JAPA: CHRONICLES OF A YOUNG NIGERIAN MOTHER IN UK PT.2

Two weeks already in the UK, and there was still no end in sight for my house hunt. Frustrated and running out of options, I decided to talk to my coursemates. Fortunately, one of them referred me to a housing group, promising it would solve my accommodation dilemma within a week. Feeling hopeful again, I joined the group and started seeing a few people post house listings.

But it didn’t take long to notice that something was off. All the listings seemed to come from the same company. Nigerian housing agents in the UK operate on a whole different level compared to those back home, and I was about to learn that the hard way. I reached out to the main agent, thinking he was directly in charge of these properties on behalf of landlords. For a brief moment, I allowed myself to feel reassured, believing I was finally on the right track.

Then came the catch: a £300 agency fee to be paid once I secured a house, regardless of whether the rent was £500 or more. I found it absurd, but I needed a place to stay so I could focus on my studies, so I reluctantly went along with it.

The day came for the viewing, and that’s when things got bizarre. The agent started coaching me on how to beg and create a desperate, emotional appeal to the landlord, explaining why I needed the house so badly. For a second, I wondered if I was dreaming. I mean, really? I’m paying my money and you want me to put on a whole drama show? But I’d already spent money on transport and was determined not to waste the day.

When the landlord finally arrived, I couldn’t help it, I burst out laughing. The woman looked shocked, and I quickly apologized, telling her I had just remembered something funny. It wasn’t entirely a lie; the situation was just that absurd to me. I was supposed to view a two-bedroom apartment, but what I saw was more like a glorified box room with a pantry-sized space that was apparently supposed to be the second bedroom. I wasn’t impressed in the slightest, and there was no way I was going to perform the dramatic act the agent had suggested.

During my conversation with the landlord, I casually asked about the agent, only to discover that this so-called “agent” charging £300 for his services wasn’t even known to her! That was it for me. I had no intention of taking that house, and all the drama became pointless. Once I got home, I decided to do some digging into the houses being posted in that WhatsApp group. It turns out they were simply copied from major property apps like Rightmove, Zoopla, and Gumtree. My frustration peaked, why the £300? Was it for copy-pasting listings into a WhatsApp group?

That was the last straw with that agent. I decided to direct all my time and energy into using those official property apps directly. From then on, whenever I used an Uber and the driver happened to be Nigerian, I’d bring up my house search during the conversation. One day, a kind driver suggested I apply to housing associations. He explained that since I had a 3-month-old baby, I could be placed on the priority list for housing. After interacting with several housing associations, I quickly realized it wasn’t going to be an immediate solution. It could take months before a house was allocated, and I didn’t have that kind of time. By the third week, I had attended multiple house viewings with letting agents, but nothing was working out. Time and money was slipping away, and each effort felt like it was in vain. I was praying hard not to spend a fourth week in that Airbnb, especially since I had already started calling home for financial support.

As Friday approached, the day I needed to renew my Airbnb stay for another week, I stumbled upon a listing on Gumtree. The landlord himself had posted the ad, which was rare and gave me hope. We scheduled an appointment for Thursday, and to my relief, I must have found favor with him. He gave me the apartment without all the usual, overwhelming requirements. No three months of payslips, no guarantors, just a straightforward agreement. I finally had a place to stay. I thought my worries were over and that I could finally focus on my studies.

Just as I was leaving the apartment, heading back to the Airbnb to gather my things, I received an email from my school. It stated, quite bluntly, that I needed to refrain from bringing my child to class, as children were not allowed on school premises. What? I couldn’t believe it. Just when I thought I had cleared one hurdle, another came.

Click HERE to read Part 1.

To be continued…