Mummy, it's 2:55am here. My hands are freezing, the hallway is quiet and my food is watery. I'm sorry that I haven't written since. Things have been so busy, but know that I miss you.

It's been two years already. Twenty-four months since I left and never looked back. Throughout, I've tried to forget your crying face on the news. You all thought I was kidnapped, even when I left a note in my bedroom.

Even now, I don't think you have found it yet. Anyway, a lot has happened since I crossed the Sahara desert. My best friend died on the way here, and I lost the pregnancy (that will make you happy, I know).

I made it to Spain though. I stayed with my madam for a while, washing plates and cars for white people. Not all of them are friendly. They insulted us, and eventually beat two of my colleagues to death. I ran away, and found shelter in a refuge camp.

I know you'll be angry to hear this, but I hope that one day, you'll understand why I had to run away. You and daddy made my life hell, always reminding me of my mistakes. You mocked me in front of my friends, and threatened to disown me.

I know you put arsenic in my jollof rice, and called those girls to punch my stomach that night, but I've forgiven you. It's what we do for family. Forgive.

So I hope you'll forgive me for staining our family name. I hope you'll forgive me for stealing Daddy's money. And I hope you'll forgive me for writing to you

from jail.