Chapter 17: The Weight of Responsibility
The quiet hum of my life was shattered by the echo of my mother's voice, a ghost in the wires. The unspoken plea for money, for help, resonated deep within me, displacing the fragile sense of peace I had carefully cultivated. My small victories – the improving German, the clean apartment, the steady if humble job – suddenly felt insufficient, almost selfish. Europe was supposed to be the land of opportunity, yet here I was, struggling to bridge the gap between survival and support.
The weight of responsibility was a physical ache in my chest. My younger brother, needing books for school. My sister, with a fever. These weren't abstract concepts; they were faces, sounds, memories. They were the very reason I had left, the silent promise that had propelled me through the fire. Now, that promise demanded more.
I began to seek out extra shifts at the cleaning company. My boss, the man with the weary hands, was hesitant at first. "The hours are long," he'd say, his voice gruff but not unkind. "You need rest." But I pressed, my voice firm with a new urgency. "I need the work," I insisted, "I need to earn more." He relented, assigning me evening shifts at a different building, a bank, where the security was tighter, the cleaning more meticulous.
My days blurred into an exhausting cycle. Mornings were still spent at the first office building, my body moving through familiar routines. Afternoons, instead of language classes or quiet study, were often a blur of quick meals and a desperate attempt to rest. By late evening, as the city lights came alive, I would be on a tram, heading to the second job. The bank, with its gleaming marble floors and imposing silent vaults, felt like a different world entirely. I moved through it like a shadow, unseen, unheard, scrubbing away the day's dust and leaving it pristine for the next morning.
Sleep became an even rarer commodity. My body ached constantly, a dull throb in my muscles and joints. My mind, however, was sharper, driven by the images of my family. The language classes suffered. I found myself dozing off in Frau Schmidt's lessons, struggling to focus on grammar when my thoughts were consumed by calculations of euros per hour, and how much naira that would mean for my brother's books. She noticed my exhaustion, her brow furrowing with concern, but I offered vague excuses, unwilling to articulate the raw desperation that now fueled me.
My calls with Emeka and Aisha grew even rarer. The energy I once had for shared solace was now poured into work. When we did speak, the guilt bit deeper. Here I was, working two jobs, exhausted, yes, but building something. They were still trapped, their appeals exhausted, their lives on hold. Emeka's departure date loomed, a dark cloud on the horizon. He spoke of the final preparations, the farewells, his voice hollowed out. Aisha, ever strong, clung to a last, slim hope of a sponsorship from a charity, a chance to escape deportation.
One night, after a particularly long shift, I returned to my apartment. My hands were raw, my shoulders a burning knot of fatigue. I showered, the hot water a momentary balm, then sat at my small table, too tired to eat. I counted the money I had earned that week, a small pile of bills and coins. It was more than before, enough for my rent, food, and a little extra. Enough for my brother's books. Enough, perhaps, to help with my sister's fever.
A profound weariness settled over me, deeper than physical exhaustion. It was the weariness of constant struggle, of a life lived on the edge, always battling, always striving. Europe, the promised land, was a demanding master. It gave with one hand, offering safety and opportunity, but it took with the other, demanding relentless effort, personal sacrifice, and an enduring sense of obligation. The weight of responsibility was a constant companion now, a heavy mantle I carried with every step. But as I looked at the small pile of money, a faint, determined spark flickered within me. This wasn't just for me. This was for them. And for that, I would endure.