I’ve always been nervous of customs and Immigrations, especially in the US and especially after the last several years of being stopped every single time I’ve entered the country through no fault of mine. It turned out I’d left my green visa waiver card in my passport several years ago so when I retuned back, it was still in there so it looked like I’d outstayed my welcome. This was pre-September 11th and the security got much tighter after that. In my case, I had received a letter a couple of years ago to say I would not longer be stopped. I wasn’t.
If I was always nervous, this time I was more so as I didn’t quite believe their weren’t any conditions attached to the 6 month visitor visa I possessed. What I could never have imagined was the nightmare that followed.
The line to passport control was as long as ever, perhaps longer as it was a Friday afternoon. Plus JFK being the busiest and therefore the worst of the New York airports. Similarly I don’t like Heathrow so the journey was already not a favourite but I was overwhelmingly looking forward to going ‘home’ and at least it was my favourite, Virgin Airlines.
For a second, I thought the friendly inspector was going to let me through but sure enough the yellow folder came out, in went my passport and of I was marched into the familiar although not recently visited interview waiting room.
It was 5pm when I first glanced at the clock having sat in the front row, as if that was going to speed up my interview. My shuttle into the city was booked at 5.30 where I was due to unload my suitcases at the storage unit on 107th Street, grab my overnight case, freshen up and then pick up the train into the country from 125th Street. That train journey to the sanctuary of my boyfriend’s home was what I had looked forward to above all else for the last 3 weeks.
A record 3 hours wait later, I was called not to the desk at the front but an interview room at the back. The fact that it took longer than the usual 45 minutes rang nervous alarm bells and the interview room wasn’t helping.
5 minutes after that, my American Dream was shattered. My heart seemed to be made of glass and had been pulled out, shattered into a million pieces and sent into the galaxy never to be seen again. Or sent to hell.
Officer 1 absolutely did not believe I wasn’t seeking or already working illegally in the US. He did not believe my business could successfully be run from a Blackberry, even after I protested I didn’t have a blackberry (it was stolen) and I worked form a laptop. He didn’t believe I just liked being there, making friends and seeing a bit more of his great country.
“No, no, no.” he said, even when I offered to demonstrate how I worked with my laptop there right with me. No, I could stay a month and then will have to return to the UK.
Well it could have been worse I thought at the time. A month gives me time to sort out my shipment of goods arriving from the UK, spend time with my boyfriend whether he liked it or not to see where that was going and see my friends while determining what I needed to do to stay in the US. Apartment hunting was no longer a priority and it was a good job I hadn’t already found one and paid the required 3 months expensive rent up front.
Now past 8pm, I knew my boyfriend would have started to get worried as this was the time he expected me to be there. I eventually asked for a phone call as I had seen other people doing this but by this time everyone knew I was a deportee case and I had to seek further permission for a phone call.
Whilst in the open waiting area, Officer 2 was even more threatening whilst repeating the same questions. He told me there were two options; staying for the month or going straight back on a flight tomorrow. My protesting that I had already been told I will be staying a month fell on deaf ears. “That’s still to be decided”.
So now my world really had crumbled. I couldn’t care less that I was hungry, tired and needed the bathroom. Or about the extremely irritating and rude children running around and kicking me as they passed. Just that my dream was shattering and there’s nothing I could do to stop it.
I was struck by how many Americans were waiting although I realised most of these were released pretty quickly. Then I noticed how many pilots were in the room but again, they jumped the queue too. I reckoned my status was just about the terrorist suspects. Only just above though.
I was called back to see Officer 3 who was by far the nicest but this was when I my world was smashed beyond recognition. I was going back tomorrow. For a second, my gorgeously simple New York life flashed before me. The working in the morning followed by relaxing bubble bath and lunch before writing in the coffee shop in the afternoon or attending writing class. The Saturday mornings spent watching 2 or 3 live football matches. The weeks spent in the fantastic city and of course my beautiful country weekends with the boyfriend where I felt surprisingly at home. It was the idyllic American life. My longed for American Dream. Gone.
The life flashing lasted just for a few seconds. I quickly realised that I could wait another 5 or 6 months for that to resume. After all I’d waited 41 years.
