Why I Took the Visa Officer’s Advice—and Chucked My PhD

I had been to the UK Embassy one time too many.

This time, I was there for a student visa—again. I had recently walked away from a high-powered career in international development. The plan? Spend a few years focusing on family.

But as an overachiever, I got restless.

So I did what any self-confessed achiever might do—I applied for a PhD. Why not kill time and earn a few more credentials while the kids napped and the world turned?

I was ready. Admission letter? Check. Supporting documents? Check. Years of visa history? Check. I’d studied in the UK before and returned home faithfully. I was, in every way, the ideal visa applicant.

“Why Do You Want a PhD?”

So you can imagine my shock when the visa officer looked up and asked:

“Why do you want a PhD?”

Excuse me?

I blinked, a bit thrown. “To increase my options?” I replied, cautiously.

What kind of question was that? I was offering my foreign currency, time, and mental bandwidth to her country’s education system. Shouldn’t she be grateful?

But she wasn’t done.

“You’ve travelled extensively. You’ve worked with two international development agencies. You already have a master’s from a top UK university. So again—why do you need a PhD?”

I bristled.

Was this some kind of backhanded compliment? A polite way of saying, You’re African. Be content. I tried not to show it, but my smile tightened.

I repeated: “To increase my options.”

She Didn’t Believe Me

She stopped flipping through my documents and muttered:

“You probably just want to live in the UK.”

Ouch.

I straightened up. “Actually,” I replied, “I don’t need to pay to live in the UK. I qualify as a highly-skilled migrant. The UK could pay me to stay.”

Her look could have frozen the Thames. But my manners prevailed.

“Have a good day,” I said, and walked out—visa approved.

Cold Country, Colder Realizations

A few months in, reality hit.

I was on a train, heading back to the suburbs after another long day in the library. I smiled and greeted a passenger.

They looked through me like I didn’t exist.

I sat back and thought: What am I doing here? My children were growing up on another continent. My husband held the fort alone. And I—well, I was chasing letters after my name for reasons I could no longer explain.

Suddenly, that visa officer’s question made perfect sense.

The Warm Embrace of Home

So I took her advice.

I dropped the PhD. I pocketed what was left of my tuition. I booked a one-way flight home—to the warm sun, the wide smiles, and the arms of my long-suffering, ever-loving family.

I came home to a country where greetings are returned with warmth, not suspicion.

That cold visa counter taught me more than any PhD thesis ever could.

It asked me to reassess my values. To admit that ambition, while admirable, should never eclipse love, family, and presence.

And it reminded me that success isn’t always in more degrees—it’s in knowing when to stop chasing and start living.

Read more Domestic Diva

^{Ovie Farraday is a wife and mother of five (including 2 teenagers and a pre-teen) living in a sub-Saharan West African suburb.  She is married to an Architect and entrepreneur. Ovie Farraday is a pen-name.}