by E. C. Osondu
The train came to a jerky stop. Soon a high speed train zoomed past and our train waited for a while and started on its journey again.
“This girl, whom he was in love with, left his house that night and went and reported him to the authorities. She said she was a good communist and a good communist puts country first before father, mother, brother, sister, and lover.
“The next morning, soldiers kicked down the door of his father’s house and arrested him. They sent him to an island prison for reeducation. In this prison you had to grow your own food and work in the farm for the government. He was in this prison farm but all he could think about was how he could escape. One day, he escaped. Now you think the story has ended right? Wrong. He escaped but he was caught. They caught him and trussed him up like an alligator and brought him back to the prison.
“He was tried and they were going to shoot him. They asked him why he was trying to escape. He said it was because he wanted to be with this girl who had betrayed him. He said that he was in love with her and that he could not think of her getting married to another man. They let him live because even the communists recognized the idea of love.
“Eventually, he finished his sentence and was released. He came back to the capital and the communist authorities made his father sign an undertaking that his son would be a good comrade, otherwise they would seize the father’s house. His father signed. But this young man was restless and this time he bribed some people and he was smuggled out of the country. He was in a refugee camp in another country for some years and then a Catholic family with the last name Fish from Minnesota sponsored him and he came to this country.
“He trained as an auto mechanic but eventually realized that in this country we love to eat food from exotic places so he decided to open a Thai restaurant. He loves the ladies, this old guy. He is always happy and smiling and saying God bless America every chance he gets. He says the only thing he doesn’t like about this country is that polygamy is against the law. I think in their culture in Laos they are allowed to marry more than one wife. He says that love is too good and big of a thing to share with only one person. See, what I mean? Look at how interesting his life story is? In his one life he’s lived through war, prison, love, adventure, and escape. Compare it to mine. I am sure you have an even more interesting life story, right? No need to be shy. Accept it. Your life is more interesting than mine.”
I was thinking about the story he just told me. What he romantically called adventure, the other man must have seen as human cruelty and suffering. I envied him the inimitable stability that his own life story represented. He could predict tomorrow and have a master plan that covered the next fifty years, whereas the man from Laos could barely plan for the next day.
I was thinking that I needed to use the bathroom but was also wondering if I should wait and do it before the train came to the final station. My co-passenger was obviously having the same thought, but had no plans to delay it. He stood up to go and so did I.
When I came back from the bathroom, the seat beside me was empty. The old guy was gone and so was his suitcase.
I looked around at the other seats wondering if he had switched seats while I was away, but he was no longer in that compartment of the train.
I decided to search for him by looking down the train but changed my mind. I realized why this place would continue to feel alien to me. Why had the old man left without saying goodbye?
The conductor was walking down the aisle of the train removing papers from the back of the seats and screaming something.
He was screaming Boston South Station is next … but all I heard over and over again was Neptune Space Station, Neptune Space Station, and then the train entered a tunnel and it all went dark.
Debriefing
Do not buy a car. Do not drive. Ignore advice to obtain an international driver’s license before your arrival. American cops do not know what an international driving license is or for the most part they pretend not to know. What they don’t know makes them angry. You do not want to face an angry American cop. Driving is a slippery slope. Driving is trouble. Driving is tickets. Driving is a cop asking you for your license and registration. Before you know it, you are standing before an elderly grim immigration judge.
Avoid parties organized by our people. Arguments and fights break out over politics, over politicians, over girls, over anything, over nothing, drunken arguments. Especially after imbibing a cocktail of Hennessey and Irish Cream. Neighbors call the cops. Cops ask for identification. Remember you do not have one. I know we are a party-loving people, so if you think you can’t live without it, go to You-Tube, there’s more entertainment on YouTube than you’ll find at any Nigerian party. Nobody was ever arrested for watching YouTube videos.
Avoid Rashonda and Shenika and her sisters. They once married, dated, or had kids for, and had their hearts broken by, our men in the past. They are on a revenge mission. They’ll take out their hurt on you. They’ll promise they’ll marry you to help you get a green card. They will not. Ignore their avowed love for our local food. They’ll tell you they love eating spicy food. They’ll eat you dry, eat you out of the house and dump you. Besides they smoke weed. They’ll expect you to pay for their habit. Weed is expensive in America unlike back home where you can get it for next to nothing.
Avoid Chucks. Is that not a made-up name? Anyway, that is what he calls himself. His name is not the only dubious thing about him. He’ll tell you he is in the auto insurance business. This is a ruse. Actually, this is what he does. He buys cars, insures them heavily, looks for a lonely road and drives them into a tree. After which he claims the insurance money and throws a big party. Remember what I told you earlier about Nigerian parties. He recruits new drivers at these parties. He will tell you that there is no risk involved. He’ll assure you that all you have to do is wear your seatbelt and run into a tree. One of his drivers ran into a tree and broke a neck bone. He is still wearing a neck brace. Before Chucks became a car crasher, he drove around town in his beat-up Nissan looking for unsuspecting, inexperienced drivers who’ll run into him so he can collect. Avoid him by all means. He has no honest bone in his body.