What I couldn’t wait for, what I longer for was to see my boyfriend. What I wouldn’t have given to spend 1 month with him. I week. 1 night. Eating, talking, walking and waking up together. If I was being honest, I needed to know if this surprising, bolt-of-the-blue feeling went both ways.
I was booked on the flight the next evening at 6.30.Earlier I heard Officer 2 enquiring about availability of a Virgin rep. I just didn’t know he was saving me a seat.
Officer 3 gave me the full official, documented interview that will go on my record. I was given the option to voluntarily remove myself from the US which meant I wouldn’t receive an automatic 5 year ban. At least that’s the way I understood it and it was said on no uncertain terms that was my best option. Also that I was lucky as most people would just get an automatic ban. It was because I had not done anything wrong that I was given this option. I just didn’t look good on paper and they were suspicious. That’s all they needed to throw me off their land and there was I thinking our two nations had a good relationship.
I can’t remember the exact name but Officer 3’s name had ‘angel’ in it which seemed to give him a markedly better and positive attitude than the others. As my legitimate visa was being revoked, I could technically go back and obtain a visa on Monday and fly back out on Tuesday. Of course we know that it was not going to be that simple as these things tend to take their own sweet time.
The Phone Call
Finally, at the end of the interview I was asked who I wanted to call. I had realised a couple of hours back that I should have said ‘with friend’ when I was asked where I was staying. The word ‘boyfriend’ seemed to ring huge alarm bells. That said ‘wants to stay indefinitely’, ‘needs to find work’ and/or ‘illegal alien’ all over it. Perhaps then I would have been allowed to at least stay the month. Now however, I blatantly asked to call my boyfriend.
So they dialled the number for me and the first thing he did was offer help. ‘That’, I said ‘Is the problem’, before explaining why they are suspicious of me even though I haven’t done anything wrong. He helped defuse the situation for a few sweet minutes with his humour, after telling me he had tried contacting my friends via Facebook when he got worried and then offered to contact people for me. I had used up my one phone call but I didn’t want to speak to anyone else, just him for as long as I could until sure enough I was told to wind up the call. I told him they were taking me to an overnight place in Brooklyn where I can sleep, eat and have access to a phone. He asked if he was able to see me. I doubted it but it was a lovely thought. So close and yet so far.
It was gone 10.30 pm when Angel bought me some revolting pasta prison food. I needed to eat and picked out 6-7 pasta shells that I could bare to stomach to keep me going and pocketed the packet of crackers for a later emergency. I was past caring and I mused if my stomach had shrunk from being starved for so long. I was thankful that I had kept a water bottle and regularly filled it from the water fountain.
Angel told me it would be inhumane to make me stay in the waiting room all day and stated my lift should be on its way to take me to my Brooklyn bed, food and phone access.
At 11.20pm, more than 5 hours after my arrival and after all my paperwork was completed along with my finger prints being taken for the third time, Angel stated my lift should be on its way in 10 minutes. I was absolutely exhausted and wanted to sleep. I’ve now been up nearly 24 hours and not had a decent meal since my breakfast in London.
Day 2 – Inhumane
7am next morning. No sign of our lift or our Officers or the promised bed, food, phone. By now, I was on nodding terms with a gentleman in a similar position who was being deported back to India although he had his cases with him and mine were detained by Virgin, I guess as they were giving me a ride back. I was allowed to speak to a very nice man from Virgin the night before who rifled through my baggage to bring me my toiletries case. They thought I had my Asthma inhaler in there but I had been sensible and kept that with me.
I had seen 3 shift changes throughout the night whilst trying to sleep across 2 seats with a bar in the middle. Luckily I had my long leather coat which meant I was shaking less than I would have been but still shaking none the less. I did need to look after my laptop and several valuables so I had to try and sleep whilst holding on to everything.
The loud staff joviality throughout the otherwise quiet night ensured I was woken at less than hourly intervals. It was strangely comforting that they were demonstrably happy. Perhaps it proved they were humans after all.
The water had resulted in my asking to be taken to the bathroom every couple of hours which also got me out of that room that was filled with agitated, tired and scared people. It can’t be much better than waiting for your day in court knowing your life is in the hands of a jury. The only blessing was that we were either going to get through or be sent home.
