In view of the tax problems I had caused Justice, I decided to return to Ghana immediately.Quickly, I started packing, with the determination to be in Ghana before Christmas 2011. As a result, I started giving my last push to my Tesco Dotcom Job in Croydon. I only had a month to go. My job in Dotcom starts at 4am. I was doing overtime as if there was no tomorrow. Throughout my time at Croydon Dotcom, I worked seven days most weeks. I’d be doing overtime till there was no more work. From the first week of November, I started packing my stuff in anticipation of returning to Ghana.
I started calling Home Office relentlessly reminding them that as soon as they found my passport I was ready to go. In the first week of November, I finished packing and waiting on Home Office for my Passport. I was calling Louise Richards almost every day. From the second week of November, my health started failing. I was having pains when pushing trolleys and picking. I saw my GP and was given prescriptions. It became worse by the end of November.
On 2nd December, I was severely knocked down and an ambulance picked me up from home.I was admitted to the Surgical Ward QUEENS 2, Jubilee Wing at Croydon University Hospital. A surgery was going to be performed on me. As preliminary examinations were being carried out to know exactly what kind of surgery to be performed, I was denied food for three days. I had never been starved like that in my entire life. I spent two weeks in Hospital and was discharged on 14th December. Twice I had an MRI done. After a week in hospital and a first MRI, an official came to tell me I’d have to pay for my medical treatment. On hearing this, I nearly fainted. I was already booked for a second MRI and waiting for my turn when I was told this. She demanded I show her evidence of my immigration status in the UK.
In my first week on admission, I called Becket House that I was hospitalised and so I wouldn’t be able to come for reporting. Becket House insisted I must come and report. Staff wouldn't accept an excuse till they see a sick note from a Doctor. As a result, in my second week, I sneaked out of hospital to travel to London Bridge to report. After my discharge from hospital, I became helpless. I had been knocked down by Bulging (Prolapsed) Disc. I had difficulty walking; I couldn’t lift objects or bend down without pain. I was on medication and booked an appointment to see an orthopaedic surgeon. At the orthopaedic clinic, the Consultant Orthopaedic Surgeon asked me what job I was doing. I told him I push trolleys in Tesco. "With your MSc?" he asked. "Well, not anymore with your current condition if you're lucky to be healed.
"He explained my illness to me in detail with a diagram on the computer. He went on further to say that if my condition deteriorates; I’d need surgery as a last resort. He emphasised that my trolley pushing job had contributed to my condition. He then booked me physiotherapy appointments to attend in Mile End Hospital in East London and come for review in a month’s time. I was living in South London, Croydon - New Addington.
Whilst in hospital, I had calls from Sally, my Dispatch Manger at work. She demanded I sent her a sick certificate from my doctors so I could be paid. I was working as Justice Elikem; but here I lay in Hospital as Maxwell Maundy. How do I synchronise the two? Some colleagues from Tesco came to visit a sick relative in the same room as I. There were many such instances as Croydon is full of Tesco Dotcom staff. On seeing colleagues, I’d cover my face. I’d conceal myself till they were gone.
The money I was saving to travel to Ghana, I now spent on prescription drugs. I watched Christmas 2011 pass. The previous Christmas, I did a lot of overtime at work. This time round, I could only watch from a distance. After my discharge from hospital in December, I continued calling Louise Richards about my passport. She’d say they were looking for it and that she’d keep me informed on developments. Louise Richards seemed humane, perhaps an exception to the Beasts. She was always nice on the phone with me, even when I was angry.Sometimes, she made me think perhaps, there are some humans amongst the Beasts.
From January 2012, I started losing patience with Home Office over my passport, as it was going to expire in February. Coupled with my ill health, I made several phone calls to Home Office desperately seeking to speak to Sonia Dower. During one phone call, I told a staff that I wished I could come face to face with the animal called Sonia Dower. I made several calls to get her phone number without success. After my orthopaedic and physiotherapy appointments in January and February 2012, I left London for Birmingham. London became untenable. I had become a liability again, this time to my friends in New Addington.
After recuperating in Birmingham for three weeks with Raymond Seword (Rekas) and his family, I returned to London. On my return, my uncle gave me several Home Office letters sent to me about my missed reporting sessions. I was being told not to miss another session due on 3rd April 2012. With that, I wrote to Home Office that I wanted to be removed (deported) to Ghana on Good Friday, the 6th of April. I sent copies of the letter to Becket House, UKBA Angel Square (later closed), and my “venom” Sonia Dower, Deputy Director of Operations at Lunar House.
