Of No Permanent Address

It's exciting to be joining the fray on a new platform of writers, such as this one. I only got introduced to the idea of being remunerated for writing in the last few months. Don't get me wrong, I used to write, a lot, in my previous job but it was technical writing in fairly stale engineering reports; not exactly the stuff of my dreams. The picture above is of my work notebook and my laptop in a lovely Airbnb, where I spent about half of my exile from the Schengen area and yes that's a butternut squash in the background, complete with a plastic bag.

After quitting my job in May 2021, I leapt at the chance of leaving the UK in June in order to start my journey as a digital nomad. I started off in France, because it's my childhood home. Initially, it was meant to be a career break, which was supposed to buy me enough time to figure out how to make the lifestyle more financially sustainable. I started investigating ways of making an income, which weren't tied to my old job. A friend from the UK, who came to visit me in Croatia, pointed out that the prices in the small grocery stores nearby were comparable to the likes of high-end shops like Waitrose back home. Croatia was beautiful and I had lots of fun starting my digital nomad journey there, but I won't be returning in a hurry because it wasn't budget-friendly.

I started writing on my personal blog again, mainly to exorcise the horrors of the work trauma of the last decade working in a hostile work environment with a toxic work culture. By the time, I resigned from my job in the UK's construction industry, I was the third person out of a small group of 7 persons to leave the company. It's important to note that I was literally the only Black African woman in a company of nearly 500 persons spanning 3 continents. I had a cursory look on LinkedIN before writing this post, to find out that one more person had quit, after I resigned and it didn't even come as a surprise. The staff turnover in that company and quite possibly the industry is very high. I'm sure I witnessed a full revolution of the lower rungs of that company in my first few years.

A year into working from home, I found my job content so demoralising and the interactions with my colleagues so draining that I didn't even bother to switch my camera during video calls. I'd hit my ceiling and desperately needed to get on with fulfilling my life goals. I'd been stuck in that place for far too long, trying to work on my side hustle and preparing a soft landing for myself in a new career as a podcaster and a youtuber.

The first first port of call in designing the new life I wanted, was to eliminate my daily 4-hour round-trip commute into central London. Working from home had saved me nearly half of my net income, so I was finally able to get myself out of the horrid rut I found myself in.

The process of freeing myself actually started with a series of questions that I was asked, for an International Women's Day article. As I pondered the answers, the cognitive dissonance between the person I knew I was and the shell of a person that I'd become in that job situation, hit me like a tonne of bricks. Change was imminent from that point onwards.

My proud mother circulated my article around our family and her friends and I decided to repost a modified version on LinkedIN, in which I effectively announced that I'd be leaving the country and going into business for myself. I was past the point of caring who might read it. One of my colleagues read the article and thought that I wanted to open an office for our employer abroad. She'd read it completely wrong but I think it speaks more to her limited thinking and her prejudice towards me than anything else. I set the record straight with her. The rest of the feedback on my story and my writing in general was positive and really encouraging; I'd found my voice.

Unfortunately, the social media policy of my ex-employer was threatening to put an end to my burgeoning writing career; whilst the diversity and inclusion policy, which was about a side of A4, was toying with my mental health. That factor, coupled with a slew of other reasons, including successive lockdowns lead to my resignation from a place where I was neither welcome nor celebrated. The internal response to my article fell somewhere between being plainly . I found the term "misogynoir" recently and it perfectly captures how most of my colleagues felt towards me. My interpretation is that it's a special hell that is experienced by Black women of African descent when they are in the minority.

Needless to say, I haven't looked back! Once I dispose of the contents of the storage unit at the end of this month, I will be free and clear of the place where I accidentally got stuck for far too long. I've already returned once to take stock and retrieve some of my cold weather clothing.

I'm thrilled to be joining a community of writers. This feels a bit like a shot in the dark, but I'm absolutely game for making new connections. One of my friends, from my previous life, who's only ever known me to be a somewhat straight-laced professional Sustainability Consultant asked me what I'd write about when I proudly announced how I'd be spending my days writing. I laughed out loud, even though I was just getting off a crowded bus, in Komolac, Croatia. She's a subscriber now so she'll discover all the funny anecdotes and my perspective on a range of different topics from biohacking to travel all through the lens of growing up female, black African, highly educated and privileged, in Europe, when it goes against the narrative of the mainstream media. I'm only a unicorn to those who've never come into contact with someone like me, but I assure you, we are legion.

Thanks for stopping by and reading my story. I'm finding my feet but I'd love to connect and engage.