Stranded but Sponsored by God

Happy New Year Family,

I have absolutely missed you and honestly it feels like I have been scared to write but I feel like I have to keep writing so here is it.

This Christmas was different.
It was filled with love, family… and rest.

My family and I hadn’t spent Christmas together since 2022—and that year was a very different season. I had gone home to get married, so Christmas was wrapped in wedding plans, timelines, expectations, and pressure.

But Christmas 2025?
Ah. This one was sacred.

This time, I was single. I had my daughter. My siblings. My parents. And most importantly, we were in a place with no lingering memories.

Not Canada—where childbirth and grief live loudly in my heart.
Not Nigeria—where the memories that began the trauma I’m healing from still sit heavy.

So we chose Rwanda.
A blank canvas.

And we painted the most beautiful Christmas yet.

Every night, we prayed and fellowshipped together. During the day, we explored the city—laughing, eating good food, dreaming aloud, and making plans for the future. It was peace in its purest form. One of those Christmases you know you’ll talk about for years.

Then January came.

We celebrated the New Year together and prepared to return to our different countries…
or so I thought.

Guess who got stuck in Amsterdam without a visa?

✨ Me.
✨ Phoebe.
✨ And my brother.

Our flight was delayed 6 hours in Kigali, then another 2 hours in Uganda. By the time we arrived in Amsterdam, we walked confidently to the gate—only to find it closed. Every single flight had been canceled.

After standing in line for six hours trying to speak to KLM reps, we were calmly told we’d be given blankets and would sleep at the airport gate… for THREE Nights.

Excuse me???
You mean I’ll be stranded, unbathed, sleep-deprived, and emotionally fragile with a toddler for three days?

I was livid.
Then I cried.
Then I looked for solutions.

Every airport hotel? Fully booked.

Defeated, we decided to eat after nearly 12 hours at the airport. And then—one last try—I approached a security officer and asked if there was any lounge or hotel available.

He said everything was full and casually suggested,
“Maybe you should leave the airport.”

I laughed nervously and said,
“I don’t have a visa. This was just a transit stop.”

He shrugged and said,
“Then maybe try appealing to immigration.”

So I did.

They initially said no—because my brother and I carry Nigerian passports. But one officer paused and asked a colleague.

One minute passed.
It felt like ten hours of Dutch conversations.

Then…
They said YES.

I almost wept right there.

They were kind. So kind. They even recommended a hotel. We had to book it, show proof, and wait three hours for the exemption approval.

Three hours later, we walked out of the airport—free, exhausted, and dreaming of a hot shower.

The next morning?
Chaos continued.

No luggage—thank you, KLM.
No clothes.
No diapers for Phoebe.
And because life loves timing… my period arrived with confidence.

I bought a train pass. No Wi-Fi. Everything in Dutch. Completely lost.

But God.

A Nigerian man saw me helping a random stranger and walked up to me. He asked where I was headed. I explained, and he said,
“I’ll be your tour guide today.”

His meeting had been canceled. He said God brought him out just to help me.

So there I was—walking the streets of Amsterdam Central with a stranger named Leo, shopping in Primark, getting help, being guided, and eventually dropped safely back on my route.

Then he left.
Just like that.

You see, the theme of the year in my church (Winners Chapel) is Open Doors.

And I refuse to believe that six days into the year, a country opened its doors to me without the proper documentation, without payment, with favor—and God sent helpers, and someone sent me money to cover the unexpected expenses—by coincidence.

This year, my only resolution is this:

To rest.

To rest in the truth that God is my source.
Not systems. Not plans. Not certainty.