Welcome to Finland 101: Once a Foreigner, Always a Foreigner
Where do I start my story from?
Is it in 2017 - 2018 when I was looking for a job as an international student in Finland? Or should I tell you about 2020? COVID-19 hit, and I had to navigate a new pandemic in a foreign country.
You know what? Let’s start from the beginning so you don’t miss anything.
So, it's 2012, and I’m working at a bank in Nigeria. I spend most of my days as a hardworking relationship manager, helping clients nurture their finances and plan their investments while answering one million burning questions.
As the days go by, repeating themselves, the bulk of the work—opening accounts and following up with people—begins to lose its meaning to me.
One day, I looked up and realized I no longer liked the job. In my mind’s eye, I couldn’t see a viable path to professional fulfillment in the banking industry, at least not with my current skills.
On the spot, I decided I had to leave Nigeria—if not for anything, at least for international exposure and to allow breeze to touch my head.
That’s how I went into research mode, calling everyone and anyone about the best way to japa.
One person said, “Try Canada.”
Another friend suggested the U.K.
A cousin of mine, who lives in Sweden, advised that the best way to migrate [at the time] was either through work or study.
I looked at my skill set and first canceled out work. Next, I considered the school route. I looked at my bank account. It stared back at me, wondering about my audacity. At that point, I knew I had to find a country with free tuition for international students.
Among my options was Sweden, which was no longer free. My second-best option, Norway, had some issues. And so, Finland, the easiest place to enter at the time, rose to the top of the pack.
My japa process started in 2014/15, but I wasn’t admitted until 2016.
When I landed in Sweden, my first stop on the way to Finland, I sensed that things were about to change. The air was clean and fresh, and the system was different, especially compared to my experience at Murtala Muhammed International Airport, Lagos (MMIA).
At my final destination in Finland, I shouted, “Wow, wow.” There were no customs officers to hassle you, the airport was clean, and my luggage was waiting for me.
I remember thinking: “Where’s everyone?” because of how empty the airport looked.
I won’t lie to you; taking everything in, I felt that relief that I had japa’ed.
Can I tell you something? My first night in Finland was the most peaceful sleep I have ever had. I could hear my heartbeat for the first time in years, and the sleep was deep and refreshing.
The following day, I surveyed my apartment. I noticed that my bathroom had separate shower valves for hot and cold water. The condo also came furnished. At that point, I felt like I was living in a hotel because everything was so sweet and shiny.
Sadly, all good things must come to an end.
In October, two months after landing in Finland, reality started to hit me.
It started with the cold and darkness; everyone started recoiling into their shells. Then came the constant tiredness because I wasn’t seeing the sun, which had been part of my life for so long. Looking back, I can’t believe no one told me about multivitamins and all of that jazz for Black people during winter. But no problem.
My next reality check was when I looked at my clothes and realized I was ill-prepared for winter. I had mainly bought clothes out of excitement. I did not check if they were right for the weather.
Add all these to the fact that I had been slowly running out of money as the months went by. And you get a snapshot of my mental state at the time.
At this point, I started getting tired of the “holiday.” I went from “Yay!” to “How far?”
Trust me when I say things were very far. I was far from home and everything I considered as my life. I was far from my comfortable job in Nigeria, where I earned enough never to check the price of things.
Now, here I was in Finland, calculating, converting, weeping, and budgeting.
Talk about a rude awakening.
I had two options: to pity myself and whine or to roll up my sleeves and rise to the occasion. One look at my account balance, especially considering that rent was coming up, and the choice was clear.
On a cold morning in November, I set out by 5 a.m. searching for a job.
Man, I had never considered going back to Nigeria like that morning. The first job I was introduced to was cleaning toilets. Initially, I said, "It can’t be that bad.”
I took one whiff of male urine in the toilet I was supposed to clean, and I knew I couldn’t do it. It was too much for me.
But I still had rent to pay. So you know what I did? I summoned some courage, went to the food court, spoke to a random lady, and told her my life story.
It turned out that she didn’t even understand English. Thankfully, her boss did and referred me to the agency in charge of staffing for them.
The boss was kind enough to give me her email and phone number, and told me to tell the agency she had sent me. I had been to this agency before, and they didn't answer me.
Immediately, I sent an email mentioning the boss’s name; the agency gave me a time and date for an interview. That's how I got my first job in Finland and broke through financially.
Emotionally and mentally, I still had to deal with my shit.
