The previous day I was released at 2:00 am from Glades County Detention Center where I had spent a month awaiting deportation for a Visa overstay. Glades houses approximately 140 women all in different stages of deportation proceedings. According to ICE, the average length of stay is 77 days (according to ICE) but most of the women I talked to had been there no less than three months. One Bermudian woman had been waiting over a year and had not yet seen a judge.
Once we arrived back at the airport I picked up my bag and asked the guards flanking my side for my money. At that point we were out in a parking lot somewhere at the back of the airport. The two guards stopped dead in their tracks and told me they didn't have any money of mine. Okay, so now this was becoming a scene straight out of The Keystone Cops, except it wasn't funny.
The next hour was a nightmare of unexaggerated proportions. Basically it became clear that the left hand didn't know what the right hand was doing and the joke was on me. I grew more and more anxious as it became obvious to me that they were going to put me on that flight without the $300 that I'd had in my Glades County Detention Center account. They called me a liar - told
While in the custody of ICE at GCDC I contacted Prisoners Abroad, a UK organization that helps people who have been detained in foreign countries and provides essential services upon reentry to the UK. I hadn't heard from them by the time I was escorted onto my returning flight but I had a phone number.
As soon as I got through customs I went straight to the loo to change into something hopefully warmer. I found a pair of jeans, a hoodie, clean underwear, socks and a pair of sneakers. Thanks to my friends in the Florida Keys, now at least I wouldn't freeze. The next thing to do was to find a phone so I could call Prisoners Abroad. I told the clerk at an information kiosk that I had no money and asked to use his phone. Of course, there was no answer and no way to leave a message. It was the weekend and I figured Monday would be my first opportunity to talk to someone about my situation. I had no idea what to do other than wait in the airport. It was starting to snow and looked awfully bleak out there. Terminal 3 was packed at 9:30 am. I grabbed a luggage cart and found an out of the way spot to sit down and think.
Turns out I didn't have a lot to think about. My choices were slim and there was not a whole lot I could do. I had to wait 48 hours and then if I didn't get anywhere I figured I'd find a police officer and get the law involved. I was in a foreign country (or so it seemed to me) and I didn't know where to turn. Had it been Canada or the States I would've known what to do but in England I didn't have a clue.
That morning I walked through the maze of underground walkways connecting the terminals of Heathrow Airport. I stayed clear of the food courts and restaurants because it made me feel worse looking at all the people eating. I was ravenous and didn't know when or where my next meal would come from. I spent hours walking and looking through the shops. I was exhausted in every way possible.
Sometime in the late afternoon I went in search of a chapel. I am not a religious person but I needed to summon some extra strength. On the Mezzanine level in Terminal 3 there is a small multi denominational chapel. It was empty thank God and very peaceful and quiet. At one point I started to cry and pray out loud. "Please, please if you can hear me up there, now is the time that I really need you. I need to get through this somehow. Please show me a way".
That night when the terminal slowed down and the shops closed I stretched out over a bank of seats and managed to catch a few hours sleep. No one bothered me. Even the airport cleaning personnel went about their business quietly. At some point a young guy came to join me and slept a few seats down. I guess he was lonely too. When I woke up the next morning it was just getting light and the place was filling up. I went to brush my teeth and splash some water on my face. I decided to go to Terminal 5 and see what was happening over there.
London and the whole south east of England was blanketed in snow. There were massive lineups at every ticket booth. People everywhere looked impatient and sullen. Most flights to the US were delayed. Cancellation announcements came over the PA every minute. I sat down in the middle of the hustle and bustle next to some innocuous looking man and took a look around. No one looked happy. I was starving but there was nothing to do about it. I picked up the newspaper beside me and started to settle in for a long and boring day.
After a while the guy beside me made a comment about the weather and we chatted for a while. His flight to Chicago was delayed. He was from Saudi Arabia going to the US on a business trip. I honestly didn't have the energy to lie to him so I told him why I was there. My story must have startled him because he didn't say much after that and we both went back to reading. We never exchanged names. Just another couple of strangers passing in the airport.
I don't know exactly what went on there but when I got to the loo and counted the money it dawned on me that a handsome middle aged man just left me a ticket to my way out of this mess I was in. There was no other explanation. You don't leave a short stack of money in a bookstore shopping bag on a seat and not return to get it. That dear man left me $3,000 in crisp new hundred dollar bills and £250.
Was it the power of prayer, or simply a stranger taking pity on another? I don't know but it's lovely and it happened to me. Thank you whomever you are from the bottom of my heart.
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