It was my second week in London, and I was forming “I know road.”

Google Maps was showing me one blue line, one grey line, one dotted line, all confusing me but I refused to show weakness.

I was going for a friend’s birthday dinner. Dress: on point. Makeup: sharp. Confidence: 98%.

I entered the Underground station and stood like a boss. People were walking fast like their rent was chasing them. Me too, I joined them with purpose, even though I didn’t know where exactly I was going.

I saw “Victoria Line” on the wall and entered the train like a champion.

Five minutes into the journey, I noticed something: everybody on the train was calm… too calm. You know that abroad calm that means something is wrong but nobody wants to talk?

Suddenly I heard the announcement:

“Next stop: Walthamstow Central.”

I froze.

My own stop was supposed to be “Oxford Circus.”

I checked my phone.

Network said: ‘Not today.’

I checked the wall map.

Everything looked like spaghetti.

I asked one white woman beside me, “Excuse me please, is this going to Oxford Circus?”

She smiled politely like she didn’t want to laugh and said,

“Oh no love… you’re going in the exact opposite direction.”

My spirit left my body briefly.

Opposite direction?

Me that dressed like hot Lagos girl going dinner?

Now I’m going to the outskirts of London?

Before I could even react, the train doors closed. I was trapped with my destiny.

I finally reached the last stop and came down. The place was quiet. Too quiet. Even my village is louder. I stood there, looking like somebody’s lost cousin.

I tried to enter the returning train, but the thing didn’t move for almost 10 minutes. I just stood there, makeup melting softly, asking myself:

“Who sent me to form abroad girl?”

“Why didn’t I just ask at the station?”

“What kind of London is this that doesn’t have conductor shouting direction?”

Eventually, I got back on the right train. When I reached the restaurant, everyone had eaten. They looked at me:

“Babe what happened??”

I just smiled and said,

“Omo, London showed me pepper… but I survived.”

And that’s how I spent £6.40 on transport just to learn that London trains don’t pity you if you’re fine, foreign, or confused.