How I Lived Inside London Buses For 21 Years — Nigerian

A 58-year-old Nigerian, who gave his name simply as Sunny, has disclosed how he lived inside London buses for 21 years.

According to Sunny, whose story is part of a documentary, escaped Nigeria from planned execution during the regime of the late General Sani Abacha.

The report published by the British Broadcasting Corporation (BBC) yesterday said Sunny’s asylum application was rejected by the British government.

Sunny said after his request for asylum was refused, he was in a dilemma – either return to Nigeria and possibly face execution or go underground.

He chose the latter and became a nomad, spending every night on the lower decks of buses which zigzag across London at night.

Sunny, who said he faced execution in Nigeria because of his role in the struggle to enthrone democracy, disclosed that he was smuggled out of the prison after family and friends had bought his freedom and paid for his trip to the United Kingdom.

But in London, his hope of a better life was dashed after the rejection of his asylum request.

According to him, it was difficult living illegally in London. He faced many threats but managed to survive against all odds.

According to him, he is usually woken up about 3a.m. mostly by drunken men.

“There are those who came to this country for a better life, rushing to their pre-dawn cleaning jobs. Another group – mostly indigenous Britons – heads home from the nightclubs, talking loudly and cramming down fast food. And finally there are the homeless, those who have nowhere else to go, for whom buses are a place to rest,” Sunny recalled.

In the beginning, it was a church minister, a woman of unwavering generosity, who first bought him a monthly pass to save him multiple nightly fares. She continued to do so, month after month, and other friends would chip in if she wasn’t around.

By day Sunny would volunteer at churches – he would attend several during his time in London. When his work was done, he would often head to Westminster Reference Library where he could catch up on the day’s news or pick up where he’d left off in the book he’d been reading.

He might then ask a restaurant manager if they could spare some food, and says he was rarely turned away.

But no later than 9pm he would invariably be stepping aboard a bus for the first of three, maybe four, nightly trips across the capital.

He soon discovered the best buses for a good rest. There was the trusty N29, from Trafalgar Square to the northern suburb of Wood Green. But the 25 – which ran 24 hours – offered the longest uninterrupted sleep. In traffic, it would take two hours to get from central London to Ilford, in Essex, where – if he was really lucky – a driver might take pity and leave him sleeping on board at the terminus.

More often, the homeless passengers – maybe four or five of them – would be woken and turfed off until the next driver arrived.

Most were destitute women, British or African, who used the bus as a sanctuary from the threat of sexual assault. Laden with bags, they would be grateful for Sunny’s help lugging them on and off the bus.

Sunny always travelled light. A small tote bag allowed him to avoid the stigma of homelessness during daylight hours.

Some homeless folk would stretch out across seats but he preferred not to inconvenience other riders.

It took a while to learn all the tricks. At first he hadn’t worried about where to sit. But then he found himself in a confrontation with two men who had been trying to set light to the hair of an unsuspecting woman in front. He chased them off but resolved to avoid conflict where possible.

The lower deck, he concluded, was the preserve of reasonable people, of families and the elderly. Trouble rarely erupted so close to the driver. The back seats were optimal, not just for the head rest but for peace of mind.

But there were always distractions: the lurching bus, the neon lights, the noisy night-riders and the humming engine. Two hours of proper sleep across an entire night was an achievement.

At dawn – or when he got hungry, whichever came first – he would head to a McDonald’s.

He never begged but friendly staff at the Leicester Square branch would give him food and let him shave in the bathrooms. Fellow customers could be kind, too.

He became adept at matching faces or dialects to places of origin. And he developed a sixth sense for trouble, detecting warning signs in gestures: the smirk of trouble-making teens, the pursed lips of an explosive racist.

There were combinations that could result in confrontation: drunken football fans and a veiled woman; tired commuters and people using speakerphone; gang members and their local rivals. In the months following the Brexit referendum of 2016, hostility to migrants seemed to become more commonplace. “Go back home,” became a regular refrain.

Eventually, the legal team at Notre Dame de France church, off Leicester Square, made an application for leave to remain on his behalf. If people prove they have continuously lived in the UK for 20 years, they can qualify to settle. But Sunny had spent that time avoiding all records, evading detection. How could he demonstrate he had been there all this time?

“I understand that your client is currently homeless, but we still require documentary evidence to show continuous residence from 1995 to the present date,” said a letter from the Home Office. “Evidence such as utility bills, bank statements, tenancy agreements…”

Sunny asked the friendliest bus drivers to write him a letter of support. One obliged, confirming he was “a regular rider throughout the night”.

The churches he had volunteered at over the years provided supporting statements and dug out old photographs recording his presence at charity events.

At the age of 55, in 2017, Sunny was granted leave to remain.