My letter was dated 25th March 2012. Same day, I wrote to Barking Police Station as I was bringing my activities in London to a close. I followed up my letters with several phone calls to my local immigration offices - Becket House and Angel Square UKBA. I insisted that I’d still use my Passport to travel, whether expired or not. I gave Home Office two weeks' notice to prepare for my departure and get me out of the Animal Kingdom of Queen Elizabeth. I told staff on the phone that I did not want any more mischief, and that further mischief would be met with mischief.
During one call to UKBA Angel Square, a male staff said to me on the phone that I am now an adult and should take responsibility for my life, and that there was no way I’d be granted a stay in UK just because I helped the course of justice. He then said I should have left as soonas the court case was over and that my Passport had expired so I should go and do my own travel document, buy my own ticket, and get the hell out of Britain. He said it was not the responsibility of British government to pay for my return ticket to my country. I was agitated and had a heated exchange with him on the phone.
After few days in Croydon, I left for Chatham to spend my last two weeks in England with another friend, David Baidoo. I was distributing my liability to family and friends. Years later, I became the “Night Mayor” of Chatham. Whilst in Chatham, I received a letter from Peter Coughlin, the Revenue Officer at HMRC. He had brought my tax affairs to a successful conclusion. Inside the letter was a cheque for a tax refund of £325.20 from HMRC to me. I was so thrilled to have that cheque. Quickly I cashed it and used it for my last minute shopping from Chatham. So I decided to write my last letter in England to Mr Peter Coughlin at HMRC, to express my gratitude and render an apology for my earlier writings to him.
READERS DIGEST:
I've been overwhelmed by the messages and reviews I've been receiving from readers.Brother Nelson, a friend who had once been a part of the British Dream along the way, and works in one of the Banks in Ghana, sent me a message: "Last nite ... I dey cry as I dey read.It's well...” Sister Margaret, a Physician Assistant in Techiman Holy Family Hospital wrote: "I'm always brought to tears anytime I read your story. It's really heart-breaking."
So, I don't want my memoir to be all about sadness, like a funeral ground, though I love sad songs - my similarity with my favourite Country Legend Dolly Parton. So, on my last share,I'll like to end it with Mika's 'Happy Ending.' So my next share will be from Chapter Four of my book, titled JOURNEY TO THE WEST. Chapter Four is actually the happy beginning of my British Dream. A common message I'm getting from readers is that, once they start reading my memoir, they just want to keep on reading, to know what happened next.
On that note, I'll like to spark a reading revolution in Ghana and Africa with my memoir; and to dispel the notion that: "If you want to hide something from the Black man, put it in a book." And also to diffuse the assertion by our Dear Vice President of the Republic, His Excellency Dr Mahammudu Bawumia, that sections of the Ghanaian public don’t read. In England, you see people reading everywhere - on the parks, on public transport - Buses, Trains, Tubes, Trams, Coaches, even in Pubs and Restaurants. Reading is a way of life of the British. And no wonder they are best at everything they set forth to do - "Never underestimate our local intelligence."
A Ghanaian-British I met in Pentonville, whose father was a former Ghanaian Ambassador to the UK, said that before Televisions were introduced to Prison cells in England, a prisoner became a scholar by the time he spent a year's sentence. All you do was read. Likewise, for me personally, it was in prison that I read the entire Bible from beginning to end - Genesis to Revelation. My first reading of the whole Bible was prior to my encounter with the Holy Spirit. My second reading was after my encounter with the Holy Spirit. I now had a deeper meaning of the scriptures.
Ricky, my half-Jewish-half-English cellmate told me he had read the entire Bible three times.And I believed him. Ricky was very learned. Whenever we were watching quiz programs on TV, Ricky seemed to know most of the answers. He told me he dropped out of school because he was naughty. His Jewish dad then employed a teacher to teach him at home.Ricky told me that the Bible is full of contradictions. He backed his claim with scriptures, and I believed him. It wasn't until I had a different revelation, through my prison Bible teacher Minta Addido, that I was able to purge my mind out of the misconception planted into it by the learned Jewish Ricky.
So, England was my niche, it was where I actually found my love - READING & WRITING! So, I had loved England, with all my heart, and soul... But Her Majesty's Beasts won't let me be in their midst... Dear Diary, falling in love can be heart breaking sometimes...So let's kick-start a Reading Revolution with MIKA's.
HAPPY ENDING:
I started calling Home Office relentlessly reminding them that as soon as they found my passport I was ready to go. In the first week of November, I finished packing and waiting on Home Office for my Passport. I was calling Louise Richards almost every day. From the second week of November, my health started failing. I was having pains when pushing trolleys and picking. I saw my GP and was given prescriptions. It became worse by the end of November.
