This is the second part of my story, My Father Is A Disgrace To Other Fathers, which I started last week. Part 3 and Part 4 of it will be published next week and the week after next week, respectively. Enjoy it!
In the absence of an American Visa, I opted to travel to Germany. Unfortunately, again, I couldn’t find anybody who could help me procure a German Visa. The only connection that I had was that of a guy who offered to help me with a Belgian Visa.
After my negotiation with him, he requested for part of his fee, so that he could swing into action, and I paid him. In less than five working days, the visa was ready. Before then, I had saved up enough money to pay for my travel ticket and other important requirements, including my basic travel allowance, BTA.
A few days after all my documents had been assembled and certified complete, I departed Nigeria for Belgium aboard Lufthansa Airline.
On my arrival in Brussels, the capital of Belgium, the unexpected happened. Apart from the discriminatory and hostile reception I received in the hands of some Belgian immigration officers, my visa was discovered to be fake.
I didn’t contest that discovery with the Belgian immigration officers, neither did I argue with them. I didn’t take any risk of arguing with them over it because I didn’t know how and where my visa was procured.
The only consolation I had was that we were many that had similar problems. Coincidentally, most of us were young people from different countries of the world.
We were later taken away from the airport to a place outside Brussels, which was specially made for people like us. We were kept there to enable the Belgian immigration authorities prepare the documents to be used against us in Belgian court.
I was confused and didn’t know what to do. While some of us were busy putting calls across to some of their relations and friends to come and save them, I had nobody to call except the One who rules in the affairs of men, Jehovah God. All I did in that hopeless situation was to pray to Him in my own little way and thereafter resign my fate to Him.
Whenever I was praying, my mind was also thinking of how my poor mother in Nigeria would feel to hear that I was in a detention camp or that I had been deported. Each time I thought of this, a quiet voice inside me would always assure me of success.
One night, as I was fast asleep in my corner at the detention camp, my corner-mate from Uganda tapped me on the shoulder and said in a hush voice: “Wake up, get up. Somebody wants to help me leave this place and I would like you to leave here with me.”
Immediately I heart ‘leave this place,’ I sprang on my feet and waited for the next line of action. As I raised my head towards the entrance door to our cell, I saw a young White man at the door, waiting to take us out of the place. In a twinkle of an eye, we were out of the god-forsaken place, heading for total freedom.
As we got out of the arena, our saviour said to us: “There’s an aircraft waiting to fly to the Netherlands from Brussels. I want to check the two of you into it. So, hasten up so that you do not miss the flight.
“When you get to the Netherlands,” continued the White guy while driving my Ugandan friend and I to the airport, “a friend of mine, whose particulars I would give you, would receive the two of you and offer you further assistance.
“Finally, it is advisable you change your name when you get there. That would help shield you from being traced to Holland by Belgian immigration authorities. My friend in Holland would guide you on how to do it.”
In a few hours after that, we were at the Schiphol Airport in Holland. It was there and then that my Ugandan friend disclosed, to me, the identity of the White man who smuggled us out of Belgium . The White man was the lawyer, who had been defending him at the court in Belgium.
What happened that day was like a dream to me. It was like the Bible story of Paul and Silas, who were assisted by angels of the Lord to escape from prison.
I simply cannot stop thanking God for that rare favour. May His name be praised continually!
…to be continued next week
P.S. Because of the careless attitude of my father towards me while I was growing up, I am always excited whenever I see animals, who may not be as sensible as humans, but are caring towards their young ones.
As a result of my love for them, I am going to use their photographs to illustrate each part of my four-part story.
