Tupe's story

Tupe was tricked into coming to England from Nigeria on the invitation of a school friend, S, who had moved to the UK some years before. S, who came from a well-off family, had been financially generous for a number of years, and had also suggested that she could enable Tupe to move the the UK to study and improve her chances of finding well-paid work in order to support her family.

Tupe, whose own family was poor, had married and had two children when she left school. Having received assurances from S that she would make all the arrangements for Tupe to come to the UK legally, to study and to find work, Tupe and her husband agreed it would be best for the family if she took up the offer.

Tupe joined S in 2003, and moved in with her and her partner. Initially, all went well. She was actively involved in organising S’s wedding, and enjoyed the time they spent together. S then had a child, and Tupe agreed “as a friend, to help her out once in a while when she was exhausted”. S reassured her that, once the baby was six months old, she would register Tupe and pay for her college tuition. In the meantime, she paid her £40 a month to clean and cook, insisting it was best if this money was kept in her own bank account. She also kept Tupe’s passport in her safe.

As time went on, the relationship between the two women started changing. “My role became more and more like a servant and she became more and more like my master.”  Tupe became responsible for all the household work and child care. This work increased, and S’s treatment of Tupe deteriorated, when S had a second child. Tupe became afraid of her. 

In 2005, Tupe heard that her husband had died in a road accident. She asked S to send her last three year’s salary, which had been accruing in S’s bank account, to her children. S shocked her by refusing to do so, on the basis that she and Tupe had had no contract. She refused to lend Tupe money to go to Nigeria for her husband’s funeral, and then revealed that Tupe’s visa had expired three years earlier and that she was now in the UK illegally. She offered her the choice of staying with the same arrangement or leaving with no financial or practical help. In fact, Tupe had been brought to England under false pretences: “If only S had explained to me all these issues about visas and working in the UK, I would have never come. She tricked me into coming to this country for cheap labour.”

Tupe took her clothes and left. While waiting at a bus stop, she was helped by a man who took her to a station, bought her a ticket to London and gave her £50. On the train, Tupe sat next to a woman, J,  who, on hearing her story, let her stay in her house for eight months. During this time, J helped Tupe with practical matters such as opening a bank account and using buses.

During that time, Tupe started plaiting hair for women. She started earning money, sharing household costs with J and sending money home to her children and parents.

Everything was now falling into place. That gave me peace of mind and time to now to start seriously looking into my immigration documents. I knew for sure S would never give me back my passport so I just assumed it got lost in case the police arrested me. J kept encouraging me to organise my visa before the law caught up with me.

I had no option now but to move out and look for my own house. I needed to respect J as well as protect her. I needed to take up my own responsibility. We celebrated my going away with a party and invited many of our friends and clients. That was a happy and sad day too for me and J.

She advised me to move to Peckham due to the high Nigerian population staying in that area. J advised me that once I got a few close friends they would be in a better position to advise me on how other immigrants were living in London.

I did move to Peckham. I totally felt at home and soon developed new friendships and business projects. I started plaiting ladies’ hair at home but soon managed to save enough to open my own small salon. Soon I was making a lot of money. The more I made, the more I sent home to my family, the more peace of mind I got.

But in 2009 I felt so ill, I stayed home for two or three months. My salon employees stole and sold off everything I owned and ran away with my money. Soon I was living on the streets yet again. I was too afraid to go to the hospital as many people had warned me that I would be arrested immediately.

One of my friends advised me to seek help from the mosque. The faith leaders there introduced me to a refugee organisation and from there my immigration process started. Social services were contacted and they gave me a place to live and I got a weekly allowance.

I was too afraid to go to the hospital as many people had warned me that I would be arrested immediately.

They also took me to the hospital where various tests were carried out.  I had developed boils in my private parts, which the doctors said was herpes. I had no idea what that was but I just wanted to get better.

The doctors asked if they could do an HIV test for me. I couldn’t believe my ears. What, an HIV test? No – I totally refused because in Nigeria if you are HIV-positive it meant the penalty was death, for everybody knew HIV had no cure. I told the doctors I would rather die without knowing my HIV status. I was discharged after one week and went home. I was given a solicitor to submit my papers to the Home Office. I was cautioned never to work or do anything illegal as I waited to hear from the Home Office.

Two months later I started coughing. I coughed and coughed until sometimes I would run out of breath. In November I went to my GP and he prescribed [antibiotic] drugs for me to take for seven days. The cough never went away. I went on several other follow-up visits with my GP and he kept prescribing some other different drugs, until he finally referred me to hospital.

The doctors there told me I was very anaemic and my immune system was very low. ’Immune system’: what was that? I didn’t even understand what that meant. The doctors and nurses really tried to explain it to me but I was just too ill to want to understand anything. I was given several medications and requested to do a HIV test –- which I definitely refused. They asked me if I needed a care worker but I refused because I was too afraid that it would change my circumstances with the Home Office. I left the hospital after two weeks.

