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My name is Aline, I’m 29 years old. I’m originally from Rwanda 🇷🇼. For the past three years, I’ve been living in England — in London. I’m a single mother. My son is 4 months old. He is everything I have ❤️ When I was pregnant, I truly believed that in Europe we would have a chance at a normal life. I came here alone — without family, without support. My child’s father disappeared even before the birth. Reality turned out to be cruel. I live in a small rented room on the outskirts of London. I can’t work full time — my baby is still too small. Sometimes I take small jobs: cleaning, household help, caring for elderly people. A few hours of work… and then straight back to my son. Money is never enough. Nappies. Baby formula. Medicine. Rent. Transport. I tried to save on everything — on myself, on food, on sleep. But there was one moment that made everything worse. When my son was two months old, he got sick. Fever. Doctors. Tests. Some of the costs were not covered immediately. I had to borrow money — from a woman I know from our community. I promised to pay it back within a month. But a month passed… and I still didn’t have the money. She started texting me. Then calling. Then speaking harshly. One evening she said: “If you don’t return the money, I won’t wait any longer.” I was sitting on the bed, holding my son in my arms, and crying. Not because I was afraid for myself — but for him. I felt completely trapped. How I found out about the app One night, when my son fell asleep, I was scrolling on my phone. Without any purpose. Just to stop thinking. In a migrants’ chat group, a woman wrote: “I didn’t believe it, but I managed to withdraw money from an app.” Normally, I scroll past messages like that. But that night, I stopped. I sent her a private message. She replied calmly — no promises, no pressure. She said: “I’m just sharing what happened to me.” I had £28 on my card. Money to last a few days for food. I stared at the screen for a long tim
