I provide care for your elders, your ancestors, the individuals you hold dear above all else.
I offer companionship during their moments of fear, offer a comforting touch when they tremble, and provide solace in the stillness of night. I assist them in regaining mobility, regaining their appetite, and reclaiming their sense of humanity.
At times, I bring a smile to their faces after weeks of somberness. Each day, I dedicate a part of myself to those under my care because they deserve respect, empathy, and affection.
I am a migrant caregiver, and I take immense pride in the work I do silently and deeply. I do not administer care just because it’s part of a job description — I do it because it defines who I am.
Having sought refuge in the UK as an asylum seeker in pursuit of safety and a fresh start, I ventured into caregiving and, through my efforts, garnered recognition, gratitude, and genuine acknowledgment from the individuals and families I assisted.
This acknowledgment fueled my determination and sense of purpose. However, of late, I sense that the nation I serve fails to truly see me — the individual beyond the uniform, the one who offers so much each day.
I endure grueling shifts that extend to exhaustion, contribute to taxes like any other citizen, and earn everything through hard work, patience, and sincerity.
Yet, there are times when I hear individuals labeling workers like me as a “burden” or even a “stranger.” A burden?
I rise before dawn to ensure another person’s mother is bathed, clothed, and at ease. I stay beyond my scheduled hours so that a family can go about their day knowing their father is secure.
I fill roles that others hesitate to undertake. Care homes remain operational because of our presence. Hospitals continue functioning due to our efforts.
Families remain intact because of us. If migrant caregivers vanished suddenly, the entire system would reel from the impact, and millions of lives would be disrupted. The proposition that individuals like myself must wait *15 years* before applying for Indefinite Leave to Remain brings an unspoken ache within me.
Fifteen years of dedicating my strength, my time, my youth. Fifteen years of service, sacrifice, and loyalty — yet, the message persists, “You are not yet part of this place.”
We do not seek preferential treatment or accolades. We seek fairness. We seek humanity. How can we be deemed a burden when we shoulder so much weight? When we uplift so many?
I do not wish to feel like a transient visitor in the place where I spend my days serving others with all my being. I simply desire stability, respect, and an opportunity to construct a future without enduring decades of waiting to gain trust.
To the UK, I convey this heartfelt message: We are not here to take. We are here to give — and we have been giving since our arrival.
My only wish is that one day, the country I care for will reciprocate and care for us in return.