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Jan 22, 2017 Features / Columnists, My Column
There was a time a few decades ago when just about everyone wanted to go to the United States. Of course, when the news hit the community that So and So were leaving for the ‘Big Apple’, there was the get together. People shared reminiscences and on the day of the departure there were the tears and the farewells.
Then the time came when people wanted to leave, but found that leaving was very difficult. The American Embassy in Guyana became stingy with the visas. People spent a lot of money just to secure one. Some were conned by the smart entrepreneur. Backtracking became a household word. People spent millions of dollars that they could have actually made life a little better for themselves, just because they were responding to the lure of America.
Things are different today. The visas come easy, but people simply go for a vacation. Life in the Big Apple for people is not the dream it once was. People have been known to visit relatives only to see a side of those relatives that they never knew existed. They found that they could only stay there for a very short while.
I never had those problems, but I had the opportunity to hear people cuss out Guyana, complaining how things are bad in the country. There was this time when I picked up my brother to take him for a drink. No sooner had I done this than the same people who complained how “Things bad in Guyana” joined the fraternal union and had me digging deep into my pocket.
Of course I could not resist asking them how it was that they could expect me to buy drinks for them when I had just come from the ‘deh bad country.’ They couldn’t answer, so I would rub it in. I would tell them that the people at home were living better than most of them.
Having said that, I must admit that I find no joy in travelling to the United States these days. The hassle is not worth it.
I came out this past week to undertake a medical procedure and for the first time I was subjected to a comprehensive drug search. I stepped off the plane and headed to the immigration section as is required. At the counter there was this officer who spent an inordinate time examining my documents. That was expected.
In fact, there were times when I even had to be further examined, and that was because I surrendered my green card way back in 1996. The reason was simple; I had a job back in Guyana and none in the United States, so I was not prepared to leave the certain for the uncertain. So my fingerprints were in the system. The result was that whenever someone saw the fingerprints, that person wanted to know if I had a brush with the law. I would be sent for further investigation.
I had no problem with that. In fact, after twenty years I didn’t mind spending a few more minutes with immigration. But this time was different. The immigration fella had me standing there while he pored over my entrances and exits.
“I see you come here a lot,” he said. I replied that I had been doing so since 1988. He was silent for a minute, then he asked, “How come?”
Well I have a mother who is still alive. In fact, her 93rd birthday was yesterday. I have children, sisters, brothers, cousins, nieces, aunts, grandchildren and even one great granddaughter in the United States. I told the fella that I have every reason to visit. In fact, I even said to him that I can afford a vacation once a year.
I suppose he had it at the back of his head that I was a coke swallower, so the longer he kept me there the more discomfited I would be. He would have had a long time to wait. He then said to me that when I proceeded to the exit I would collect my passport. That was a first for me.
I went to the exit and to the Customs section. This officer directed me to a colleague who decided to examine my luggage. I only travel with a hand piece ever since I learnt that people would put drugs in your suitcase.
The casual chat began. “Did you pack this suitcase?” “Do you know what is inside?” And the conversation went on. “Do you have more than $10,000?”
He proceeded to search the hand luggage. There and then I learnt that the luggage had a lining that could be unzipped. The fellow poked and prodded after removing the few pieces of clothing there were. He sniffed my hair dressing and my cologne, rattled the container that held my toothbrush and even tapped the handle on the luggage.
Not satisfied, he took it somewhere. I am still to check to see if he punched holes in the handle. The only thing he didn’t do was to take me inside some room, make me squat or spread my butt cheeks. When it was over, I asked him about the reason for such a detailed check. The man told me that it was random.
Will I be subjected to another detailed search in the future? He said that he would not be working there. I have since concluded that being a Guyanese has severe disadvantages. We are expected to be drug couriers. Our age does not matter. In fact, I have concluded that the older we are the more likely it is that we would be a courier.
I have heard tales of the immigration people shouting to each other that the Guyana flight has arrived. There would then be a mad scramble to check all who would arrive. I am not happy to be targeted and I can only imagine how a first time arrival would feel.
The truth is that too often Guyanese are nabbed with drugs and their colleagues immediately become suspects. I became the most recent suspect.
LISTEN HOW JAGDEO WILL MAKE ALL GUYANESE RICH!!!
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