On 2nd December, I was severely knocked down and an ambulance picked me up from home.I was admitted to the Surgical Ward QUEENS 2, Jubilee Wing at Croydon University Hospital. A surgery was going to be performed on me. As preliminary examinations were being carried out to know exactly what kind of surgery to be performed, I was denied food for three days. I had never been starved like that in my entire life. I spent two weeks in Hospital and was discharged on 14th December. Twice I had an MRI done. After a week in hospital and a first MRI, an official came to tell me I’d have to pay for my medical treatment. On hearing this, I nearly fainted. I was already booked for a second MRI and waiting for my turn when I was told this. She demanded I show her evidence of my immigration status in the UK.
In my first week on admission, I called Becket House that I was hospitalised and so I wouldn’t be able to come for reporting. Becket House insisted I must come and report. Staff wouldn't accept an excuse till they see a sick note from a Doctor. As a result, in my second week, I sneaked out of hospital to travel to London Bridge to report. After my discharge from hospital, I became helpless. I had been knocked down by Bulging (Prolapsed) Disc. I had difficulty walking; I couldn’t lift objects or bend down without pain. I was on medication and booked an appointment to see an orthopaedic surgeon. At the orthopaedic clinic, the Consultant Orthopaedic Surgeon asked me what job I was doing. I told him I push trolleys in Tesco. "With your MSc?" he asked. "Well, not anymore with your current condition if you're lucky to be healed.
"He explained my illness to me in detail with a diagram on the computer. He went on further to say that if my condition deteriorates; I’d need surgery as a last resort. He emphasised that my trolley pushing job had contributed to my condition. He then booked me physiotherapy appointments to attend in Mile End Hospital in East London and come for review in a month’s time. I was living in South London, Croydon - New Addington.
Whilst in hospital, I had calls from Sally, my Dispatch Manger at work. She demanded I sent her a sick certificate from my doctors so I could be paid. I was working as Justice Elikem; but here I lay in Hospital as Maxwell Maundy. How do I synchronise the two? Some colleagues from Tesco came to visit a sick relative in the same room as I. There were many such instances as Croydon is full of Tesco Dotcom staff. On seeing colleagues, I’d cover my face. I’d conceal myself till they were gone.
The money I was saving to travel to Ghana, I now spent on prescription drugs. I watched Christmas 2011 pass. The previous Christmas, I did a lot of overtime at work. This time round, I could only watch from a distance. After my discharge from hospital in December, I continued calling Louise Richards about my passport. She’d say they were looking for it and that she’d keep me informed on developments. Louise Richards seemed humane, perhaps an exception to the Beasts. She was always nice on the phone with me, even when I was angry.Sometimes, she made me think perhaps, there are some humans amongst the Beasts.
From January 2012, I started losing patience with Home Office over my passport, as it was going to expire in February. Coupled with my ill health, I made several phone calls to Home Office desperately seeking to speak to Sonia Dower. During one phone call, I told a staff that I wished I could come face to face with the animal called Sonia Dower. I made several calls to get her phone number without success. After my orthopaedic and physiotherapy appointments in January and February 2012, I left London for Birmingham. London became untenable. I had become a liability again, this time to my friends in New Addington.
After recuperating in Birmingham for three weeks with Raymond Seword (Rekas) and his family, I returned to London. On my return, my uncle gave me several Home Office letters sent to me about my missed reporting sessions. I was being told not to miss another session due on 3rd April 2012. With that, I wrote to Home Office that I wanted to be removed (deported) to Ghana on Good Friday, the 6th of April. I sent copies of the letter to Becket House, UKBA Angel Square (later closed), and my “venom” Sonia Dower, Deputy Director of Operations at Lunar House.
My letter was dated 25th March 2012. Same day, I wrote to Barking Police Station as I was bringing my activities in London to a close. I followed up my letters with several phone calls to my local immigration offices - Becket House and Angel Square UKBA. I insisted that I’d still use my Passport to travel, whether expired or not. I gave Home Office two weeks' notice to prepare for my departure and get me out of the Animal Kingdom of Queen Elizabeth. I told staff on the phone that I did not want any more mischief, and that further mischief would be met with mischief.
During one call to UKBA Angel Square, a male staff said to me on the phone that I am now an adult and should take responsibility for my life, and that there was no way I’d be granted a stay in UK just because I helped the course of justice. He then said I should have left as soonas the court case was over and that my Passport had expired so I should go and do my own travel document, buy my own ticket, and get the hell out of Britain. He said it was not the responsibility of British government to pay for my return ticket to my country. I was agitated and had a heated exchange with him on the phone.
