I arrived in the UK in 1959 from a small village in Tanzania, then Tanganyika, as part of a British Council-funded training opportunity.
After three months of training, we were allowed to work in the wards. As my English was not all that good, I suffered a lot of ‘telling-off’. My off-duty rota was unkind; they gave me Monday off, so that I had to work long shifts from Tuesday to Sunday.
I often stood in the sluice crying but there was no question of going back home. My elder brother, Abdul, had warned me not to come back as other members of our family’s future lay on my hands.