The Prodigal Renegade. Victor Fakunle

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СКАЧАТЬ I said, I don’t know. Going back to Nigeria is not an option. Can you help me”? asked Danny.

      “Sure. I don’t want you to become an undocumented immigrant. I have a friend who can get you papers that classify you as a Liberian citizen.”

      “Liberian?” asked Danny.

      Danny had done his research after eaves dropping on Chubi’s conversation. It seemed the United States was the former colonial master of Liberia. They were currently granting Liberians who had fled the civil war refugee asylum status. Danny knew the whole history. The conflict had erupted after Charles Taylor led a coup d’état toppling a democratic elected government in the eighties. That was followed by growing discontent among some of the government officials, who created another rebel group.

      “Yes. It’s the only way I can think of to help you get legal residency,” said Chubi. “Can you handle it?”

      “Do I have a choice?”

      “Don’t tell your mum.”

      “Sure, you can count on me. Trust me, I don’t want to get my mum worried either. When do we start?”

      “I’m making the call right now. The whole set up should be ready by next week,” said Chubi.

      “Alright. Thanks a bunch sir.”

      Danny walked into his room, lay on his bed and put a pillow over his head. He wondered why his parents had not studied in the U.S years ago just as Chief Ladi had. That would have provided him a U.S. citizenship by birth just as Dele. Now he pondered the direction in which life was about to take him.

      Chapter 7

      THE ALARM CLOCK RANG AT 6:00 A.M. Danny turned it off. He was tired. He had not slept all night. He had an appointment with the United States Citizenship and Immigration Services at 8:00 a.m. He was a nervous wreck.

      If he got caught, how will he explain this to his mum? What kind of questions were they going to ask?

      “I can’t back down now,” he thought. Chubi had forfeited two grand to secure the documents needed for this interview today. Danny turned off his thoughts and went straight into the shower.

      There was a knock at the bedroom door.

      “Good morning” said Bunmi. “Breakfast is on the table.”

      “Good morning. Thank you. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

      Danny had to catch the orange line at New Carrolton Station to the USCIS office in Alexandria, Virginia. Chubi was waiting in the car outside to drop him off. Danny came out of the room, walked over to Evelyn and kissed her on the cheek.

      “Good morning mum. I’ve got to go out with Chubi for a job opportunity. See you later.”

      “What about the breakfast Bunmi made for you?”

      “Got to run mum. Tell her I’ll eat it later.”

      “Alright dear. Good luck.”

      Danny hated lying to her. At least he was being honest about the food. He had totally lost his appetite.

      He dashed out the door quickly.

      Danny met the stranger who had made the arrangements for the documents as he exited the metro station.

      “Hey, you look like you’ve seen a ghost. You’ve got to ease up man. Lighten up or you just might end up in jail and be deported back home. Here are your documents,” he said. “Your birth cert stating you were born in Monrovia. Your date of birth remains the same, so to avoid you getting confused. That will be awkward, if you don’t know your own date of birth. Alright, I’ve got to go. Good luck.”

      Before Danny could ask his name, he walked into the station and disappeared into the crowd.

      Danny arrived at the USCIS office at 8:45. The building was heavily fortified, with armed guards in front of the security check point and metal detectors. After Danny was patted down, he got a ticket and was asked to sit in the waiting area with other applicants. Most were there from war torn countries and conflict zones. Some were with their entire family. He had ticket number ninety-two, and the last number called had been number forty-five.

      It’s going to be a long day, thought Danny.

      He took a seat next to a Mexican family. Danny wanted to strike up a conversation just to kill time, but he knew to keep quiet. He needed to stay in line with the script he had researched for possible answers to the immigration agent’s questions.

      A couple of times, people were escorted in handcuffs from the interview room. Danny felt his heart racing fast. He began to sweat down his back, even though it was freezing outside. Almost everyone in the waiting room still had their jackets on.

      “Calm down Danny. Calm down”, he whispered under his breath.

      Two hours later, number ninety-two flashed on the screen. He walked towards the interview room as if he were a pirate walking the plank. A blonde, blue-eyed, scrawny agent sat behind the desk. He looked as if he had not slept in days. His aura gave the impression that he was counting the days to retirement and a pension from uncle Sam.

      “Good morning. I’m Special Agent Scott Walker. Please close the door and have a seat.”

      “Thank you”, said Danny.

      As he tried to close the door, he saw the handle was missing. He remembered the people he had seen being escorted out in handcuffs earlier. The interview room was a trap. Without a doubt, Agent Walker must have had the pleasure of making lots of arrest.

      “I see you’ve applied for asylum and your birth certificate states you were born in Monrovia. I’ve been doing this job for a long time Mr. Adeyinka.”

      “Please just call me Danny.”

      “Okay Danny, I’m going to be straight with you. I think you are Nigerian. Though all your paperwork is complete and looks authentic, my gut feeling tells me you are Nigerian.”

      “I’m not Nigerian,” said Danny.

      “Tell me, how did you get to the shores of the U.S.?”

      Danny was glad when he heard the question. It had been one of the questions he figured they would ask.

      “During the war, I escaped to Yamoussoukro in Côte D’ivoire. That was where I boarded a plane to Canada and a few days later, crossed the border into Buffalo, New York.”

      “Really? So, what’s the color of the uniform for the Canadian immigration officers?”

      “White and navy blue,” said Danny swiftly.

      Agent Walker was quiet for a minute. “This is exactly why I believe you are Nigerian. You are too smart and cunning.”

      Danny wasn’t sure whether that was an insult or compliment. The door opened and two more agents walked in.

      “Can you stand up and place your hands on the wall, sir?” СКАЧАТЬ