The traveling passport

A lost passport and a flashes of injustice

 

 

 

 

 

 The traveling passport

The taxi stopped by the edge of the grassy area, predominated by inhospitable bushes. The driver, a young looking Indian man ushered us out of the cab, and told us to run across the bushy area.

“Go straight “he said pointing “Go go”

“But it could be dangerous “I point out, rather pitifully,

However, the young man was gone, my partner, a biggish man, and me slowly and hesitantly proceeded to move forward. The sky was getting dark. Forward we went, a large bush is in front of us, we suddenly find our running legs and rush for cover into the bush. The bush becomes our guardian angel, for a few seconds anyway. Reluctantly we leave the bush, crouching, we see lights up ahead. We start to head for the lights, my ears suddenly become alert to a sound, a passing car, my heart starts to race, and we crouch down instinctively waiting for the car to disappear. It seems to take forever but the metal box, on wheels eventually disappears. I look up and wait for my partner to take the lead, he starts to move, and I follow him. The eyes are alert my body has never been so alert, the words a  famous philosopher spring into my head, ‘man is at his greatest when he is at war, when he feels danger, the body is at its most alive’. I just wish it did not have to be today.

 

 

 

A passport that travels alone, now that’s a dangerous thing, a passport that travels alone is a dangerous thing that produces panic and heart-attacks, a passport without its owner is in a state of separation, it should be in sync with other elements to be part of the whole, a psychologist might say it’s in denial.

       I once had my passport travel alone or in different hands it was my fault, and at the same time, it wasn’t my fault .Why did I separate from my passport? That is a long story, and I would rather explain how I got my passport back.

       However to cut a long story short, the location that I was living in, the time I was living in, would certainly allow for the separation of a passport, and I was not the only one that did it - this thing. Obtaining visas eventually became tiresome and when work eats up time, and there are other alternatives; then people, after a while tend to follow the crowd and allow the inevitable to happen, and after much inner fighting I joined the crowd.

 

I mean who gives their passport to a complete stranger! But, in those days we did. We? Other people in the same boat. Moreover, it had always been ok, my passport had been accompanied with other passports many times without any problems, I would welcome it back, and the passport had a nice holiday, meeting other passports.

Nevertheless, it had to end. All because of some stupid meeting, where important people meet and discuss, ‘important things’. This meeting had nothing to do with me, but, as is the trend, politics   infringes on everybody’s life. I was living my life, free from political machinations, progressing and developing my inner being, learning and then unlearning in the cycle of life, laughing and defending my mistakes and trying to control my ego, in an environment that made it difficult. I had a respectable job, had great friends had my sport, had Girlfriends and the lot. However, all this became a side is issue and a huge blur, when one day about two months ago a telephone call told me , my passport was in limbo.

“What do you mean in limbo”?

“Well…em….em, because of the meeting, things are getting strict on this side of the border. So they need…need to see your face and everything will be alright”

“Everything will be alright; I won’t get in trouble “I ask, nervously hoping for a positive answer,

“Well, it should be ok; you just need to show your face, there’s no come backs or anything”

“I see” I reply

“Don’t worry you’re not alone, there’s a few in your position” the voice says

That does not make me feel any better; my heart is only now slowing down to its normal pulse rate.

“Look, what you have to do, is get down to the border, I will pay for your flight, it’s my reputation that’s hurting, so I think I should pay, it is the least I can do”

“Ok” I reply

“From the airport, make your way to this address, I send it to you via email and he will take care of you, he’ll send you to the border and you just have to show your face” the voice on the phone slightly imperatively suggested. “You won’t be alone, although it depends what day you go,” he continues, “When you get your flight ticket, show me the receipt and I will reimburse you, I am really sorry about this, I can’t apologise enough” he finishes. The sympathy is nice to hear, I mean it could have been worse, he could have said, that it was not his problem; however, none of this makes me feel better.

“Ok” I say, “I …I go and get the ticket tonight”

“Good, and I send the mail of the address” he replies “Ok good luck, speak to you soon.”

“Right bye,” and that was it, I did not think to ask any details about anything, I just instinctively trusted the guy, and thought to myself that he sounded genuine, despite the gravity of the situation.

I recall the taxi ride to the travel agency as if it was yesterday, I also recall my feelings at the time and they were so strong. On my way to buy a flight ticket, I remember the most dominant feeling was that of embarrassment, the shame of it, it wasn’t the’ higher people’ that had scared me the most, although the thought of being un-ceremoniously booted out of my adopted home didn’t feel me with glee; but, it was what my family would say, man they would be angry if they found out. The stupidity of the thing that’s what they would have said, the worry I would cause them also troubled me greatly. Throughout my life, I had given nothing but worry to my family, who like to worry anyway even at the best of times. I decided not to tell a soul of my predicament.

