I was born in Nigeria and grew up there; I married and came over to Britain in 1982. I knew it was going to be cold, but no-one had prepared me for the winter. Because it was all dead, no leaves, I thought, ‘scientists, they’ve killed the trees’. I couldn’t understand why everyone walking around didn’t seem to care that the trees were dying. Then spring came along and I realised that everything was coming alive, being reborn. I kept saying to my friend, ‘look at those beautiful flowers’, and jumping up and down as if I’d won the lottery. At last she said, ‘you should get a camera, and stop bothering us. So I said I’d see if there were adult education classes in photography. She thought I was mad, but something had connected deep down. I enrolled in a photographic training centre in Earls Court; it was expensive and full of rich foreign students. When I finished I hadn’t decided what to do, but I went on a visit to Nigeria and took some photos when I was there. When I came back, everyone said, ‘oh, they’re beautiful!’ So that’s how it started. I gave up the business management course I was doing, because I knew I was home with the photography. I began by taking photos for newspapers, then in 1991 I began to write as well. I’d always written things down, but I’d hidden what I called my scribbles because I had an uncle in Nigeria who was a very well-known and I hadn’t wanted to compete in his arena.