Chapter 1
Arriving in Russia
I grew up in the village of Wovilla near Small Soppo in the shadow of Mount Cameroon. I had Africa in my blood but on passing my A-levels all I wanted to do was get the hell out of Cameroon—it was the only avenue open to me if I wanted to build myself a better life. With my father gone—along with any inheritance—and my mother being poor, the only way I could make this happen was through state sponsorship or a scholarship to a foreign university.
I had turned to the internet and contacted a Canadian immigration lawyer who said he had links to several universities and could advise on sponsorship and how I could study abroad. I eventually applied to two universities, one in Ontario, Canada, and the other in Bruges, Belgium. The first to offer me a place was the university in Belgium. I was very excited as it offered a way forward following the horror of being robbed of my inheritance and being on the point of committing murder—yet here I was on my way to the land of milk and honey. The university’s offer, which was genuine and offered me a chance to study economics, was the only thing that could have rescued me.
My mother gave me what little money she could spare and I made my way to the capital, Yaoundé and then to Bastos, where all the embassies are situated, to finalise my travel arrangements—and yet to this day I haven’t been to the Belgium Embassy.
Fortunately my sister lived in Yaoundé, so I had somewhere to stay, and the next day I made my way to Bastos and sat in a café where I was to meet an embassy official, or so I was led to believe. All around us people were talking about flying off to study in this university or that university in places around the world—I didn’t realise at the time but this was all part of a plan to lure me in.
The embassy official took my passport and the small amount of money that I had managed to scrape together and disappeared telling me someone would be in touch soon. The next contact I had was with a different ‘embassy official’—he was so horrible he even came to where I was staying and dated my sister. I had fallen into the hands of human traffickers and once your passport is in their hands, that’s it. They start requesting money for this and money for that—what should have cost only £50 ends up costing you around £1,000.
I eventually ended up with a visa, which they told me would allow me to travel to Malta, from where I would be issued with a transit visa to go to Bruges. My mother, my sisters, my nieces and nephews were all at the airport to wave me off. Everyone was so proud and so happy—I was embarking on my hopes and dreams. When we touched down in Malta I disembarked from the aeroplane and waited in line for a connecting flight to Belgium. But when it was my turn and I handed over my passport and visa the guy looked at it and laughed saying, ‘I’m sorry, but this is a one-way student visa to Russia.’
I had little choice but to swap lines and board the flight to Russia. There was no way I could ask the plane to take me back to Cameroon, I had to finish the journey. I thought that there must have been some error and that
