#1: Left Behind

A true story about distance, dreams, and forgotten promises.

Chinedu and Amaka had been married for 14 years before they finally got their big break.

For years, they’d dreamed of leaving Nigeria for “greener pastures.” They’d talk about it every night; how they’d work hard abroad, send money back, and secure a better future for their three children: Ifeanyi, 14, Adaora, 11, and Chika, 6.

So when Chinedu’s work visa for the UK finally came through, they sold their car, borrowed money from relatives, and made the move.

They left the kids in the care of Amaka’s younger sister in Enugu.

Everyone in the family understood: “It’s just for a while. Once they settle, they’ll send money every month.”

The first months were filled with excitement. They sent photos of themselves bundled in winter jackets, smiling in front of red double-decker buses.

Money came in. Not much, but enough for food, school fees, and a few extras. They called every Sunday after church. The kids would gather around the phone, giggling and shouting over each other: “Daddy, see my test result!”

“Mummy, I want bicycle for Christmas!”

It wasn’t perfect, but the promise was alive.

By the 10th month, the remittances slowed.

“This month is tight,” Chinedu would say. “We’ll send something next month.”

Calls became shorter.

Sometimes they didn’t pick at all.

Before long, two months passed without a kobo arriving. Then three.

School fees were overdue. The landlord began dropping subtle threats about the rent. Electricity units ran out twice in one week, forcing the children to read by candlelight.

Adaora started selling puff-puff after school to help buy food. Ifeanyi, once top of his class, began missing lessons because there was no transport fare.

When Amaka finally called after months of silence, she sounded… different.

“Things are hard here,” she said. “We’re working day and night, and there’s nothing left after bills.”

Back home, the kids couldn’t understand.

“How can Mummy and Daddy be in London and still not send anything?”

Relatives shook their heads. “That’s the problem — people think life abroad is easy.”

Years later, the damage was done. The children had grown, but the scars remained.

Trust was broken.

Relationships were strained.

Chinedu and Amaka never intended to abandon their responsibilities but distance, pressure, and the cost of survival in a foreign land had made them forget the small things that matter most.

Because here’s the truth: support isn’t just about sending large sums of money; it’s about consistency.

Even the smallest, regular help can keep a home running and hope alive.

If you’ve left loved ones behind in Nigeria, remember this: life back home hasn’t paused. Bills still come. School fees still need paying. Electricity still runs out.

Even if you can’t send big money, you can send direct bill payments like electricity tokens, school fees, internet subscriptions.

That’s why platforms like Billanted exist.

No excuses, no delays, no “I sent money, but I don’t know what they used it for.”

Just direct, instant support for the people who matter most.

Quick one!

Do you think Nigerians in the diaspora sometimes forget their responsibilities, or is it just the reality of surviving abroad?