A few days after Christmas in 1994, I arrived in London from Somalia. I was just 10 years old and filled with wonder. At Heathrow Airport, I was amazed by the escalators. An elderly Somali woman had told me about these “walking machines” in Addis Ababa, where she sold snacks. She painted a picture of London as a city full of marvels.
She said, “You won’t need to walk much there – they have machines that move for you.” I was thrilled. In my neighborhood of Bole Mikael, there were no sidewalks, only muddy puddles.
In the mid-1990s, my family lived in Addis Ababa with many other Somali refugees, all waiting for documents to start new lives in Europe or North America. Finally, we flew to London together. After a long journey, I was exhausted and a bit disappointed to see only a few escalators. It seemed I would have to use my legs after all.
My aunt and uncle met us at the airport, and on our train ride to their flat, my aunt gave me my first taste of British snacks: salt and vinegar crisps. The flavor hit me hard, and I didn’t know how to handle it. I quickly spat them out, to the shock of those around me. It took years before I dared to try them again, but I found new favorites like custard cream biscuits and yum yum doughnuts. I even discovered salad cream and, not knowing the right amount to use, I put it on everything! I went from a skinny, sickly kid to a curious, chubby one.
As I set foot in London, I understood I needed my legs for much more than just walking. I used them to explore my new city, full of a culture that was completely different. I barely spoke English, knowing only a few basic words. I was unprepared for what lay ahead.
Life in London was exciting but also challenging. The city felt busy and lonely. Everyone seemed to rush past, not stopping to chat. In shops and bus queues, silence was the norm, unlike the lively streets of Addis Ababa. The vastness of London was both thrilling and overwhelming. Soon after I arrived, it snowed. I ran outside to catch snowflakes on my hands for the first time.
I spent days in a rundown hotel for refugees in Camden, watching the bustling streets from a small window. With limited English, I didn’t start school right away, so I watched a lot of TV, sitting close as if I were drawn to it. The colors and clarity amazed me. Back in Addis Ababa, we watched grainy, often black-and-white shows in crowded rooms. Now I had a chance to choose what I wanted to watch, and I loved pop music videos. One song became a favorite: “Stay Another Day” by East 17. It played constantly, and I loved it.
Slowly, I began to find my way around London and accept the peaceful parts of life here. I learned to be more independent and navigate my new surroundings, leaving behind my childhood innocence. Looking back, I realize my move to the UK wasn’t about finding magical machines to carry me forward. It was about learning to walk on my own two feet, step by step.
