Roosters crowed. A dog barked. A
car horn honked in the distance. A thick, white blanket of fog hugged the town.
Everyone was asleep. Well, except for the six bright-eyed, anxious, excited yet
nervous children—four boys and two girls. Today promised to be a day like no
other. Hurriedly, they jumped in their Sunday best, washed down an egg sandwich
with some hot cocoa that their step-father had fixed. A white taxi pulled up.
They piled in and gave the cabby instructions to go to Kingston International
Airport. They were on their way to the United States of America. And mamma
would be waiting with open arms.
“Ladies
and gentlemen, welcome on board the love bird: Air Jamaica.” The deep, accented
voice of the pilot boomed throughout the aircraft. Ding. The fasten seat belts
light flashed. The children fiddled with their seatbelts until they heard the
click. The engine roared. The bird strutted then raced down the runway.
Suddenly, an unknown force pinned them against their seats. Up, up, up and away!
They were airborne. The lush mountainside waived good bye as the fluffy clouds
welcomed them. The blue sky smiled. The children grinned from ear to ear.
After
what seemed like forever, the plane descended, bumped along the asphalt, then
rolled to a stop near an enormous building that stretched for miles.
“Welcome
to Miami.” The hostess announced. The children freed themselves from the snug
seatbelts, grabbed their simple duffle bags from the overhead bins and followed
behind the rest of the passengers. Bienvenido. Bienvenue Benvenuto. Their heads swam with the noise; the
languages; the signs. Despite it being mid-April, they shuddered from the
arctic air coming from the air conditioner. A fresh, unfamiliar scent filled
the air. Could it be the newness of America? Or, was it the scent of brand-new
opportunities? Whatever it was, it was exhilarating!
They
joined the visitors’ line. The oldest teen handed over the passports to a
soldier-like immigration officer who was impeccably dressed in crisp white
shirt, black pants and black patent shoes. He studied the documents, handed
them back and pointed to an adjacent room. Timidly, the children marched in.
They were ushered to the green plastic chairs. After fifteen minutes, a stocky
female officer with a tight pony-tail approached them. The children stiffened
involuntarily. She gave them a warm, wide smile. They relaxed. She took the
passports and the sealed manila envelope with the medical records.
“Who’s
picking you up?” she asked no one in particular.
“Mama,”
the youngest sibling chirped.
Finally, she stamped each passport,
handed them back said, “Welcome to America!”
“Thank
you,” they chorused.
They
followed the exit signs to ground transportation. It seemed like a convention
was in progress. The crowd was thick. The honking horns and organized chaos was
overwhelming. The children searched for one familiar face—a face they have not
seen in four years—a face that meant the world to them.
“Hey,
my babies!” Mama ran towards them. The children screamed and ran into the arms
of their mama. Yes, today was a day like no other.
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