2025 began with one deliberate, hopeful decision: I had just graduated from Oxford the month before and chose—at my own urging—to take a secondment in Egypt. As part of a scholarship package I received at Oxford, the university was sponsoring me to any country I wanted to work, and sent me over in the first week of January, following my choice for the prestigious development finance bank in Cairo. At first, everything felt new and strange. I’d lived my whole life in countries with more liberal cultures, so working and settling into Egyptian routines took real adjustment. Some days, it was isolating, but the warmth of Cairo’s people made a difference.
My Uber drivers always asked where I was from, and one had even compared me to a goddess and asked if he could kiss my hands just before I alighted. Another time, a kid stared at me so hard that her mother encouraged her to come shake my hand. Unfortunately, I couldn’t understand a word of what she said, but I love kids and was really pleased to hug her. I blushed through my brown skin at some of these humbling experiences. Colleagues took genuine pride in teaching me Arabic, always amused and encouraging when I made progress. There were also some funny events, like a pharmacist who was concerned that my skin was dark and, in a very sincere and concerned manner, offered me skin-lightening products.
My assignment in Egypt was supposed to last six months, but fate had bigger plans. Just as I was preparing to head back to the UK, I was offered something transformative: a new, first-ever, history-making-type job. The timing felt miraculous, and the opportunity was more than I’d ever pictured for myself. Leaping to a semi-permanent life in Egypt was daunting, especially with rumours and accusations swirling about how I’d landed the job. I learned quickly that, even in proud moments, you sometimes have to withstand scepticism and just keep doing good work.
One thing I’ll always treasure, though, is the recognition I received for my work. The genuine commendations from colleagues and seniors gave me a new confidence that I had seemingly lost in the previous years. Also, for the first time, I really leaned into my femininity without apology. I started wearing bolder jewellery, experimented with makeup, accumulated way too many scents and perfumes and discovered a love for unapologetically high heels. Some days, I felt like I was strutting through the office and Cairo’s streets like Naomi Campbell herself. My colleagues even gave me an endearing nickname—ma poupée—which I learned means “my doll,” in French, because apparently, there was something pretty and doll-like about my style and presence. Those moments of affirmation made me stand taller, literally and figuratively.
This year, I pushed myself to learn new languages and habits, French and Egyptian Arabic in particular. I got so engrossed in languages that every new country I found myself and in conversations with friends and family, I was unconsciously switching between languages. I finally published my second children’s book, What Happens When I Read, which I dedicated to my unborn child(ren). Two years of work brought me thoughtful reviews and, for a few weeks, the small thrill of seeing it on the Amazon UK bestseller list. Plenty of my laughs this year were solo affairs—at myself, at TV characters, silly memories of various interactions and at the absurdity of it all.
There were setbacks: heartbreaks that left me exhausted (and had me trying a dry fast that nearly knocked me out), crying so hard at home into my friend’s shirt like a baby, letting go of a lot of memories and things I held dear and moments of being so worn down I forgot my own rules. Once, I accidentally broke my fast with my boss watching. I was so flustered that I spat water back out into the cup.
There was also joy. My best friend from Oxford surprised me in Cairo, and together we packed in all the experiences I’d been too tired or too shy to try alone: cruising the Nile, swimming in the Red Sea, taking in concerts and orchestra nights, and finally visiting the pyramids after months of calling Egypt home. I joined another Asian friend for an epic trip to Siwa Oasis (on the Libyan border), swimming in the salty oasis where the clear instructions were to not let the water touch your mouth, eyes or ears, sandboarding, burnfire and a late night dinner in the desert, giving out a lot of my candy to the village kids, antique shopping, being buried in salt as a relaxation technique, and a handful of close calls (including nearly drowning in said oasis so salty, I was just supposed to float). We also slept in fancy mud houses and wandered ancient ruins together. Moreso, I clocked 1000 days on my YouVersion Bible app streak!
By better judgment, I passed on creating highlight reels from my travels—living simply, working hard, and dancing when the mood struck (even joining Simi on stage once at a party in the Caribbean and gifting little Deja a signed copy of my book). Travelling as a Nigerian passport holder meant constant hurdles, even with diplomatic status. At a South African airport, even with a business class ticket, I was refused checking in and boarding until higher powers intervened, because the airline staff didn’t trust my diplomatic visa.
I also collected a whole lot of local currencies as mementoes of where I’d been, a new hobby I am really loving.
I met people from every imaginable background, tasted foods I’d never tried before, and tried (often in vain) to explain Nigerian banter and humour. Sometimes, it missed the mark, but it added new layers to how I move through the world. I watched my brother propose to one of the most remarkable women I’ve ever met, and friends take their own leaps into marriage, while I turned down proposals because I just didn’t feel ready. Interestingly, at work, I was accused =of not being Nigerian enough, even by Nigerians, and accused of sounding too Nigerian when I decided to deepen the accent and be a bit more boisterous.
Contacting a serious illness forced me to rethink everything, very unhappily adopting a restrictive gluten and lactose-free, low FODMAP diet (often checking ingredients in every edible thing before consuming), to how I handled daily routines. Green tea, green juice, and home-cooked food became my staples. I prayed a lot more (in the bathroom, in taxis, on the treadmill, in-flight, even while swimming). I offered encouragement to younger people, and received a lot of good news and unexpected, heartfelt feedback.
Somewhere along the way, I also became disenchanted with many people and things I’d once admired. Maybe it was the hard lessons, or maybe it was just growing up, but the year forced me to reconsider what truly mattered—and who I wanted close. So, I said goodbye to some friendships, learned to do more alone, and drifted toward simplicity with disposable plates and utensils to save my time and engage in more meaningful activities like reading philosophical books, crocheting and journaling.
Creativity flourished in 2025. I started sharing my writing in new ways and published two new short stories on BellaNaija, created a pseudonymous character (Yara) out of a short-lived misbegotten romance, and even managed runner-up in a top UK flash fiction contest, which came with a publication and prize money. Sleep became elusive, but prescribed remedies and a faith-based psychiatrist helped me through many restless nights.
In the end, all my plans unravelled in unpredictable ways. What kept me grounded was really praying so much, letting go, leaning into trust, dancing a lot and treating each moment as part of a much bigger, unfinished puzzle. I’m not sure I’d do it any other way.
