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Chapter One

It was 8 o’clock in the morning when one of the uniformed guards marched up and opened the huge iron gates of the Embassy; a sign that the fi rst interview for the day was about to begin. The air, that had been bitterly cold a few minutes before, suddenly became electrified, like a classroom at the commencement of an important exam. All around me, people were putting on their bravest expressions, in an attempt to disguise the mounting tension inside them, but their darting glances and perspiring faces betrayed these overt displays of false bravado. I braced myself and waited, trying hard not to look at the long queue ahead of me.

The first person to be interviewed that morning was an old, bald and wrinkled man, who limped up to the guard and presented his passport as soon as his name was called. The tough-faced guard puffed out his broad chest as he peered at the document. Other visa applicants waited, and a hush of silence descended upon the crowd. The guard ushered the hairless man in, with an air of utmost importance, as if his authority transcended the spot where he stood.

The spell of silence was broken. Everyone breathed a sigh of relief, and general conversation resumed. Most of the people were arguing about the old man’s chances of getting a visa.

“I am sure they will give him the visa,” a deep voice behind me boomed.

“What makes you so sure?” A female voice countered, almost angrily.

“Well,” the baritone went on, “he is an old man, and what will a man like that want to immigrate to the USA for?”

“You don’t know what’s going on in America, do you?” The female voice sounded scornful.

“What do you mean?”

“My sister who lives in America told me that she works alongside women old enough to be my grand mother, and most of them are immigrants. Everyone wants to live permanently in America.”

Like a street brawl, this argument soon turned into a great debate. More people joined. Some took the side of the man with the deep voice, while others backed the girl. The pros and cons of the outcome of the old man’s interview were being tossed around like a verbal war.

Without uttering a word, I kept my eyes pinned straight ahead, playing and replaying in my mind the possible questions the Consular Officer might ask me and trying to bring up creative, spontaneous and believable answers to them.

I was so busy with my thoughts that I didn’t even notice when everyone suddenly ceased talking. I snapped out of my reverie. A deep silence had taken over the atmosphere. I turned around to fi nd out why.

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