We don’t usually tell our stories, as it may look clichéd or unnecessary, but as we celebrate the gift of motherhood, it is worth writing about some experiences and reflections from this beautiful journey.
At that time, I was a young mother of two: one was three years old, and the other was only one. The joy of warm weather and time spent with my children vanished in an instant. The holiday was over. As a young mother, I hated leaving my little ones behind. In those days, I developed a trauma even at the thought of the airport; it seemed like a whale waiting to swallow its prey. The anxiety crept in even more when the wheels of the flight left the ground of my home country. I wept, my heart torn apart, feeling as though I was abandoning my children. But I had to go back to school in Budapest.
On a cold evening, I arrived in the coldest Budapest. Winter had just started. Coming from warm African weather into the harsh cold of a European winter felt strange and unsettling. I tried not to think about it too much; thoughts of my children disturbed me profoundly. Exhausted from the journey, I glanced at my ticket and noted that my flight to London was the next day at 4 p.m. Satisfied, I threw myself onto the bed in the same clothes I had traveled in. Taking a shower felt impossible. I fell asleep almost instantly.
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The university residence at Kerepesi út Budapest, never felt the same after I arrived. The corridors were quiet, with no movement from students. Most of my colleagues were away, as many had been sent on internships abroad. I was the last one to depart for the internship.
That night felt painfully quiet. There was no knocking from my dear Ugandan friend next door; she, too, had already left. I thought about how much she loved the place where she had been accepted for an internship — the lovely city of Vienna, Austria, where life was affordable for students and she could save some money from her stipend. A big part of her adventure in Austria was visiting the classic filming sites of The Sound of Music. I envied her deeply. Whoever has watched the movie would want to go to Salzburg; it is truly timeless. I first watched it in Pretoria in 2007 when a Kenyan friend introduced me to it, and I have never stopped loving it since. I later made sure my children watched it too, and they loved all those songs of do, re, mi, fa, so, la, ti, do.
The decision to intern in London was not mine at all. As much as London is a classic and beautiful city, I really wanted to go to Brussels, Belgium. One of the reasons was to improve my struggling French, which I had almost forgotten. The struggle was real. The internship coordinator told me that Brussels was full at the time and suggested Warsaw, Poland, instead.
“Oh my God, what? Warsaw? Oh no, no way,” I exclaimed. “I can’t go to a place where I am told racism is even worse than here in Budapest.”
The claims about racism became even more convincing after a Polish classmate confirmed them. I was told it could be uncomfortable for people of color, particularly Africans, to live freely in Warsaw.
I responded openly to the administration about my concerns. I explained clearly why I could not go to Warsaw. The university administration did not object; in silence, they seemed to agree with the realities I described in my email. The only available option left was London.
It was a difficult decision because, as a student, I knew life there would be far more expensive than in Budapest. But I made the hard choice and chose London — all because of the fear of racism I had heard about in Warsaw. It was a well-founded fear, shaped in part by ugly moments I had already experienced in Budapest. There had even been warnings from the university administration advising students to be cautious during protests, as white supremacist groups could attack foreigners. Yet, beyond those incidents, Budapest was still a beautiful city filled with many decent and kind people.
One of my ugliest memories was from shortly after I first arrived in Budapest. A group of teenagers blocked my way, laughing at me as I was coming from Tesco Supermarket on Pillangó utca. I almost slapped one of them before a colleague stopped me. He told me, “My friend, by tomorrow they will fly you back home.” Over time, I learned that ignorance, lack of exposure, or unfounded hatred can lead to such incidents.
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The day of travel to London finally arrived. I woke up and prepared for the airport. When I arrived and tried to check in, alas, I could not find my name. I approached the information desk and was told that my flight was at 4 a.m., not 4 p.m.
“Oh dear,” I exclaimed, “what terrible luck to begin with.”
My mind had never fully settled after arriving in Budapest, and I had completely forgotten that airlines use the 24-hour clock system. The sadness of leaving my children behind occupied my mind so heavily that I could barely function properly.
