The Nigerian experience is physical, emotional, and sometimes international. No one knows it better than our features on #TheAbroadLife, a series where we detail and explore Nigerian experiences while living abroad.
Fiyin had always wanted to know her Nigerian roots, so when an incident prevented her from studying medicine in the UK, where she grew up, she left home to study in Nigeria. In this story, she shares how one traumatic event during her housemanship year made her return to the UK.
Where do you live now, and where and when did you leave Nigeria?
I live in the United Kingdom (UK) and left Nigeria in 2019.
What was the motivation behind the move?
Although I was born in the UK, I chose to move to Nigeria to study medicine. Immediately after I completed my housemanship, my parents asked me to come back home to the UK. It might have been sudden, but there wasn’t much left for me in Nigeria anyway.
Is there a reason why they wanted you back in the UK?
They said Nigeria wasn’t safe, but I think the actual reason was that they were tired of me being away. For context, I was in Nigeria for six years.
I’m curious; why did you choose to study in Nigeria?
It was a crazy decision that people still question to this day. As I mentioned earlier, I was born in the UK and studied here until secondary school. However, before I finished secondary school, my parents took me to an all-girls boarding school in Nigeria because they wanted me to learn more about being Nigerian. A while after enrolling in that school, I was withdrawn and taken back to the UK. Then, just as I was wrapping up my A levels, my parents took me back to Nigeria again.
That’s a lot of moving around
It was. I also wasn’t properly informed about the last move; I was tricked into it, and it cost me a lot, because by the time they let me return to the UK, I had already missed my medical school interview.
Missing that interview was a painful experience because I worked hard to get it in the first place. I couldn’t get into any medical school in the UK that year, so I decided to study biomedical science, then switch to medicine after the first year. It was at that point that I started exploring the idea of studying in Nigeria. I’m not sure what it was exactly, but I was just interested in studying there. It could have been my village people’s idea or my interest in public health, but the desire popped up anyway.
My dad studied medicine in Nigeria and always talked about how great his training was. He also has friends from medical school whom he meets up with at least once a year. I wanted the sense of community he found in medical school and his confidence in medical practice, so I applied to study in a private school, where I underwent six years of gruelling training. Thankfully, I came out of it alive.
What was studying in Nigeria like for you?
As ironic as it might sound, I had a tough time fitting in despite being Nigerian myself. I studied in the Southwest region, but my Yoruba wasn’t great. We’d have clinical exams sometimes, and I’d have to attend to Yoruba-speaking patients. It made things difficult. I always had to find a translator and work as fast as possible, because nobody got extra time. I also struggled with the concept of respect in Nigeria. I thought it was a bit extreme, but I learned to adjust.
Did the Nigerian education system meet your expectations?
To be fair, my dad told me that schooling in Nigeria would make me resilient, and it did. It also stressed me in ways my mind couldn’t even fathom. Medicine is hard in every part of the world, but studying it in a Nigerian university makes it harder because other factors come into play. Either there’s no light or water, or your lecturers decide to organise a surprise test that makes up a significant part of your grades. It was very intense, but it helped me become a grounded doctor.
Did you ever serve as a doctor in Nigeria?
I did my housemanship there, but I don’t like remembering that part of my life.
Why?
I experienced some traumatising events. I was in paediatrics during my housemanship. Working with newborn babies can be unsettling sometimes, but this particular time, a political crisis broke out in the town where I was serving, and it affected everything, especially the hospital’s power supply. The hospital relied heavily on the power supply it got from the electricity distribution company, so it never felt the need to set up a strong generator to power specific types of equipment. At the time, I was caring for a newborn who should have been in an incubator but was not, due to the power cut.
I was told that it would be on me if the baby dies, so I spent my mornings and nights helping the baby breathe manually. Sometimes, I’d be on the edge of falling asleep, but would jerk back up because sleeping off meant she could die. I didn’t sleep throughout my shift; she survived for the time because I ensured air got to her lungs by all means. Unfortunately, she passed away after my shift ended.
The hospital should have had access to a power supply, but it didn’t. That baby wouldn’t have died if she had been placed in an incubator. It wasn’t just her; I watched many patients pass away because of things that could have easily been avoided. It was too painful for me to work under those circumstances. Even if my parents had not asked me to move back to the UK, I doubt I would have been able to continue being a doctor in Nigeria.
I’m so sorry about that.
Thank you. After those experiences, moving back to the UK and practising as a doctor was easier. I had to write an exam organised by the General Medical Council in the UK. Some schools in Nigeria are not allowed to sit for those exams, but mine was. I did my exam, passed it, and got my license.
It was a bittersweet experience in general. I had gained everything I wanted to gain from Nigeria, but at the same time, I still had my friends there. I had spent six transformative years of my life building a life there. I was growing, figuring myself out, becoming an adult, and just going through a lot of personal change.
I returned to the UK as a different person. I was a doctor and had gone through experiences I couldn’t even explain to people here because they wouldn’t really understand. They’ve never lived in Nigeria and probably never will— a part of my life became this separate thing that wasn’t very shareable.
But most of the friends I made in Nigeria have now moved to the UK too, so I didn’t have to carry those experiences alone for long.
So what’s it like being a doctor in the UK?
I don’t want to sound unfair to doctors back home, but the difference is really in the systems.
In the UK, there are actual systems in place. There’s a right way to do things, and everyone knows it; It’s documented and there are policies to follow. You can always refer to a guide or a protocol. For example, even if you’ve worked with the National Health Service (NHS) for 30 years, you still have to do your mandatory training and system reviews every year. No assumptions are made about what you already know.
In Nigeria, at least from my experience, things can be different. There isn’t a straightforward response procedure when things go wrong, and they often do. External shocks like power outages, fuel scarcity, water shortages, and strikes hit the healthcare system hard. And the system is already stretched thin. Practising medicine in Nigeria means constantly trying to survive one crisis or another, while in the UK, things function as they should. You don’t need connections to grow here. That systemic consistency is what makes life here easier.
Besides the structure, what are some other perks of living in the UK?
Travel is a big one. You can take a £20 flight to France or Portugal, or even take the train to Europe. It’s cheap and accessible. I also have to mention that I’m British-Nigerian, so that makes visa-free travel even easier.
Another perk is getting proper time off. You get annual leave, paid holidays, and bank holidays. Even royal events can trigger public holidays. These aren’t just free days, they’re paid. That’s a big difference from what I was used to.
Then there’s community. When you have your Nigerian community around, it’s the best of both worlds. So I’m not missing home too much in that sense.
On a scale of one to ten, how happy are you in the UK?
10/10 doesn’t even capture how happy I am. I’m very happy here
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