Sometimes, I’d wake up crying for no reason because of the darkness. All my life, I had woken up with the sun rising, and suddenly, I was in a place with no sun. I couldn't explain it. I still can't.
You can’t understand it until you experience it. Luckily, I learned about vitamins and started taking vitamin D and eating better, and that’s how I got by.
I also made friends in church with whom I hung out often. Between video calls, meetings, hobbies, school work, and keeping my mind busy, I was able to survive my first year abroad.
Overall, I was happy to be able to attend classes, pay my bills, and give back to a society that gave me so much.
What happened to me next was something of a miracle.
Someone I had been crying to for a job referred me for another role. During my job search, where I was crying to everyone, people had me in mind. And almost a year later, when I had forgotten, they came through.
It was a personal assistant role, and the only question I was asked at the interview was, “When can you start?”
Can I hear someone say HALLELUJAH?
After doing this job for a while and surviving the COVID era, which I’d rather not talk about, I decided to go home.
This was in 2022, six years after I left Nigeria for Finland.
The excitement of seeing my family was cut short when I landed at MMIA. I experienced reverse cultural shock—no A.C., no modern infrastructure. In a way, I was sad to see that my country had not grown at all. But, I used the joy of seeing my family to wipe that sadness away.
I screamed when I saw my mum, first out of joy and then also out of shock.
My mum doesn’t do video calls, so I hadn’t seen her face in a while. When I saw her, I thought, “My mum has aged!”
Look at my mother, see her wrinkles; look at what six years had done to my sweet angel. My heart was almost sinking. Seeing her age so quickly was a bit jarring. But I was also glad because I got to hug, kiss, smell, and be her daughter again.
Let me tell you: Nothing beats the priceless feeling of holding your people physically.
Although I only stayed for two weeks, I made a mental note to visit home more often. Now, we’re in 2024, two years after my last visit, and I haven’t been able to keep that promise because life is happening.
When my brother got married, I couldn't attend his wedding.
My mum is turning 70 this year, and I'm not going home for her birthday. It's not cheap to travel for a short time. When I think of the Naira and how converting and sending the money for tickets will help my family back home, I start to forget the priceless feeling of holding my people.
But I’ve told myself not to think like that. I still have to go home as often as I can.
Do you wanna hear a little secret? Is this a safe space?
Sometimes, I check my phone to see my mum's “last seen” status on WhatsApp. I won't talk to her. I'm checking to see if she's okay and still alive.
I think about my parents dying low-key. It's always in my subconscious. Every immigrant’s biggest fear is getting the dreaded call that something has happened to their parents. Where do you even start from?
But I can't let thoughts like that drag me down. A huge part of growing older is realizing that there’s so much in life that’s not within your control, which means that worrying won’t solve anything.
I came to this land in search of better and to see what’s out there. My consolation is that my parents have lived rich and meaningful lives and set their kids up for success in their own lives.
I remember what is behind me while accepting what’s before me.
I acknowledge this new reality where men and women go Dutch and split the bills 50/50 [Where’s the romance in that?]
I acknowledge this beautiful yet strange land where it's normal not to know or greet your neighbors when you pass them on the stairs. [What do you mean by not greeting elders regardless of their age? Ah]
I accept this country, my newfound home, where everyone gives the other person space; you know, that COVID-19 distance—two meters apart—type of space. [Nobody’s in a hurry here]
And I’m grateful for all this.
But deep down, I am the sum of all my experiences, which fundamentally means that no matter how much I try to fit in, I’ll never completely feel at home in Finland. And so, to remember my roots and who I am, I have decided to stand out.
Standing out means wearing my bright Nigerian colors instead of the dark ones they favor.
It also means not trying to quiet myself as much and being myself. After all, everyone else is taken.
I do what I want [without breaking any rules] because I know I will be different regardless.
I will always feel the weather more when it’s cold.
I will always wonder why my home country is so different and can’t provide basic amenities.
I will also always wonder if people back home would be less religious if their prayer points were cut in half because of a working system that guaranteed basic needs.
Most of all, I will always be the person they speak English to because most people assume I can’t speak Finnish.
Once a foreigner, always a foreigner.
References:
Japa: a Yoruba word meaning “to run away.” It's become a Nigerian buzzword for immigrating to the West.
Allow breeze to touch my head: a Nigerian slang for being able to relax and put your foot up.
Jazz: the secret stuff other people use to get over difficult situations.
Credits:
Writer: Yahaya Hassan Taiwo
Editor: Dozie Anyaegbunam
Immigrant: Annie Nwaosa