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  • Writer's pictureS.I. Ohumu
    • 6 min read

THERE’S NO SUN IN THE UK

By S.I. Ohumu







“...I have been very very sad. Like thinking of killing myself kind of sad…”




There I was, resting. February 2022. I lived alone in Benin City, Nigeria. Working remotely, reading stoic philosophy, eating fried snails and going on meandering long walks. My older brother who doubled as my best friend had emigrated to the UK in 2021. My mom was on her way there. I was feeling left behind and unsure of what to do. 





To distract myself, I ran, as always, to books. A book titled AI 2041 by Kai-Fu Lee and Chen Quifan. Through essays and fictional short stories, the book explores the likely impact of Artificial Intelligence across a diverse range of geographies, industries, and classes. It both excited and terrified me. AI was advancing very quickly, and people who looked like me did not sit at tables where the future was being created. 



“The first bad feeling is not sadness but inadequacy.” 



The book spurred me to action. I was going to get a master’s in Artificial Intelligence, move to the UK, reunite with my family, and find joy. 


Some months later…








I get a scholarship to study and one September morning, find myself at Heathrow Airport buying a SIM card and waiting for representatives from Keele University to pick me up. The air here is chilly like how your room in Nigeria is when you’ve had power all day and your AC has just been serviced and is at 20 degrees. 



The English countryside is beautiful. The drive from London to my university reminds me of this. I settle into my room on campus, and in the first week make a few friends. My brother, gap-toothed, wry-smiling, athleisure-wearing, Eric, comes to visit, buys me stuff - a puffer jacket, gloves, pots and pans to get me started, before classes start. That first week there is a lot of laughter. Quiet excitement about this new life, this new place. Muted wonder at the difference-ness. 






“I stop speaking with my friend from home because there is too much sun in his voice.”


Then comes the sticking-out, sore thumb style. The first bad feeling is not sadness but inadequacy. My mathematics and system design modules present a steep learning curve. My first degree was seven years ago. While the campus is vast and lush, the green starts to go. Yellows and browns taking its place, the AC temperature and wind nearing that 18 degrees in a Lagos room feel. My life encloses – by which I mean the individual study rooms at the library become home. I study before class to introduce the new concepts to myself at a pace I can follow. Then the professor provides clarity in class. Then I head back to the library for a refresher, self-study bits, or to get ahead of the next class. It’s full-time, with classes every day of the week. 


Image Caption: Average mean temperature for months of the year in the UK(red) and Nigeria(blue) | Data Source: World Bank | Chart shared by S.I Ohumu




“Anxiety, more intense than I am used to runs through me…”





One day, I get to my room with the single bed, concrete walls, window that doesn’t open more than a sliver, and the chill is noticeable. I do not know how to use the radiator or if the one in my room is broken. I fill out a form and a man comes explaining the dial for heating the room. Weeks go by and the dial is now turned to its limit. It is still not enough. And it is not just that the chill is settling into my skin, it is also that my eyes see light less and less. In November the day lasts until 4 pm, then it is night. In December, we’re lucky to see the sun at 3 pm. Coursework mounts and getting out of bed gets significantly harder. I stop speaking with my friend from home because there is too much sun in his voice. Too much brightness— it all just sounds too active, his temperament. I am at half-mast and drooping. 


Anxiety, more intense than I am used to runs through me as I sit at my desk for hours at a stretch, skipping the ritual of drawing the blinds up – what’s the use? There’s no light to be had. One day – it’s either 1 am or 3 pm – I realize the lingering thought that’s been taking so much of my background computational resources. I have been processing my newly found acute awareness of the sun. That there is daylight during the day and darkness at night is something I have never truly thought about. The way one never thinks about the pads of their fingers or the mechanics of urination. The day is bright, the night is dark. A given. 


And then I move here and witness this strangeness. You can argue that the intensity of my school work, the newness of a Yorkshire pudding, Rikers-esque decor of my hostel room, the four-hour train ride between my mother, brother, and I all contributed to what happened next, and you may have a point. But for me, really it was the darkness, and by this time wet freezing in my bones that dragged me under. 



“It’s called seasonal affective disorder or SAD for short.”



I started to cry. I would wail, violently, as quiet as can be, looking for motion, for life, looking to fill this despondent void in my head. Thinking back to bright sunsets and cursing my lack of appreciation. For Christmas break, I visited extended family nearby. The reception was warm and the combined Nigerianness almost substituted for the lack of light. It felt like a blurry version of home - the same outline but only partially realized. There was fried rice, and shouting. We exchanged gifts, gisted about core memories. “Remember the time Aunty This said this to Uncle That?” That sort of thing.  But then it was January, and I was back at uni. 


The wailing continued. On paper, things were good. I was student representative for my cohort, straight As in my modules, but nights were bad, and because nights were all there were, most of the time was bad. 





There’s something about suffering that demands to be shared. So I called my brother and said: 


“Eric, don’t laugh at what I’m about to say, but I have been very very sad. Like thinking of killing myself kind of sad. And…” 


I hesitate a bit, continue, “…and I think it’s because there’s no sun.”


“Yeah, I understand. It happened to me too.”


“What?! Are you serious?” 


“Yep. It happens”


It’s called seasonal affective disorder or SAD for short. One of those things if you live in the tropics and read widely have probably come across but didn’t have the context to understand. A lack of sunlight causes your hypothalamus to not work properly, disrupting production of serotonin and melatonin, hormones that affect mood, appetite, and sleep. It also throws your circadian rhythm – your body’s internal clock – out of whack. SAD is associated with increased suicidal thoughts, suicide attempts, overeating, and significant weight gain.


Research shows immigrants from warmer countries may be more susceptible to SAD, and because they are less likely to be aware the disorder even exists, they are less prepared to cope with it.


Like I said, there’s something about shared misery. The realization that the bad thing is not your bad thing but a bad thing that is just as much yours as it is others.’ That feels like the aftermath of a deep sigh. It is not that the misery disappears, but that the weight distribution on your shoulder rises in manageability. 


Image Caption: Average monthly sunshine hours in the UK (1991-2022) | Data Source: MET UK | Chart: S.I Ohumu



So that by the end of March, the nights are long but not as long. And even if they were, I know this is a thing that happens. And it will pass. 


School work continues. Everyone says summer will be great. Oh, the warmth you will bask in. Oh, the sun. I anticipate. And truly as April turns May, would you look at the pep in my step! The will I have to live again! The green is back on campus and I am taking walks. There’s a class trip for a Microsoft Hackathon and a group from my class wins. Summer comes and the sun with it, also the rain but I can’t complain. Then it’s autumn and dissertation and in September I am packing my bags again. 





New job. Leaving uni hostel. New apartment. One day I am walking to work and I catch a whiff of ennui. I check the date on my phone and would you look at that, it’s November again. Except this time I know what to expect. I’ve been here before. I expect this sadness. And so all through till February, I struggle but not nearly as much. The dark is SAD but manageable. 


I can cope. 








S.I. Ohumu is a data storyteller living in London. She enjoys reading about loop quantum gravity and climbing trees. 

X@si_ohumu








Data 


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