Looking back now, I find it amazing that I did not ask about any details about my rendezvous, I suppose I did naturally trust the guy and the emergency of the situation, suggested that questions or too many of them were highly pointless. It only emerged to me, that when I did land at the border town, I hadn’t a clue of what procedure to follow. All I knew was that I was to go to the given address and from there; I was to follow the instructions given to me. That is what my man on the telephone said. It seemed crazy, I mean I was not thinking of some plan, I was in the hands of other people; the same hands that had help get me into this mess in the first place. I felt like an outsider with no control of what was happening around me .However, panicking would do me no good. I had to trust my instinct and go with the flow, I trusted the man on the phone and after all, they were going to help me get out of the mess they were partly to blame for, it was there karma. Naturally, a fear of the unknown pervaded itself. I was heading to a town I didn’t know, meeting some man I didn’t know and I was to follow him…..to where I didn’t know. Maybe to prison, I mean what is the punishment for not accompanying your passport to the border checkpoint. It seemed unfair, hundreds if not thousands of people in the same position as me did this, why was I being picked on. Of course I knew that people on the outside, would not have much sympathy with me and my predicament. Shame was the dominant feeling. I had held out for a year, doing border trips when everybody else was telling me I was an idiot for not using, the service. When I did finally succumb, it had gone ok. Even on this last trip, the contact had told me that despite the meeting, there was no problem. I suppose that is why he decided he had to take charge of the situation and pay for the flight tickets. He seemed like a trust worthy guy.

Nevertheless, at the time my mind was now zoned into one direction. Emergencies do that, they just stop you thinking. Did not a well-known philosopher once say… oh to hell what he said, I certainly was in the zone however, with no thought of the outside world . It had been a while since I had been in this Zen type state.

 

Chapter 2

Usually the sights and sounds of the city, the human going on, the colours of the neon lights were always fascinating for me. One friend of mind called me an observer, even a type of anthropologist, a comment that always stuck in my mind. For me I was always in wonderment, curious if anything new was going on and happy to see life, I saw myself as a humanist, looking at the world through a glass window, probably, my life was boring. However, on this day I wasn’t so curious, I still looked out of the window but the curiosity had vanished. Suddenly, the taxi stopped. I had arrived at the travel agency. I felt things were moving at least, in which direction though, I couldn’t tell!

Twenty minutes later, I had my ticket, the flight was for Thursday and today was Tuesday, so there was nothing else to do but to enjoy the sunny weather and have a cool ice coffee, I always remember drinking ice coffee. I recall I was feeling a touch better, action always does that, taking action, what a wise concept, the genius who thought of that was top of the tree, maybe even the Buddha himself. I had not procrastinated I had acted immediately, now there was nothing to do, but keep my wits about me and for now anyway the rest was out of my hands. I was forced to buy a first class ticket but it didn’t matter I had not even blinked when the travel agent told me that was the only seat available . It didn’t cost much more, and It took my five seconds to decide, the gravity of the situation, reared its head again and the cost didn’t matter. I know I treat myself to a taxi back home, thinking to myself as I drank from my straw. The money factor just didn’t come into the equation, during these troubling times.

And then as a negative thought came, a sudden panic came over me, I’m on a plane and without my passport. No Passport, what is that all about? The first thing that came into my head, was to give my agent a call, he answered the phone,

“Hallo”

“Yeah Hi, its Tony” I said

“Tony”?

“Tony Linnidles” I said,

“Hi Tony, Did you get your ticket”? He asked.

“Yeah” I thought about telling him that I had to get a first class ticket, but it really seemed unimportant, “I fly on Thursday at 11.00am,” I carried on

“Ok Tony, I contact my contact there and tell him your coming…….Tony try not to worry, we’ll get this sorted out” He said sympathetically. I still had no idea how he was going to sort it out.

“I Hope so Mate, listen it occurred to me, wont I need my passport when I fly down”?

“Well you don’t have a passport….oh I see. No no it’s a domestic flight, they never ask, so don’t worry on that score”, He said with his Australian accent.

“So I won’t need it then?”

“No, I’ve done it a number of times, and they never asked me once, do you have a drivers licence?”

“No I don’t have one”, I replied anxiously, always feeling embarrassed whenever I was asked that question, having a driving license , seemed as obligatory has having breath in this world!

