A Cautionary Tale from an African in Diaspora. Relocating to Canada had always been our dream and as I settled in Canada, my mother asked why I hadn’t called to say we’d arrived. The truth was heavy: I lost my husband the day we stepped foot on foreign soil. It wasn’t that he had died in the traditional sense—Tunde was alive, breathing, and moving. But the man I married, who vowed to love and cherish me, had vanished amidst the cultural and emotional chasms of our relocation.
Relocating to Canada had always been our dream. A promised land where we would build a better life for ourselves and our children had been the vision that fueled our years of saving, applying, and praying for visa approval. When Tunde finally received his visa, we danced in our tiny Lagos living room as if we had struck gold.
But no one prepared us for the realities of relocation. The transition was not merely a physical journey; it became a silent burial of our marriage on foreign soil. No one mentioned how quickly dreams could turn into nightmares.
The Beginning of a Shift
It all started subtly. Tunde, once an executive bank manager respected in Nigeria, found himself frustrated as he grappled with his new identity as an immigrant. In Canada, his educational qualifications and professional title held little value; he was just another newcomer lacking “Canadian experience.”
“I can’t be doing these menial jobs, Lara. I’ve been a branch manager!” he’d say, his face twisted with embarrassment as he refused to apply for anything outside his prior status. While he waited for a divine job offer, I took the first opportunity I could find—cleaning offices at night. I scrubbed floors while he spent his days sifting through job postings, dismissing any opportunity he deemed unworthy.
Then the blame game began.
“If you had just stayed in Nigeria, we wouldn’t be struggling like this!” he’d shout. “You think you’re better than me now because you’re earning in dollars?” Instead of confronting his challenges, he sought refuge in late-night outings. What began as “networking” quickly morphed into a spiral of deception, as he returned home smelling of alcohol and something distinctly foreign.
When I dared to question his absences, he laughed mockingly, “Are you my mother?” By the second confrontation, I felt the sting of his slap—a jarring reminder that the man I knew had become someone unrecognizable.
The Unraveling
With each passing day, Tunde stopped caring for the home, leaving bills and children solely in my hands. He no longer functioned as a husband; instead, he was a transient figure, taking up space in our once-warm relationship.
Then there was her—a younger woman who adapted quickly to life in Canada. She had a car, a stable job, and most importantly, the freedom that Tunde craved. Confronting him about her yielded no regret, only a shrug. “This is how things are here. Women abroad don’t disturb their husbands like this. You need to adjust.”
Adjust? To a marriage that felt like a prison? The man I loved had become a stranger in a foreign land.
I tried to fight for us—praying, fasting, and pleading—but you can’t cling to someone who has already let go.
The final blow came when I discovered he had stopped paying rent, choosing instead to spend our savings on her. With the eviction notice tacked to our door, he showed no intention of taking responsibility. “You’re the one working, aren’t you? Fix it,” he retorted.
That night, with a heavy heart, I packed his bags. When he returned home, I pointed to the door. “Leave, Tunde.” For the first time in months, he appeared shocked. “You can’t throw me out. I’m your husband!”
“No,” I replied firmly. “My husband is dead. You killed him.”
He left, and I didn’t shed a tear. I had already mourned him long before that evening.
Lessons Learned
If relocation is on the horizon for you, tread carefully. That ticket may transport you not only to a new land but could also herald the collapse of your marriage.
Reflecting on our journey, I realize how different it could have been had we truly prepared for the impact on our relationship.
1. Mental Preparedness: Tunde needed to mentally brace himself for starting anew. Many men struggle abroad because their self-worth is tied to their roles as providers. Embracing job opportunities, no matter how small, could have reignited his sense of purpose.
2. Communication and Teamwork: Marriage is a partnership, especially in an unfamiliar environment. If Tunde had viewed me as an ally rather than a competitor, we could have mitigated challenges together, rather than allowing resentment to fester.
3. Set Clear Expectations: Many couples embark on their journey without discussing roles, financial responsibilities, or cultural adaptations. Open conversations could have illuminated the path forward, helping us navigate the intricate dynamics of commencing our lives in Canada.
Relocation does not have to spell the end of a marriage, but it necessitates humility, patience, and a readiness to adapt. Without those qualities, even the strongest love can falter in the face of hardship.
Let my story serve as a reminder that as we chase new dreams, it’s essential to safeguard what matters most—our relationships—against the unpredictable terrains of life abroad.
Share your relocation story with us – myrelocationstory@interfaceafrica.co.uk
