Looking back 30 years later, I realise that my move to the UK was not about finding magical “walking machines” to move me forward in life, but about being able to walk on my own two feet, one step at a time.
A moment that changed me: I arrived in London as a child refugee — and discovered a strange new world The city sometimes felt achingly lonely.
I had heard about these “walking machines” from an elderly Somali woman in Addis Ababa who sat on a corner selling sweets, biscuits and cold Fanta in glass bottles.
But after seeing my first escalator, trying salt and vinegar crisps and watching an East 17 video on repeat, I began to find my way.
When I landed at Heathrow a day later, feeling weary and exhausted, I was disheartened to see only a few “walking machines” – perhaps I would have to use my legs occasionally after all.
