Deportation Situation


I Was Deported!

Once upon a time, I was deported from England. My plane touched down at 10am on wednesday in London’s Gatwick airport. I was released by immigration somewhere around 8 hours later. Bags searched, fingerprinted and left to sit on a bench in a windowless room without being informed of what was going on, why this was happening or even what they were going to do with me. I wasnt allowed to contact my family or even inform D who was waiting to pick me up in the parking lot of my situation. Poor bugger was chainsmoking cigars with worry, this little trip has probably given him lung cancer. I didnt sleep monday night for excitement, I didnt sleep tuesday night on the plane, so everything that was going on was very surreal and I felt soooo sick and tired and scared. A fellow detainee from St. Lucia told me that they were sending her to a “mini motel” for the night, but the smartly dressed Nigerian man in the corner had been there for a whole day and was forced to sleep on the metal bench. He finally got up with either nerve or frustration and knocked on the door and very politely pleaded to know what was happening and had the door quickly shut in his face– “sir, go sit down, sit down sir, you have only been here 12 hours”. 12 hours! Ive never seen a giant african man cry before. Sitting in a room for that long doesnt sound as stressful as it is, considering youre powerless and in the dark about everything its a very effective kind of mental/emotional torture. But hey, it wasnt totally inhumane, we got all the free pre-wrapped sandwiches we could handle!For a while the woman from St. Lucia, Ferdillia, and I chatted and cried together. She was a bit of an angel actually, I hope things work out with her back home. Atleast shes from a nice warm country. They interviewed (read: interrogated) me and decided that the ₤2000 I had wasnt enough to survive in england for one month. Along with various other bullshit descrepencies. Not that that mattered anyway because they already believed I had no reason to ever leave the UK and therefore wouldnt. Guilty until proven innocent.Anyroad, out of kindness they let me stay with D until my flight went out friday morning and I had an absolutely lovely 32 hours with him as well as his friend Rory. Things from my day in Swanage:

– The Fast Show
– Rory making us beans on toast
– A very hot shower
– A verrrry comfortable bed
– Not having to wear a coat
– “Why is there toast on the path?”
– “Chaas sar, thats brilliant! Cor”
– Tuna and black olives on pizza
– Alcoholic Milkshakes
– palm tree
– The smell of cigars
– Shopping for food

doing 160 down the M3
– Lulworth Cove at night
– Kimmeridge Bay, also, at night
– Giant grey rabbit in the headlights
– Rory’s basmati rice with a spicy fish bolognaise sauce
– His red guitar, fanny pack and excellent hat
– Grey Bottoms
– Pickle spread on red leicester
– Lemon Aquadrops, Aero mint bubbles, UFOs and white chocolate skulls
Then back to the airport where I had an immigration officer accompany me everywhere, which was slightly embarrassing. Sad looking 22 year old canadian girl in a kitten ear hat– very threatening to national security. Brief stopover in Montreal then back in Toronto where customs had a chat with me, and then Immigration had a chat with me, and then this other section was in charge of going through my bags one more time for good measure. My cousin was waiting for me in the terminal making a movie of “The First Member of the Family ever to be Deported!” and shouted Hi Cousin Kara! As soon as he saw me he immediately shut the camera off because my face looked so deeply unhappy. Rather shit holiday. Atleast I had a window seat… and 6 in flight movies. I dont recommend Grid Iron Gang by the way.

The Moral of this Story:

ALWAYS

have a Return Ticket.

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Author: Kara Lalalala

I write this blog for my family cause I am terrible at letters & emails.

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