My name is Adebisi, and I was born in Lagos, Nigeria, into a family of five. I have one brother and one sister. When I was 9 years old, my parents separated, and I lived with my dad and siblings. After a few years, my dad remarried, and I gained a stepmother, two stepbrothers, and a stepsister, making us five children in the house. As the eldest, life was tough for me because my stepmother didn’t like me at all—my story felt like something out of Cinderella.

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After school, I would often go to my mum’s place to help her out. She was living with an elderly couple, working for them as an au pair. I would help her with cooking and washing, and the couple liked me very much. They often told my mum she had a perfect daughter. One day, during a visit, the couple called me aside and asked if I would like to go to London. I eagerly said yes, and they promised to make it happen since they had helped many good kids go to London before.

When I got home, I told my dad about the opportunity to go to London. He was delighted and supported the idea, hoping I could help the family by sending money back to Nigeria. Everything was arranged, and in April 1998, at 16 years old, I left Nigeria for London. When I arrived, everything felt strange, and I missed my family and friends terribly. I cried for a week.

In London, I lived with a family of five—a mum, dad, and three young girls aged 3 months, 6 years, and 8 years. My role was to care for the girls while their mum worked. The dad was at home because he had stomach cancer and couldn't work. My day started early, preparing the older girls for school so their mum could drop them off. I then spent the day looking after the baby and helping the dad with anything he needed. After school, the two older girls would come home, and I would care for all three children and their dad until their mum returned from work. It was exhausting, as I worked from morning until night without a day off. I was paid only £100 a month, which was sent back to my parents in Nigeria.

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After a year, tragedy struck when the father passed away from cancer. This was a devastating loss for me because he had always supported me, especially when the mum was harsh or abusive. With him gone, the abuse worsened. I was beaten daily, barely had anything to eat, and worked even harder. I wasn’t allowed to watch TV or listen to the news, and I didn’t have a phone. At 17, I had no education, as I was always at home working.

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By 2005, at the age of 21, I couldn’t take it anymore and decided to run away, despite not knowing where I would go. I left everything in God’s hands. I ended up on the streets, begging for food and sleeping on buses. I was too scared to go to the police, fearing they would send me back to Nigeria, as the mum had always threatened. I spent a month on the streets until I met the father of my children. I told him my story, and he offered to help me. I moved into a flat he had just received from the council. Though the flat was nearly empty, I was relieved to finally be free.

Nine months later, I became pregnant with my son, and things started to improve. Three years later, I was pregnant with my daughter. However, this time, the father was unhappy and wanted me to have an abortion. I refused because I had always wanted a daughter. He told me I was on my own and that our relationship was over, though he allowed me to stay in his house since I had nowhere else to go.

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Despite these challenges, I felt stronger than ever. I was determined to build a better life for my children. Since they were British citizens, I applied for British residency through them in 2014 and was granted permission to stay and work, though I received no financial support from the government. In 2018, I applied again, this time seeking government assistance. Woodford Migrant Support took on my case and fought for me and my children until the government finally approved our application. Now, thanks to their help, I have my own home where I live with my two kids.