If you must travel, travel by Amtrak. Trains are safe, buses are not. I mean safe from raids by the INS. Here’s something that happened to someone I know. He boarded a Greyhound bus that was traveling from Chicago to Upstate New York. At the Greyhound bus station in Chicago there was this bunch of really boisterous kids. The boys were dressed in jeans and T-shirts, but the girls were dressed the traditional Somali way. Colorful scarves and cotton patterned wraps. It was a night trip. A few hours after the bus pulled out of the station, the bus was pulled over into a gas station by a detachment from the INS. They went from seat to seat asking people, Where are you from? Do you have an ID? Identify yourself. Soon they got to the row of the Somali kids. Where are you from? From Chicago. I mean what country? America. Do you have an ID? And the kids pulled out shiny U.S. passports. Avoid the bus, it is overcrowded, overheated, over-scrutinized, and accident prone. If you must travel, take the train.
I suspect you will want to go to church because you are a man with problems and a man with problems needs church and prayers. If you must go to church avoid the American churches—they do not shout loud enough in the American churches. A person with problems needs a church where they can shout out loud enough for their voice to reach the heavens.
American churches do not announce jobs. The pastors do not know the places that hire those without papers. The pastors do not order people to go on seven days dry and or white fasting. They do not play loud music; they do not dance energetically and frenetically. I hear the African-American churches in the South do. But those are down south.
And while on the subject of churches—the church is not an opportunity to meet girls. The girls in the churches, the immigrant girls, are in the same rickety, leaky boat as you: they do not have papers, they are illegal, they are searching for someone to marry them for a g
reen card. They’ll not tell you this fact until you happen to mention it one day when you are both in bed and then they’ll hiss like an angry snake and ask you but why did you not tell me all this while, I have been wasting my time cooking for you? And leave you on the bed half-naked as they march out with righteous indignation, giving your door such a loud bang on their way out and leaving the door wondering what it did wrong.
People will urge you to go to school. They’ll tell you an American education is useful. That is so not true. It is so 80s. You are here to hustle. If you must get any kind of qualification, get a Nursing certification or qualification in some medical field. A sick man does not care about your accent. A helpless old lady needs strong arms, not a great enunciation. There are many of those schools around. Get into one and you’ll qualify in eighteen months. I’ll recommend the ones run by our people. They don’t ask too many questions and you can pay on the installment plan.
If you need an immigration lawyer, never hire a Nigerian or Ghanaian lawyer. Get a white lawyer, preferably a Jewish guy. He will ask you no questions so you will not tell him any lies. Masquerades do not fear each other—I need not say more. Besides by now you must have realized that there are tribes in America. Remember when at the port of entry you went to the black man in the booth and you said he called you brother—a good white lawyer will argue your case before his white brothers. Be prepared to pay a bit more. Unlike the Ghanaian and Nigerian lawyers they do not bifurcate their payments. The only payment plan they adhere to is immediate payment. You must give them a check before every meeting and before every court appearance and before the signing of any document. I can assure you they’ll deliver. They get the job done.
If you want to understand your new society better, you should go out to a baseball game. Ignore invitations to play five-a-side soccer with fellow immigrants in that obscure park on the outskirts of town. If you really hope to become a part of the society go to a nearby stadium and watch a baseball game on a Friday evening. Sing, “Take Me Out to the Ballgame” with the audience. Buy a beer and a hot dog, eat some cotton candy, try to catch the ball but do not try too hard especially if there is a kid around you trying to catch the same ball. Do not try to understand the game. It is neither cricket nor soccer. Just sit, relax, watch the people, sip your beer, and pay a little attention to the game. The good thing is that you are not obligated to stay until the end. Leave when you become bored or tired, but understand that you’ll learn more about this society from sitting at that stadium with the smell of beer and nachos and screaming kids than you’ll learn in any other place. Go on the Internet. Read up what can find on Barefoot Joe and Yogi Berra—learn some Yogi-isms. I have never met an American who hated baseball. As tea is to the Englishman, so is baseball to the American. I’ll go as far as to recommend listening to baseball commentary on the radio. Play it aloud, let your neighbors hear what you are listening to; it will calm them and put them at ease about you.
Avoid buying your groceries from the African store. Their stuff is overpriced anyway, and they’ll rip you off. Train your palate to adjust to American food. There are affordable alternatives in the grocery store if you know what to look for. Eat lots of kale and spinach and collards. Winters are long. Your body will miss all the tropical vitamins but the vegetables will help compensate. Do your own cooking. Not only is it cheaper, it is healthier. As you’ll soon find out, burgers and fries will not do you much good. Your cholesterol level will rise, your blood pressure will hit the roof from all that salt and fat, you’ll sicken, and you are not likely to have any health insurance, so eat healthy. Still on the subject of your health, exercise moderately, stock up on Theraflu and Vicks VapoRub just in case you fall sick. The mosquitoes here do not carry malaria, so you do not have much to worry about.
