The Price We Never Talk About: What Immigration Really Takes From the Immigrant.

 

By Arthur Mwenkanya Katabalwa

A few days ago I travelled down to London for a social appointment. On the way there I was watching other people around me wondering what their life stories were like. A black couple to my left caught my eye. They seemed happy about their situation. I wondered what all this chat in the media about immigration and what the government was planning; more regulation. I could hear that their accent had an East African tilt to it.

Whenever immigration is discussed, I notice that the conversation almost always centres on the receiving country. Politicians debate numbers. Economists talk about productivity. Newspapers ask whether immigrants contribute enough or whether they place pressure on public services. Social media, predictably, descends into arguments. But there is another side to immigration that is rarely discussed.

What does immigration do to the immigrant?

I have often thought about this, especially after reading an article by an African living somewhere in Europe who lamented that moving abroad had "stolen" their life. As an immigrant myself, has immigration stolen my life? That phrase stayed with me. It seemed dramatic at first, but the more I reflected on it, the more I understood what they meant.

Immigration certainly gives opportunities. Millions of people have built fulfilling lives abroad. Entire families have escaped poverty, instability and conflict because someone made the courageous decision to leave home. Yet every gain comes at a cost. And it is that cost that I believe deserves far more attention.

I doubt that many people truly want to leave the countries of their birth. Home is where our stories begin. It is where our parents raised us, where our grandparents are buried, where we learnt our first language, made our childhood friends and celebrated our traditions. Leaving all of that behind is not something most people do lightly.

Legal immigration, in particular, is often portrayed as an orderly administrative process. Fill in the forms. Obtain the visa. Book the flight. Arrive. Start work. In reality, it is far more profound than that. It is the beginning of an entirely different life.

I often think that the first thing an immigrant leaves behind is not their country but their certainty. Everything that once felt automatic suddenly becomes unfamiliar. The weather is different. The language may be different. Even the light feels different.

For many of us who come from warmer countries, arriving in northern Europe means encountering winters that seem endless. Darkness falls before the working day has ended. The cold is not something you simply endure for a few weeks—it becomes a defining feature of life for months at a time. It sounds trivial until you experience it.

Then comes the cultural shock. Back home, I never thought of myself as belonging to a particular race or minority group. I was simply another person going about life. Abroad, however, I suddenly became conscious that I was different. My accent identified me before I had finished introducing myself. My name sometimes needed repeating. People were curious about where I came from.

Most people I have met have been kind. I work with some incredibly kind people. Some have become good friends. But kindness does not erase the awareness that you are no longer part of the majority. You carry your difference with you every day. That takes some getting used to.

Then there are the countless small adjustments that nobody warns you about. Food, for example. When I first arrived in the UK 31 years ago, I thought the family I was living with didn't have food as they had so many tinned food. People often laugh about immigrants missing home cooking, but food is about far more than satisfying hunger. It is memory. It is family. It is comfort. Certain smells instantly transport us back to childhood. Suddenly those meals become difficult to find, expensive to prepare or impossible to recreate. You slowly learn to enjoy different foods, but a part of you continues searching for the taste of home.

Even society itself operates differently. In many African communities, neighbours know one another. It took me seven months to realise that my neighbours are Nigerian! How can it be? Children play together. People stop to chat without arranging appointments weeks in advance. Someone can knock on your door simply because they happened to be passing by.

Many Western societies are organised differently. Privacy is valued highly. People are polite but often reserved. It is entirely possible to live next door to someone for years without ever really knowing them. For an immigrant, that can feel incredibly lonely. Before I arrived, my father told me about being lonely in a crowd.

One of the greatest misconceptions about immigration is that it is simply a geographical move. It is not. It is also a social separation. You leave behind the people who know you best. Birthdays are missed. Funerals are missed. Parents grow older while you watch through video calls. Children are born into the extended family and you meet them months or years later. Technology helps us stay connected, but it cannot replace presence.

No video call has ever replaced sitting beside your mother for a meal. No photograph can replace attending your father's birthday. These losses accumulate quietly over the years.

Then there is work. One aspect of immigration that deserves much more honest discussion is the professional sacrifice so many immigrants make. Across Europe and North America, countless immigrants work in jobs far removed from the careers they trained for. Doctors clean offices. Engineers drive taxis. Teachers work in warehouses. Journalists become bus drivers.

The work itself is honourable. Honest work always is. But there is a sadness in knowing that years of education and professional experience may suddenly count for very little simply because they were acquired elsewhere. Many eventually rebuild their careers. Others never get the opportunity.

Perhaps the greatest irony of immigration is that the very success we pursue can become what keeps us from ever going home. At first, you tell yourself that you will only stay for a few years. Then life begins. You rent a house. You buy a car. You sign contracts. Insurance payments begin. Council tax arrives. Utility bills arrive. Perhaps eventually there is a mortgage. Life happens. Then the greatest reality of all comes along; children!! School starts.

Suddenly your decisions are no longer yours alone. Could you really uproot your children from the only home they have ever known? Would they want to leave? Would they even understand why you still call another country "home"?

Many immigrants quietly realise that the return they once imagined keeps moving further into the future. Five years becomes ten. Ten becomes twenty. One day you wake up and realise that you have spent more of your life abroad than in the country where you were born. I have passed that point.

There is another burden that legal immigrants carry today. Uncertainty. You follow every rule. You obey every law. You work. You pay taxes. You contribute to your community. Yet every election cycle brings fresh debates about immigration. Governments change policies. We can see the debate now in the public and in parliament here in the UK whether immigrants should be allowed to stay indefinitely, especially those who came as skilled workers. Permanent residence rules become stricter. Citizenship requirements change. For someone whose entire future depends upon those rules, each announcement creates anxiety. It is difficult to build a permanent life when permanence itself sometimes feels uncertain.

One thing I have also learnt is that perception can sometimes become reality. Political debates can create the impression that native populations dislike immigrants. My own experience has been more nuanced than that. I have met extraordinary kindness. Neighbours who have helped me. Colleagues who have become friends. Communities that welcomed me.

At the same time, I cannot pretend that prejudice does not exist. Some immigrants experience discrimination, suspicion or exclusion. Those experiences are real. But they are not the whole story. Most people, regardless of where they were born, simply want to live peaceful lives. Most judge others by their character rather than their passport. That is a truth worth remembering, especially at a time when public debate often rewards division over understanding.

Perhaps the greatest consequence of immigration is that, after many years, you belong completely to neither place. Back home, people tell you that you have changed. Abroad, you remain the immigrant. You begin living between two worlds. You become grateful for the opportunities your adopted country has given you while continuing to miss the country that shaped you. Both places become part of your identity. Neither fully defines you anymore.

I do not regret the opportunities that immigration has created. It has opened doors that may otherwise have remained closed. It has broadened my understanding of the world and introduced me to remarkable people from different cultures. But I also believe we should be honest. Legal immigration is not simply an economic transaction. It is one of the greatest personal sacrifices a human being can make.

When someone leaves their homeland legally, they are not only changing countries. They are changing the course of their family's history. They are giving up familiarity for uncertainty, belonging for possibility, and the comfort of home for the hope that tomorrow will be better. Perhaps that is why immigration should never be discussed only in terms of numbers, policies or economics.

Behind every visa is a human story. Behind every immigrant is a life that was interrupted so another one could begin. And perhaps the greatest irony of all is this: many immigrants eventually succeed in building the better life they dreamed of, but in doing so they often lose the very life they once knew.

That is the price of immigration. It is a price that those who have never left home may never fully understand.