“Well if you got some ID, take it, but trust me they never ask,” He said confidently,

“Ok,” I replied, not hundred per cent convinced, s**t! Another thing to worry about!

“Listen Tony I got to go, but I can give you the plane ticket money tomorrow, how does that sound?”

“Where usual place, what time”? I said,

“What time would suit Tony”, he asked quickly,

“Around four……usual place”, I asked

“Fours fine Tony, at the usual place”,

“Ok, cheers”

Ok, Tony good luck any more questions just call..ok”!, he said,

“Ok cheers”, I said, feeling slightly down, my mood had got a touch dark.

I rarely recalled past conversations but these conversations with my agent about this problem, are etched in my mind so well.

Thursday morning had arrived and I took a taxi to the airport. My immediate concern was somebody asking me to present my passport. While I had butterflies in my stomach, I stoically kept going, as I always did. Here was another test of my character, trying to remain calm, in any difficult situation. Lots of deep breathing was going on in my stomach area, as I walked to the ticket counter to confirm my seat. I had no baggage, just a small carrier bag. Inside were a couple of books, a book on Buddhism and a more light type of novel, a type which I usually never read, about some traveller backpacking around the world. A friend of mine had given it to me and I felt a certain familiarity with the story of the backpacker.

The airline attendant was a tall guy and camp, but not in the style of that of a TV presenter, with exaggerated mannerisms and gestures. This guy was neat and professional. “Here you are sir”, he said, as he handed me back my ticket accompanied with a big smile, I remained calm,  was he going to ask for my passport, his smile remained and I was off to my next checkpoint I felt a sea of calmness surround me, ok I still had to get past the security checks  which caused me some anxiety. I had my excuses already formulated in my head and an old driving licence that I hadn’t bothered to renew, I couldn’t lose!

I needn’t have worried, this particular airport was very relaxed, as was its security checks that didn’t go overboard at any stage. It appears then, security only gets into the realms of a high security prison when the mention of a president comes to town and thanks to him and other wise men of the people, my passport was in limbo. ‘My poor little book how I miss you’!

My nerves felt a little easier, at least I had past one hurdle, I thought as I sat down on my first class seat, the stewardess handed me a newspaper, wow so this is the first class experience, this suits me , I felt as if I belonged here. I stuffed the newspaper into the netting holder in front of my seat and searched for the in-flight entertainment magazine. Damn, not one decent movie in fact there was no movies, the flight was too short to allow time for passengers to watch a movie, and there was tea to serve. The flight trip however was helping me forget my troubles and the dangers possibly laying in store for me in the border town, as I munched away at my bread roll and chicken, I felt a little cheated, Is that it, I complained to myself, no special food for us first class passengers, don’t we deserve more.

When I had arrived at the border town, I felt closer to my passport it was close real close. The plane trip had gone with no problems, but now I hesitated, I had to get into the centre of town, ok no problem although the taxi did concern me. Taking taxis in my adopted country were equivalent to participating in a lucky dip, you either got lucky or not. If not then you could be driving around in circles while the driver attempts to find your desired destination. I climbed in a taxi and showed the address to the driver and he seemed to know where he was going, which was more than I did.

The taxi driver dropped me off at the street, as I got out; I went into a new phase. Now I felt it really began, I was alert, and my mind went into survival mode, ready to answer any question with the correct considered response. I was in this dangerous predicament and in unknown territory. The agent had told me to make my way to his contact; something made me feel uneasy about the contact. Everything felt strange but despite the problems and feeling numb, I wasn’t panicking however I believed now was the time to be as cautious as I ever had been.

I found the building. Patels travel agency. Well at least I knew the contact was an Indian.

 

Chapter 3

 

‘Hallo sir, how can I help you’ said the southern Indian accent as I walked into the travel agency. I assumed it was Southern Indian because an Indian I happened to meet one day explained to me slight differences in accent in the provinces of India. We got chatting about Indian English and how the differences in accent  effects English pronunciation.

‘Yes my name is Tony, Mark Bryon told me to come here’ I did not want to divulge too much information; I didn’t know this man after all.

‘Ok ‘Mr Patel replied ‘I expected you, please don’t worry’ he continued ‘But this has been a problem, so many problems, it’s bad for business you know’

‘I’m sorry to hear that’ I reply, ‘what’s going to happen next’. I was more concerned with my passport than Mr Patels business.