After few days in Croydon, I left for Chatham to spend my last two weeks in England with another friend, David Baidoo. I was distributing my liability to family and friends. Years later, I became the “Night Mayor” of Chatham. Whilst in Chatham, I received a letter from Peter Coughlin, the Revenue Officer at HMRC. He had brought my tax affairs to a successful conclusion. Inside the letter was a cheque for a tax refund of £325.20 from HMRC to me. I was so thrilled to have that cheque. Quickly I cashed it and used it for my last minute shopping from Chatham. So I decided to write my last letter in England to Mr Peter Coughlin at HMRC, to express my gratitude and render an apology for my earlier writings to him.
READERS DIGEST:
I've been overwhelmed by the messages and reviews I've been receiving from readers.Brother Nelson, a friend who had once been a part of the British Dream along the way, and works in one of the Banks in Ghana, sent me a message: "Last nite ... I dey cry as I dey read.It's well...” Sister Margaret, a Physician Assistant in Techiman Holy Family Hospital wrote: "I'm always brought to tears anytime I read your story. It's really heart-breaking."
So, I don't want my memoir to be all about sadness, like a funeral ground, though I love sad songs - my similarity with my favourite Country Legend Dolly Parton. So, on my last share,I'll like to end it with Mika's 'Happy Ending.' So my next share will be from Chapter Four of my book, titled JOURNEY TO THE WEST. Chapter Four is actually the happy beginning of my British Dream. A common message I'm getting from readers is that, once they start reading my memoir, they just want to keep on reading, to know what happened next.
On that note, I'll like to spark a reading revolution in Ghana and Africa with my memoir; and to dispel the notion that: "If you want to hide something from the Black man, put it in a book." And also to diffuse the assertion by our Dear Vice President of the Republic, His Excellency Dr Mahammudu Bawumia, that sections of the Ghanaian public don’t read. In England, you see people reading everywhere - on the parks, on public transport - Buses, Trains, Tubes, Trams, Coaches, even in Pubs and Restaurants. Reading is a way of life of the British. And no wonder they are best at everything they set forth to do - "Never underestimate our local intelligence."
A Ghanaian-British I met in Pentonville, whose father was a former Ghanaian Ambassador to the UK, said that before Televisions were introduced to Prison cells in England, a prisoner became a scholar by the time he spent a year's sentence. All you do was read. Likewise, for me personally, it was in prison that I read the entire Bible from beginning to end - Genesis to Revelation. My first reading of the whole Bible was prior to my encounter with the Holy Spirit. My second reading was after my encounter with the Holy Spirit. I now had a deeper meaning of the scriptures.
Ricky, my half-Jewish-half-English cellmate told me he had read the entire Bible three times.And I believed him. Ricky was very learned. Whenever we were watching quiz programs on TV, Ricky seemed to know most of the answers. He told me he dropped out of school because he was naughty. His Jewish dad then employed a teacher to teach him at home.Ricky told me that the Bible is full of contradictions. He backed his claim with scriptures, and I believed him. It wasn't until I had a different revelation, through my prison Bible teacher Minta Addido, that I was able to purge my mind out of the misconception planted into it by the learned Jewish Ricky.
So, England was my niche, it was where I actually found my love - READING & WRITING! So, I had loved England, with all my heart, and soul... But Her Majesty's Beasts won't let me be in their midst... Dear Diary, falling in love can be heart breaking sometimes...So let's kick-start a Reading Revolution with MIKA's.
HAPPY ENDING:
This is the way you left me/ I'm not pretending/ No hope, no love, no glory/ No happy ending/This is the way that we love/ Like its forever/ Then live the rest of our life/ But not together/
Wake up in the morning/ Stumble on my life/ Can't get no love without sacrifice/ If anything should happen/ I guess I wish you well/ Mmm a little bit of heaven/ But a little bit of hell.
This is the hardest story/ That I have ever told/ No hope, or love, or glory/ Happy endings gone forever more/ I feel as if I'm wasting/ And I waste every day/ This is the way you left me/ I'm not pretending/ No hope, no love, no glory/ No happy ending/ This is the way that we love/ Like its forever/ Then live the rest of our life/ Both not together/ Two o'clock in the morning/ Someone's on my mind/ Can't get no rest/ Keep walking around/ If I pretend that nothing ever went wrong/ I can get to my sleep I can dream now and just carry on…
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