My country is corrupt to its core. Not in a cinematic way no secret basements, no dramatic exposes, no journalists mysteriously disappearing. Our corruption is far more advanced than that. It is efficient, decentralised, and widely accepted. It operates in daylight. It is woven so tightly into everyday life that most people do not even recognise it as corruption anymore. It is simply how things are done.

In my country, corruption is not a scandal; it is infrastructure.

If you need to see a doctor and cannot find an available appointment, you do not complain. Complaining is for beginners. You simply pay the administrator, and suddenly the system remembers that an appointment exists. It is remarkable how flexible systems become when money is involved.

If the police stop you, the interaction is not about law or justice. It is about negotiation. You are not accused; you are quoted. If you pay the right amount, you walk away wiser, poorer, and slightly annoyed but not surprised.

Passports? Names? Dates of birth? Addresses? Academic certificates? Character certificates? Government land? These are not legal processes; they are commercial products. You do not ask whether something can be done, only how much it will cost. Bureaucracy exists only to justify pricing.

And this is not hidden from children. Children grow up watching adults bribe teachers, doctors, police officers, clerks, and officials. They learn early that honesty is admirable in theory but impractical in reality. By adulthood, corruption is not considered immoral it is considered intelligent. The truly immoral act is refusing to participate and making life harder for everyone else.

I struggled living there. Not because I was morally superior, but because I could not unsee it. I could not pretend that this was normal. Watching every institution hollowed out from the inside while everyone acted as if this was simply human nature made me feel suffocated. So I did what many others do.

I left.

I came to the United Kingdom carrying an idea I had been taught since childhood: that this was a country where rules mattered, where systems worked, and where honesty was not optional. I genuinely believed that corruption was something the UK had solved long ago, like cholera or public executions.

That illusion did not last long.

My cousin bribed someone to get him a job at Sainsbury’s. No drama. No secrecy. Just a casual transaction. I refused to pay because I hated corruption and still believed that doing the right thing would eventually work out.

My cousin made money. I struggled.

For five years, I struggled. Even when I had a decent job and a reasonable income, life felt unnecessarily difficult. I followed the rules. I waited my turn. I filled in forms correctly. I trusted processes. In hindsight, this may have been my most expensive mistake.

Eventually, someone noticed my potential and offered me a role that genuinely suited me work that required thinking, problem-solving, and creativity. I loved it. I grew into it. I made more money. Slowly, life stabilised.

And then I started noticing things.

At first, it was subtle. People who always seemed to get things approved faster. Decisions that made no sense on paper but worked perfectly for certain individuals. Rules that were enforced strictly for some and treated as optional for others. Favors quietly exchanged. Doors opening without anyone touching the handle.

This was not the corruption I knew. This was not cash in envelopes or open bribery. This was professional corruption. Sanitised corruption. Corruption with legal advice.

Here, corruption does not break the law it studies it carefully and then exploits every loophole. It does not announce itself; it hides behind compliance language, procedural complexity, and plausible deniability. It is polite. It is calm. It is nearly impossible to challenge.

Councils are full of people who will “help you out” if there is something in it for them. Not explicitly, of course. Nothing illegal. Just mutual understanding. Influence replaces fairness. Connections replace merit. The system still looks intact, which is precisely the problem.

When I told a friend that this country is becoming corrupt, I was not being dramatic. I believe corruption has a lifecycle. It starts small. It benefits a few. Then it spreads. Eventually, it reaches a point where the system itself becomes the primary defender of corruption.

At that stage, complaints go nowhere. You are asked for evidence, knowing full well that corruption leaves none. Everything happens verbally. Informally. Off the record. You can witness it firsthand and still have nothing you can prove. Whistleblowers are isolated. Honest people are exhausted. The system shrugs and moves on.

I am afraid the UK is dangerously close to that point if it has not already passed it.

The most dangerous thing about corruption is not stolen money or unfair advantage. It is psychological. It teaches people that fairness is naive, honesty is inefficient, and integrity is a personal liability. It turns good people into quiet participants and brave people into lonely ones.

That is how countries do not collapse dramatically.

They decay politely.
They function just well enough.
They smile while rotting.

And one day, everyone wonders when it all went wrong without realising it went wrong the moment corruption stopped being shocking and started being normal.