While at home, I really suffered because my condition was getting worse and worse. I didn’t have anybody to take care of me. I went in to many walk-in clinics hoping I would get one doctor who could cure me but they all gave me different drugs, which never made me better. I lost so much weight, my cough even became worse and I could hardly move from one place to another. I was always out of breath and could hardly keep any food in my stomach without vomiting. I also received horrible news that my second-born child passed away with malaria as they could not afford money to take him to hospital. This was just too much stress for me to handle. I couldn’t control myself, I couldn’t manage my own health and my life was just going downhill.

Immediately I was provided with an HIV specialist, counsellor, support worker and a care nurse to manage me; they were my ‘HIV team’.

I eventually went back to my GP who referred me to another hospital. At the hospital I was quickly rushed into A&E and requested to do an HIV test. But I refused and even lied to them at first that I had already been tested for HIV and I was negative. They gave me a face mask just in case I had tuberculosis (TB). I was transferred to a ward and was in and out of consciousness for two or three days. On the fourth day the doctors really insisted that I do an HIV test and I had no more fight in my body and just agreed to go ahead, so that they could stop bothering me.

In my own room, some nurses behaved so badly, they were actually afraid of me. Some even refused to come into my room to attend to me. They thought I was going to give them TB. This really stressed me even more. They would not help me to and from the toilet and I had to struggle all by myself. I felt so rejected and it really hurt my feelings. I asked one of the nurses if they were doing this to me because I was black or because I had TB, but they never gave me any verbal response. But their rolling eyes and sneering faces said it all.

The result came back HIV-positive. I couldn’t believe what the doctors were saying. I started shouting and screaming at the top of my voice. I refused to believe the results and demanded a second test, which still came out positive. I started questioning God: “Why God, why now, why this disease, yet you know where I have come from, I have lost my husband and child and now am in a foreign country with no legal papers.” This issue of whether or not they would deport me only made me feel even sicker. I knew for sure this was the end of my journey, the end of my life.

I knew now all the nurses would even treat me even worse than before. And I was correct. Now they knew I had HIV, they would spend less then ten minutes with me and quickly rushed out to attend to other patients. I asked them again why they were treating me like this. Some said I wasn’t the only patient who was very ill, that they had other patients who were in even more critical condition then me. I knew for sure that they were lying but what could I do?

Immediately I was provided with an HIV specialist, counsellor, support worker and a care nurse to manage me; they were my ‘HIV team’. My counsellor told me all about HIV and how lucky I was to be in the UK. She told me all about how the drugs have saved many people’s lives and people were living normal lives for many years. HIV-positive people were able to work, study and even have children. She explained in detail about the drugs and their side-effects, how it’s important to take them regularly and on time. She even explained to me what viral load and CD4 count meant.

Well, I found it hard to believe her at first because at that time I was like a skeleton and weighed under 20kg. I was transferred to the infectious diseases ward. That night I didn’t eat or drink anything. I was just too much in shock. I was on the drip and on oxygen. My viral load was in the millions and my CD4 count was 40. My counsellor assured me that once I started taking my drugs my viral load would fall and my CD4 count would rise. I was diagnosed with bronchitis and the doctors advised me that they needed to treat that first before I could start on my HIV drugs.

I was also put on Septrin. Septrin gave me such bad side-effects and I developed rashes all over my body. This only made me even more conscious about my HIV status, because now everybody could see the rashes and judge for themselves. After one month I started my HIV drugs. The side-effects even made me feel sicker but after the second month I started feeling the dizziness going away. I couldn’t stand Septrin any more and my doctor replaced it with another drug which had fewer side-effects.

After three months in hospital I was released to go home. I was referred to an HIV clinic where I would be seeing an HIV specialist on a monthly basis until my health was manageable. Doing my first blood tests my CD4 count had risen to 250 and my viral load had also come down. I developed eye problems and I have to put in eye drops on a daily basis.

I worry so much if I get deported back, what would I do? Where would I get drugs from? What would my community say about me?

My solicitor put in a second application now on the basis of my HIV-positive status to be granted indefinite leave to remain on health grounds.

I thank God for everything because I knew I was going to die but I am still alive and well. I also regained my weight.

I am very interested in reading all materials regarding HIV but I always tear off the cover page of the books because HIV is written on it. Then put them in a black carrier bag and hide this carrier bag under my bed. I would never want anybody to ever catch me unawares, reading HIV books.

I am also now involved in more faith activities and my faith has kept me going from one day to the next. My attitude towards life has also improved and I have regained my confidence to keep fighting on. I leave everything to God.

I am currently still waiting to hear from the Home Office. This waiting really affects me mentally, physically and spiritually because I am always in fear and worried about deportation. The loss of my husband and child has been another blow to my life. My remaining child is going through a lot of hardship and living with one of the village pastors. I cannot work to make extra money to send home to my child or ailing parents and this stresses me out so much. Depression is my best friend, I have good days and I have very bad days.

I worry so much if I get deported back, what would I do? Where would I get drugs from? What would my community say about me? Would my parents accept me? Where did I catch this virus? How long would I live without drugs? I am so afraid of dying a horrible and public death. I cannot imagine becoming small again like a stick, too weak to even carry my own feet. I know for sure that treatment is not easily available in Nigeria, but only available for the rich people who can afford it. For the poor, they go without and die horrible and humiliating deaths.