Dress well. Dress properly. Dress the way you wish to be addressed. Ignore that entire pant on the nape of the butt thing. Leave that to Little Wayne and all those guys on rap videos and the guys in prison. I am not saying you should spend all your money on clothes; all I am saying is that you should spend a little money on the right kind of clothes. Dress preppy. Not my words, but sage advice someone gave me many years back. Chinos pants and button down shirts. It is in your own interest to dress this way. It is reassuring. It makes you less suspicious. If you don’t believe me, walk into your local Walgreens in sagging black jeans, black hoodie, and sneakers and watch the security guy follow you all over the store. Go back the next time dressed preppy and watch him smile and greet you with a Hello, buddy.
Since you’ll not be driving, I suggest you invest in a good winter coat. Do not skimp on this. You can buy one on a layaway plan. London Fog is a good brand. You do not want to suffer from any cold-borne illness. They do to the black man what tropical illnesses do to the white man.
Talking about the bus, riding buses is a big hassle especially in winter. Their schedules are crazy. Looks like the auto companies want every American to drive a car. What makes the buses worse is the bus people. Your first thought would be that the buses are great. You’ll think the buses are clean. You’ll think the buses are not that bad. This is because you are still making the transition from the public buses back home. I remember them with their mobile pastors who pray for everyone in the bus and then pass little envelopes around for donations. With their medicine hawkers whose little pills cure TB and gonorrhea and chickenpox. Where if you are unlucky you could get your pocket picked either while rushing to board or struggling to alight.
American buses do not have those issues, but they have their own issues. Most municipal buses are filled with crazies. They may not bother to wash themselves or brush their teeth, but they feel compunction to lean into your face and start a conversation with you. I am a user, you know. Not proud of it, but not for nothing, you know, it is what it is. Buy an iPod. Blast your music. Do not engage in conversation. Do not smile.
To join or not to join? Village associations, town associations, state associations, country associations, continent associations. They have them here. All sorts. They meet once a month or once every three months. Different names, same parole. You pay a membership fee. You pay a monthly contribution. Someone hosts the meetings. The host provides food and drinks. There is usually a Christmas party. In the event of a birth, you get a cash gift. In the event of the death of a parent, you get a cash gift. In the event of your own death, they are responsible for flying your body back home for burial. Quite frankly, I think you’ll be better off with life insurance.
Take accent reduction classes. Many people will tell you they don’t know what this is—I do. I took one and that did help me a lot here. When I speak, people can hardly differentiate between me and a native-born speaker. Not speaking the way Americans speak is like a dead man refusing to speak in the language of the dead. Don’t be deceived by all that false cooing by old ladies—oh, that’s a lovely accent where are you from? Some lady once told me that when you speak with an accent people pay more attention to what you are saying. What she failed to add was that they also speak to you very slowly having concluded that you are an idiot.
Buy a $1 lottery ticket every Friday. You are not likely to win, but hey as they say here, you never know and you have to be in it to win it. Avoid the casinos. They have some of the saddest people in this country. Do not be deceived by their inviting names. I know a guy who started going to a casino out of loneliness. He couldn’t wait to get out of work and head up to play the slot machines and the blackjack. He had not yet heard the expression the house always wins. He would win a few dollars and put it back in. He was soon taking payday loans to gamble. He promised himself he was going to stop. One evening he drove straight home from work. The first time in many months. He made dinner, poured himself a drink, watched a little television, and went to bed. He said at first he thought he was dreaming. He saw flashing lights, then the dings, tings, and pings. It was like the lights and sound of the casino were right there in his bedroom. He jumped out of bed, picked up his car k
eys, and drove straight to the casino. He got money from the ATM and began to play. He lost everything. He lit a cigarette—back then the casinos still permitted smoking—he smoked the cigarette halfway and dropped it on the thick rug. He drove home. The next morning he turned on the TV hoping to see the news that the casino had burned down. No such luck. Once again the house had won.
I would have wished to guide you through this maze of a country by hand myself, but as you well know, I’ll soon be gone. Voluntary deportation, that is what I took instead of prison. Voluntary indeed—an oxymoron. But as they say here, it is what it is.
Focus Group
#1
One thing that creeps me out about aliens is that they usually have large heads. Their heads typically look like they are too big for them, like a three-year-old lugging an oversized suitcase at the airport.
And they have this funny way of speaking, like they have a bee right up their tiny noses. I have never heard any of them speak with an indoor voice. Maybe they use a normal voice when they think no one is listening. But the ones I’ve seen, they always speak in this guttural, squeaky voice. The cool thing about when they speak, though, is that it comes off as glubglubglubglub, but then there is usually a subtitle and I guess there is some guy on TV who speaks their language because the subtitle would translate into something that makes sense like, “I Come in Peace.” They usually speak in short precise declarative sentences. I never saw an alien tell a joke. Is it that they don’t have a sense of humor? Like what happens when three little green men walk into a bar …?