With each accompanied bathroom visit I wondered where they thought I was going to run. Especially with 4” heels that I had not removed all night.
I came too when I heard a nice lady officer come in to check when we had last eaten and to let us both know they knew we were still here. I had asked on each bathroom visit if they had forgotten us and indeed any other questions I could think of but none resulted in any action. Lady Officer said she would organise some breakfast and then the lift will come.
I didn’t see the point of going anywhere now as I was going to be back for my return flight in a few hours. I’d have much rather just gone back to the departure lounge and checked in early and got some sleep there.
Finally our lift arrived in the shape of 3 security personnel at the exact same time as our yet to be warmed up breakfast. My fellow deportee had been told that he will be hand cuffed before being taken out of the airport. That would be a step too far I thought and felt a call to the British Embassy coming. Where do they we are going to run too? We were both professional citizens with, I believe, respectable lives.
We had to take our uncooked breakfast ‘to go’ and whilst the deportee got quite unnecessarily chained up for ‘his own safety as well as the officers’, I thankfully was not. What a relief. It would not have gone with my outfit I’m sure.
It was great to get out into the sunny New York April morning for just a few minutes before being directed into separate quarters of a van. Just like in the TV cop shows with wire partion. I fell in and out of sleep and wondered why it was taking an hour to get to neighbouring Brooklyn.
Finally we arrived. It was a detention centre in New Jersey. I had imagined something like a children’s home. Maybe a dorm room with carpet, curtains and a free phone from which I could speak to my boyfriend all through the night. What kind of bed was I going to get here? It was around 10am when we arrived into what looked like a police station reception where I was allowed to make my second phone call. I jumped at the chance to call the boyfriend and explain whilst promising I’ll call as soon as I can at the airport. It was lovely to hear his voice once again even though I guess we were both distressed over the situation.
I had been promised that I would be at the airport 4 hours before departure which meant leaving in 4 hours so I’d guessed no sleep.
I was beginning to wonder if anything Angel said was true.
Usual Suspects
It dawned on me, given the limited time that this was no safe house. I was here to be processed. Rush processed at that. More forms. More questions. More finger prints. More inedible food and more lack of sleep.
This time I was in my very own room with a lock. I was in a TV cop show cell complete with the de rigueur steel toilet, tiny sink and a mirror but the key was on the opposite side.
I could not eat the breakfast that came into the cell with me whereas my laptop, toiletries and bag full of valuables was left on the other side. 2 parts of it was fruit that I don’t like but I eventually had the 2 small dry pancakes to keep me going. A long way from the brunch I should have been having as a free UK Citizen this morning. I or the staff had no idea how the self heating box worked as their were no instructions. After more questions, I was getting a shower although I was not the least bit bothered about receiving one. A change of clothes however would have been welcome but they were with the airline.
The shower room was open plan and just off the corridor. I was asked to strip so my clothes could be taken away to be replaced by prison type uniform, complete with hugely oversized underwear and the world’s smallest toiletries. Tooth brush, shower gel, shampoo, body lotion and deodorant called ‘Maximum Protection’ which amused me somewhat. I was left alone to shower and get dressed. I didn’t look for cameras but no doubt they were there.
I had no idea why I was here and I don’t think the staff knew why I had to go through the procedures as I had such a short time in which to leave for my flight. Why didn’t they just leave me at the airport this morning?
Afterwards, I was ready for more questions, the obligatory finger prints – as if they may have changed in the last 12 hours – and a ‘usual suspects’ style photo. I was interviewed, or rather processed as she didn’t ask me anything too challenging, by a young lady with unattractive, long, fancy talons who spent the whole time barking into the phone protesting at some work she was being asked to do.
I was told to tuck my oversized t-shirt into my oversized trousers and put my over sized sleeveless over-shirt on before being taken for my medical. I was never good at conforming to uniforms, not even at school. The place had to be locked down in order for me to be walked through the cold corridors to the medical centre. On enquiring why, I leant that it was so male dominated that they rarely had women there so it was to ensure my safety. I heard doors and gates being locked at every turn. There was a short wait in yet another locked room before I saw the nurse who would decide if I was fit to travel. I perked up no end on hearing that. My blood pressure being low was the only issue but luckily she decided that was only because I hadn’t eaten and immediately made a phone call to rush through my lunch.
