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Tale
Eight - Welcome to America! - by Malik
My Mexico adventure was drawing to an end. I would now leave
Mexico City and return into the US via Laredo (Texas), a town
bordering with Mexico. I had taken a bus which crossed into
USA without any let or hindrance. On the US side, it was surrounded
by Border Police, Immigration officers, Custom Inspectors
and their famous dogs, K-9. All passengers were asked to make
a line and take out their passports. Seeing my green one,
an officer rushed towards me as if I had shown a red rag to
a bull. "Follow me," he commanded. I was singled
out from 50-odd passengers in that bus.
I was taken to a room of a nearby Immigration Building. Three
more officers joined in. First, I was asked to lay down on
a table whatever items I had in my carry-on, shoulder bag,
pockets and pouches. Second, they went through my belongings,
one after another, and separated four items: (i) Passport,
(ii) Travel Dairy, (iii) Yellow-Fever Certificate and, (iv)
a novel "Edge of Danger" by Jack Higgins. Third,
my body was searched meticulously by one of the officers.
Fourth, the search was repeated with a hand-held scanner.
At one place, there was a beep and the officer screamed out,
"Didn't I ask you to take out everything." I told
him that I had nothing more. He touched the scanner at the
back of my belt which emitted a beep. "Then what the
hell is this?" he burst out foaming with anger. I showed
him a metal-zip of a pouch in the belt. Fortunately, the pouch
was empty though normally it contained a neatly folded 100-dollar-note.
Afterwards, all of them left the room asking me to wait.
In a short while, I heard someone saying on the telephone,
"Hi I'm Robert, Immigration Laredo. I have a Pakistani.
All checks are negative ..." I took a sigh of relief;
there was nothing wrong with my papers or me. Soon an Officer
of Mexican descent appeared but told me again to wait. "What
is the problem, amigo?" I asked him softly. He stared
at me and said rather sharply, "Nothing, it is a routine
check."
About an hour after, the team returned and started questioning
me. "What were you doing in Mexico?" asked one.
"I am writing a research paper on eco-tourism. I have
a letter from my university," I told them. "But
your passport says you are retired," the same officer
continued. "Yes, I retired from a bank but now am whiling
away my time in teaching and traveling."
"You have a lot of friends in USA," said another
waiving a page from my diary containing some names and telephone
numbers. "Well, most of them are email friends, never
met them." The third flashed my Yellow Fever Certificate
and enquired, "Why you are carrying this?" "I
got it in 1995 when I went to Kenya. It is valid for 10 years,"
I answered. The fourth put a question concerning the novel.
"You have underlined a lot of paragraphs and written
many marginal notes in this novel, why?" I got scared.
The novel contained a plot to assassinate the US President
and an uproar by Hezbollah and Islamic Jihad. I pulled myself
together and told them that it was a secondhand book purchased
from the footpaths of Guanajuato, Mexico for a buck. Thank
God, the book was printed in 2000 and didn't make any reference
to upstarts like Lashker-e-Jhangvi. Winding up the investigation,
the team-leader said, "Well, so far no problem but wait
for clearance from Washington." They went out with a
loud laugh.
I was confined to a triangular room with one table and some
chairs. The door was wide open and I could see activities
in the immigration hall. The officers were moving around with
leisure holding coffee mugs. All were bulky and pot-bellied.
They had white uniforms studded with shiny badges and buttons.
Carrying pistols, pagers, cell phones and walkie-talkies,
they looked like astronauts. Soon I was feeling uneasy, my
throat went dry and my heartbeat became faster. I went to
the door for some fresh air. An officer spotted me and snubbed
me with "Get back, get back". "I have blood
pressure and need a little walk," I pleaded. "If
it is the blood pressure, you should sit down immediately,"
he retorted.
Seconds ticked by turning into minutes and minutes into hours.
No one contacted me after the flimsy interview about four
hours ago. I didn't know what was in store for me. With enormous
funds, unlimited powers, hi-tech satellite links, a trigger-happy
President, they were all out to get someone, somewhere and
some how. Being gray-headed, well dressed, with light luggage
and valid documents, I never ran into any problem before.
I feared the worst. I saw my end coming. My vision became
blurred. Strange shrills, whistles and catcalls echoed my
ears. I felt myself sinking deep in the chair and was about
to pass-out when someone came in, dumped all my papers on
the table and whispered: "Welcome
to America."
Hafeez ur Rahman Malik, Karachi-Pakistan.
Submitted: 20 August 2002
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