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My Memoirs of the Immigration Process



My Memoirs of the Immigration Process,

I was very fortunate to have a privileged childhood in Bulawayo, Zimbabwe. I have three younger siblings, two sisters and one brother. My parents got divorced when I was thirteen, and my father then moved to the UK a year later. I lived with my mom, stepdad and siblings in a big house with an acre of land and a swimming pool. We would spend weekends camping with my cousins and their friends who were 5 years older than me, which seemed such a big age gap back when I was thirteen. I had a real crush on one of my cousin’s male friends, but never in a million years would there have been any romance due to the age difference. I would go off to climb rocks and explore all day long without a worry in the world, apart from coming across the odd scorpion or hearing the monkeys and baboons calling out loudly. We never had mobile phones; in fact, we never even dreamed of such things. Life was good. However, whenever my stepdad had too much to drink, he turned violent. He never hurt us children, but hearing the fighting and cries from my mother and then seeing her bruised hurt more than his physical blows ever could have.


They were very dark moments in my childhood; memories that will always haunt me. I tried to block it out of my mind, but the more time passed, the more it ate away at me. The previous year, when I was twelve, my grandparents were killed in a car crash involving a lorry going through a red traffic

light. It affected me negatively, and my schooling suffered. I was due to start high school, but my mom wanted me and my sisters to attend a convent school that combined junior and high school education.


I was supposed to start in Form 1 (first year of secondary school), but my entry test results were low, so I had to repeat Grade 7 (last year of primary school). By the time I had reached Form 3, I had made up my mind about two things: I wanted to become a hairdresser, and I wanted to get away from

my stepdad. I was already sixteen because of the repeated year of schooling, and I was legally allowed to leave school despite not taking the final examinations. I told my mom that I wanted to

visit my dad in the UK and possibly attend college there, so she bought me an air ticket and let me go. Now that I am a mom myself, I realise this was a very brave thing.......The memoirs of the immigration process continues in the "Tales Of Living In Diaspora" Book, Chapter 4.



"We the people of this continent are not afraid of foreigners because many of us were once foreigners"

Pope Francis to Congress


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