Back in my cell, my lunch duly followed. All of it cold, more fruit and what I identified as breaded chicken of which one bite made my heave. I later had a few spoons of dry, cold rice to keep me going.
I was going to catch a plane in a few hours and I’ll be gone to a place with good food.
I had grown optimistic that we were moving through the red tape quickly when I had the longest wait. This was the most anxious I had been in my cell and it was when I started pacing up and down that I started wondering how Nelson Mandela would have felt for 25 years. 25 years! I tried to measure the length of the cell using my feet as guide as I could barely sit down let alone nap. That made me feel worse as obviously there is absolutely no comparison. Except he hadn’t done anything wrong either.
I started feeling claustrophobic for the first time but resisted taking the inhaler and I had no idea of the time. I looked out of the door window to see my belongings all sitting in the office and not securely put away. My money, phones and jewellery were just sitting on the desk including the Tiffany cross I removed from my neck as soon as I came back to the UK and never put on again.
Every time I heard footsteps I was desperate for them to come to unlock my door and give me my clothes back. I had stopped praying so wishing and determination was all I had. The foot steps went passed 4-5 times before they finally unlocked my door. I was given my clothes back in the canvass sack I had placed them in earlier.
I got dressed in seconds not caring who walked past my small window to catch me in a state of undress.
Then I waited. More footsteps.
And waited.
The Long Journey Back
Finally, I was let out of the cell, back into the office to await the completion of my paperwork before I would be taken to the airport. I was given back my 4 pieces of jewellery which I counted loudly into the bag held open for me earlier. Only 3 pieces came back and I was missing a gold, cross ear-ring. Luckily it had just dropped onto the floor.
Here I realised there was another lady who was going back too. She was from Slovakia and spoke good enough English to converse with. The staff were pretty jovial which helped our mood. We were lucky; we were on our way to safety.
The officers were fighting over who was to drive and which vehicle as one was rumoured to be without fuel. Once in the van, I asked them to check again which flight I was on and they convinced me it was 18.30 and not 16.30 as I had heard both in the last 18 hours.
In the event, as they were running late to get the Slovakian on her plane, one lady swapped with the male driver on the assumption she was going to drive a lot faster. They only had an hour or so to get her on her plane.
On a dazzling sunny day that should have been the first of many spent in New York arrived back at JFK airport a few hours after I had left it.
Two officers got out check-in Mrs Slovakia leaving her waiting anxiously in the van for an elongated time. They finally got back and waited whilst the younger officer went off for some sort of break. She returned with a big hot meal which she ate after Mrs Slovakia left having given me her address for some bizarre reason, which I duly through away. I didn’t what she had done and didn’t need to be associated. Young Officer then kept me company whilst enjoying her hot meal followed by a nap in the New York sunshine. Sounds idyllic. I had $700 burning a whole in my pocket without anything to eat.
I waited. And waited for what seemed like another age. In the heat, starving with just my bottle of water for nourishment.
An hour or so in the van and finally the officers returned to check me in but not before more in-team arguing ensued. Can’t they just leave me in the airport and let me get on with it?
For the second time I informed them that my toiletries needed to be checked in as I’m not allowed onboard with it. To which they retorted that I can’t take them on board. I know. That’s what I was telling them!
They went to check me in, leaving me waiting again.
Ever since I had the displeasure of their company, the younger officer showed great disdain for her older colleague and this carried on no doubt long after their journey with me ended.
This is where Virgin Airlines came into their own once again,
Upon taking me into the airport, my young guard jumped the check-in line to ask about checking in my toiletries case with the luggage. The member of the Virgin staff directed us to the supervisor. Whilst waiting behind one person there, another supervisor offered help. Within seconds, with a beaming, friendly smile she had summoned a box which duly arrived for me to put my toiletry bag and anything else I wanted into. Immediately it was sealed, checked in and I had a receipt for it and was on my way.
My two guards escorted me towards the gate until I asked them to stop as soon as my eyes fell upon a café. They granted my wish to stop and obtain something to eat. I desperately needed a hot drink but my now my stomach was way too delicate for that. I needed fresh orange juice and something dry so I chose hummus with chips and spend $7 of my $700. The best $7 I could have spent but completely frowned upon by my young guard who couldn’t believe what it cost. I told her it’s a lot cheaper than London and secondly, what choice do I have?
