must protect your peace. Now when anyone asks me for visa help, I just say, 'My dear, I don close that department.'