I returned to the residence. In desperation, I rushed to Compass for help, forgetting even to wear my winter hat. The harsh winter cut through my bones, and my ears hurt as though someone was pulling them apart. It was one of the ugliest days I had ever experienced. I walked through the snow feeling every bit of the bitter cold. Snow covered my hair; one could easily forget me in that freezing weather. It was pain on top of pain.
When I returned to the airport again, I no longer felt excited. My only thoughts were about how I would survive in London.
I arrived at Gatwick Airport. It was already dark, and I was in a foreign country for the first time. I already had a map with me, though I was terrible at reading maps. Still, it was my only option.
Like the other passengers, I waited for my luggage at the carousel. Afterward, I proceeded to immigration, where difficult questions quickly emerged.
The immigration officer looked puzzled.
“Who comes to London through Hungary?” he asked, clearly surprised that someone from Africa was studying there.
“What are you doing in Hungary?”
I was shocked by the interrogation, though I later understood it was routine.
“I am doing my Master’s Degree in International Human Rights,” I answered, stammering slightly.
“Oh, I see. A Master’s in Hungary? In which language?”
“In English, sir,” I replied quickly.
“English in Budapest? How is that even possible?” he exclaimed.
Eventually, he let me through.
I took out my map and boarded the Southern train to Victoria Station, which would take about thirty minutes. My destination was Earl’s Court, meaning I had to change to the Underground at Victoria. Managing the heavy luggage, changing platforms, and buying a tube card on my very first day in such a foreign city was no easy task. Eventually, I transferred to the District Line westbound to Earl’s Court.
When I finally arrived, I wondered what my three months in London would be like. I was heading to the students’ hostel, Lee Abbey, located in Kensington, just a short walk away. This was before Google Maps. I held a paper map I could barely understand.
Outside the station, I looked left and right in confusion; all the houses looked identical.
What next?
I could not tell whether I should go left or right.
Out of nowhere, a small elderly woman appeared.
“You look lost,” she said.
“Yes, I am,” I replied quickly. “I can’t decide which way to take.”
“Where are you going?”
“Lee Abbey, ma’am.”
“Oh, that is this way. I can walk you there,” she said kindly.
“Where are you from, young lady?” she asked along the way.
“I am from Tanzania.”
“From which side — Tanganyika or Zanzibar?”
I was amazed at how well acquainted she was with my country, something many others were not. I quickly told her, “Tanganyika, of course.”
I asked how she knew so much about Tanganyika and Zanzibar.
She explained that her daughter had married an African man, and as a result, she had taken the time to learn about Africa.
Her warmth impressed me and eased my fear of being in a foreign country, as I walked beside a complete stranger who somehow felt like an angel.
She truly became a fair angel to me.
Then came the surprise.
The woman who had walked me safely to Lee Abbey was originally from Poland.
My heart almost stopped when she mentioned she had moved to London in the 1970s. Instantly, I remembered how strongly I had refused to go to Poland because of my fear of racism. Yet here I was in London, being helped by a Polish woman.
The world is full of hidden paradoxes.
Her kindness stayed with me for years.
Long after that evening, I carried the memory of the Polish woman within me.
I thought deeply about how easily people are judged through stories told by others, while life quietly reveals something entirely different. Again and again, the world proves how wrong our assumptions can be. Human beings are layered, unpredictable, and constantly changing. To place people in a single basket and define them solely by fear is often a tragic mistake.
I was warmly welcomed at Lee Abbey, a huge building filled with people from different nationalities. I dragged my luggage to my modest room, where I would live for the next three months.
The encounter with the fair angel ended at the door.
She made sure I had entered safely, then quietly disappeared.
Angels do not appear twice, but they leave us with powerful messages that remain within us forever — resonating deeply with the spirit of motherhood we sometimes carry even toward strangers.
She always leaves a huge grin on my face whenever I remember her.
Fortunata Kitokesya is a lawyer and human rights expert. She is available at fortukito@gmail.com or on X as @fortunatak. The opinions expressed here are the writer’s own and do not necessarily reflect those of The Chanzo. If you are interested in publishing in this space, please contact our editors at editor@thechanzo.com.
