Stolen Yesterdays

Manchester Airport.

Two suitcases were supposed
to come home with me.

One arrived.
The other vanished
into the traffic of wheels,
footsteps and hurried departures.

At first, I searched
with the patience of a man
who expected a mistake
to correct itself.

Perhaps it was delayed.
Perhaps it had been placed elsewhere.

But the carousel kept turning.
My luggage did not appear.
And the clock was tightening
around my neck.

I had less than an hour
to get to the University of Salford.
Important matters were waiting.
Time was running out.

Then I saw him:
a man trying to leave
the baggage collection area
with what belonged to me.

Anger rose before language.

My blood became a drum.
Every second I had spent searching
returned to my chest
like a debt demanding payment.

How do you look at another person’s property
and see an opportunity?
How do you reach for what is not yours
without first reaching
for your conscience?

It was a suitcase.
But to me, it was more:
my belongings,
my preparations,
the ordinary things
a person gathers
to make a strange place
feel a little like home.

Someone had decided
that what belonged to me
could become his
if he moved quickly enough.

I was angry at the theft,
but more than that,
I was angry at the intention—
the quiet calculation
behind taking what another person
had worked for.

I got my luggage back.

Still, the incident stayed with me,
a reminder of how easily
some people mistake opportunity
for permission.

There is arrogance in taking
what belongs to another:
the belief that your desire
matters more than their right.

You see a suitcase.
You do not see the person
who packed it,
the money spent,
the journey made,
the plans depending on its arrival.

You see an object
and forget the human being
attached to it.

Perhaps wrongdoing begins
when another person’s inconvenience
becomes too small
to interrupt your appetite.

I was a traveller
trying to reach my destination.
For a while,
I became a man searching
for what was already his.

I remember the anger
because it reminded me:
sometimes the deepest insult
is not losing something.

It is discovering
that somebody looked at your right
and decided it was negotiable.

Crowned by the Climb

I came to the United Kingdom
with a master’s degree in mind
and a life I had to build
from the beginning.

New country.
New responsibilities.
Old dreams
with very expensive requirements.

Rent did not understand ambition.
School fees did not accept promises.

So I took a cleaning job
in a hospital.

I cleaned rooms
where sickness had left its shadow,
where the work was necessary
and the risks were real.

Protective clothing covered my body.
It could not cover
the weight of responsibility
I carried into every shift.

I was working
because the dream had bills.

When the shift ended,
my education was still waiting.

So I went to the library:
books open,
eyes tired,
assignments lined up
like doors that would not open
until I found the right answers.

I worked, then studied.
Studied, then worked.

Some days,
my body asked for rest
in a language
my ambition refused to translate.

But I kept going—
not because I never felt tired,
but because I knew
what I had come for.

Then the result arrived.

Distinction.

One word,
but an entire journey
was speaking through it:
the hospital rooms,
the long hours,
the assignments finished
when sleep had already
begun calling my name.

The money earned
one shift at a time.
The quiet fear
of falling behind.

All of it stood behind
those letters.

People would see the certificate.
I would remember the cost.

Fulfilment is not always
the sweetness of getting
what you want.

Sometimes, it is looking back
at what nearly wore you down
and realizing
you did not surrender your dream
to the difficulty of becoming.

I graduated with distinction
from the University of Salford.

But the distinction
was not born on graduation day.

It was born each time
I returned to my books after work.
Each time I chose another hour
over the comfort of giving up.
Each time I remembered
why I had crossed borders.

The certificate carried my result.
My life carried the evidence.

Achievement has two faces:
the one the world celebrates,
and the one only you recognize
because you remember
what it took to get there.

That day,
I did not simply receive a distinction.

I met the version of myself
who had survived the journey
to earn it.

Author’s Bio

Oluyele Oyetunde Williams (MSc) is a results-driven Project Management Professional, digital transformation specialist, and international spoken word artist. Merging over five years of corporate experience leading technical migrations and compliance initiatives with the soul of a storyteller, Oluyele thrives where strategy meets creativity.

He has performed his poetry on diverse platforms across Nigeria and the UK, including Manchester, Leeds, and Sheffield. He is the author of the poetry collection What Life Left in My Hand. When he isn’t orchestrating complex digital frameworks, he is exploring human experiences through the power of words, proving that innovation truly sparks at the intersection of structured discipline and imaginative agility.