I held back on my real thoughts. “You haven’t fed me properly in 24 hours, ate a hot meal and had a cold drink in front of me whilst I waited over an hour in a hot van, starving, thirsty and tired and didn’t excuse yourself or offer me anything! This is real food of my choosing. It’s the best $7 I have ever spent!”
Food. Sleep. Phone
As we reached the sun-lit and warm departure lounge I saw my plane outside. We sat with all the other passengers and I attempted to try a few chips with hummus before quickly realising I couldn’t manage anymore.
I was grateful that they were positive at my request to switch my phone on and check for messages. I listened to several messages from my boyfriend and from Crazy Too and read a few texts before sneakily texting my boyfriend to let him know where I was and that I will call him the minute I was free.
I had a little light banter with both my guards and the British family sitting opposite who I was sure were wondering what I had done wrong to be with 2 escorts and why I was fairly socially jovial. They should have seen me anytime in the last 24 hours if they wanted the response they expected from a ‘suspect’.
Of course I hadn’t broken any law and maybe the Virgin Airline staff knew this as they treated me with extra TLC to ensure my safe and healthy journey back.
I was allowed on the plane first but as I got to the door with my escorts, I was stopped by staff who wanted to make sure they had the right luggage for me remembering I hadn’t seen it since I left London.
They asked me to look out of the door and sure enough my 3 bags were there all on their own waiting for my approval. I mentioned the box that had been checked in afterwards although I was confident that they were efficient enough to get that on the plane. They insisted I waited until they checked. Quite frankly I wanted to get on the plane and be free to make a phone call. Only then was I allowed on and my guards left having handed over my passports and paperwork to Virgin staff.
Maybe not for normal circumstances but I had the best seat in the house; the last seat at the back, on the middle aisle near the bathrooms and stewards. This meant I could fall asleep without too many people going passed me through the night flight. For the mum and the teenage boy sitting next to me it was not so good but after I explained to them why it was good for me, they had every sympathy.
First things first, I had my first long, private conversation with my boyfriend and to my surprise and delight he mentioned he would come and see me in England. That just about had me doing imaginary somersaults before I said my goodbyes ahead of the staff telling me to do so. I had had enough of being told what to do and when to do it to last me a lifetime. I just had a glass of cold water and didn’t wait for the hot drink before falling gently asleep.
I only awoke when feeling slightly queasy and although my stomach was empty, I needed to make my way to the back to find more water and then the bathroom. By the time I surfaced again there was a flurry of TLC and one of the stewards had got me large bottle of water ready from which I poured some into my own empty orange juice bottle.
I fell asleep until we descended and as I was not in a rush to go anywhere could have done with another 2-3 hours sleep although my fellow passengers disagreed with me.
We made a lose plan to meet on the other side as they had time to kill but it turned out I had to wait until everyone was off so a staff member was free to escort me through passport control. That was a little frustrating but at least I was not on a deadline. So I never got to meet the nice mum and son but my luggage was waiting for me already.
I grabbed a trolley and my first hot drink since leaving here 2 days ago and made my way to the bus station. No mean feat with a very heavy trolley and going downhill all the way. I called my best friend whilst waiting for the lift and without much explanation, told her I need to stay with her. I had no idea but assumed a coach went to Birmingham and sure enough, a staff member offered help and having spilt a whole large drink after just 3 sips, I had 8 minutes to rush and get my bus whilst mouthing apologies to all around me.
As I drifted off to sleep on board, I was relieved and looking forward to good food and a good nights’ sleep surrounded by good friends. Tomorrow I will begin piecing my life back together.
I awoke as we drove through Birmingham airport to the sound of Michael Buble’s ‘Home’ through my headset. This was the soundtrack to the last 3 weeks as I longed to go home to New York. The track that I had sent to all my friends and boyfriend to express how I was feeling the day before I flew out.
Instead I’m back in cold harsh gloomy England.
No clothes. No car. No furniture. No belongings and No Blackberry. Just my friends.
And Marks and Spencer.
