Diary,
For the next few weeks, I’ll be in Chicago for a medical conference. As I handed over my documents, I immediately realised I was on foreign soil as a barrage of questions hit me like bullets from a machine gun.
“Mr Thomas Aquinas Ojiambo,” said a bored-looking immigration official, “is this your passport?”
“It’s Doctor, Ojiambo. And yes.”
“Mister, Ojiambo, why are you visiting the United States?”
“Where will you be staying?”
“Who will you be visiting?”
“How long will you be staying in the US?”
“How much money do you have available for this trip?”
“Who is paying for your trip?”
“Have you visited the United States before, and if so, how long did you stay?”
Even after I specifically stated it was my first visit, without looking me in the eye, the man asked, “How often do you come to the United States?”
“I already said I’ve never been here.”
Now he looked up. “I’ll appreciate it if you save me the attitude, okay? I’m only doing my job.”
“I realise that, sir, but the official letter in your hands takes care of every one of those questions.”
He stood up. The guy was as tall as a giraffe and as fat as a cape buffalo. “Look here, sir, I don’t know how it works where you come from, but here in the United States, my job is to ask the questions, your job is to answer the questions. Are we clear on that?”
“Crystal, sir.”
He exhaled long and hard, just as one would expect of a cape buffalo.
“Okay then.” He flopped back onto his seat. “Mister Thomas Aquinas Ojiambo, why are you visiting the United States?”
“I’m here for a medical conference.”
“Where will you be staying?”
“Seriously, do we have to go through all that again? I thought we’d already—”
“Security check on counter three!” the man shouts.
“Security check? For what?”
“You are now officially detained for lack of cooperation with an immigration official.”
Have I ever told you sometimes my mouth lands me in trouble?
