It also taught me something about people.

In a taxi, people talk. Or they do not. Some sit in silence, carrying whatever the day has handed them. Others begin talking almost immediately, as though the car were a confession booth, a waiting room, or a temporary refuge. You hear fragments of marriages, money worries, illnesses, local politics, loneliness, arguments, celebrations, regrets and plans. You begin to realise that almost everyone is carrying more than they show in public.

Perhaps that is one reason the work suited me more than I expected. It was never just driving. It was witnessing, listening, navigating moods as well as roads.

Financially, it also mattered. This was part of the effort to build and evidence a stable income. Every fare, every deposit, every shift helped create the practical reality I had come back to the UK to establish. It was not glamorous. But it was real. And sometimes real is what matters most.

There is a phrase people sometimes use — “driving to stand still.” In one sense, that is what it felt like. Constant movement, long hours, and all of it directed toward a single aim: not luxury, not advancement, but the chance simply to live again as a family.

And yet even that phrase is not quite right. Because I was not standing still. Neither were we.

This was progress, even when it felt repetitive. This was another brick in the wall of evidence. Another step toward compliance. Another way of saying, through work rather than words: I am doing everything I can to bring my family home.

Lloyd Hobbard-Mitchell