‘Please do not worry we work things out’, Mr Patels optimism conflicting with his previous words. Then he stopped talking and turned to another man, who suddenly entered through a door behind Mr Patel’s desk and said something in Hindi. ‘Somebody else will also be coming we wait for him then we go, please remember when you get to immigration, don’t say anything, only if they ask you questions, but otherwise don’t say anything, are you working? Don’t mention it’.

Where are we going I thought, apprehension came over me again, but what could I do. Suddenly a fat balding man with a happy look on his face, wearing shorts and a t-shirt came into the travel agency, ‘Hi how’s it going’ he boomed with a London accent  and walked straight to Patel ‘I’m Mike’ he said as he shook hands with him.

‘Ah Mike, good your both here’ Patel replied, as he did, a sense of deja vu came over me.

 

Chapter 4

 

‘My cousin will drive you to the border……..ah he is here, don’t worry please everything will be ok’

Why does he say everything will be ok, my suspicious mind contemplated as the three of us got into the car.

Mike squeezed in the front seat with me at the back; the driver was a young man maybe no more than 20 years old. Mike wore a white t-shirt and white shorts with sneakers, while suggesting that he was fat, may be a bit strong, large. maybe a fairer word to describe him.

‘So what’s your name mate’, he turned to me asking,

‘Tony’ I replied ‘and your Mike right’,

‘That’s me’ he replied………’How long you been out here’ he asked,

‘Nearly three years, how about yourself’

‘Em’ he paused as to remember ‘Maybe 5 years now’.

The conversation carried on for a few minutes, Mike lived in the south of the country and had a little business going, however, the conversation soon turned to our predicament.

‘What do you reckon will happen?’ Mike asked me,

‘I don’t know, to be honest, nothing much has been said’ I replied

‘Did Mark tell you that it would be ok, when you gave him the passport’ Mike asked

‘Yeah he said it would be fine, but I think it was always going to be dangerous what with the big meeting and stuff’

The car was zooming at around 80mph, on the small road; I had no idea where we were although I guessed we were going towards the border. Greenery was absent, just a road with a yellowish backdrop. I looked at my cell phone it said 4.14, I had no messages, maybe I should have told somebody where I was going, but I didn’t want the fuss and it was in my nature not to have a fuss.

We had been driving for twenty minutes or so, when we stopped, suddenly; the driver made a phone call and started talking in Indian, Mike turned his chubby neck and faced me.

‘What….you don’t think they want us to jump out of the car and cross over the border by foot’ he said to me, smiling

I could not answer perhaps I was in a state of shock, I looked at Mike with wide eyes and turned my head looking beyond the window, I saw a grassy area predominated by bushes, the first thing that occurred to me was the bushes didn’t look very hospitable. Suddenly a flashback passed through my mind, I had seen this before; and with these thoughts stranded in my mind, the car sped off to its destination.

Where was this car taking us? So many unanswered questions….It felt as if I wasn’t part of this world anymore, as if I was floating in the middle of some entity , between heaven and hell….zero control that’s what it is, I had no control no questions answered and because of it I felt as if I was a light feather being sucked into somewhere. I wasn’t used to this, I always wanted answers, I always had to have enough control to satisfy my ego. I felt as if I was being sucked in with a big hand at the end of the journey to which I was being goaded into and would disappear into. I felt stupid as if I was allowing this to happen and I wasn’t fighting it.

 

 

Chapter 5

Where I come from control the actual meaning and doing of the word is very important, certain cultures put a huge emphasis on control , however others would suggest a contradiction in this, and leaders of countries would rather dictate what type of control was assigned to the populace. Certainly, in my mind I felt such polarisations existed. Of course, as there are control freaks there also exists non-control freaks. One of my friends lost his wife to divorce papers because he was a control freak, everything was variable, and different degrees of control existed within each individual, regardless of the influences endorsed from society.

And going with the flow was the only thing I could do, in fact trying to control this situation was not only irrational but maybe dangerous. If the driver had told us to get out of the car, run across the grassy maul, and jump across two different countries borders, I may have obeyed. As it was, the driver did not ask us to jump out of the taxi in some mad chase but instead carried on driving.

The car turned into a small alley and stopped. The young driver turned to Mike and then me telling us to get out of the car, he looked surprised at our initial reaction, and he was surprised at our surprise. Why were we surprised? Maybe any kind of new development in this situation would always produce a medley of surprises. We followed the boy into a restaurant, which also had the look of a café that served food. We were told to sit down on a circular table. We were not alone, sitting at the table were two men and a middle aged woman, the two men looked slightly scary, the mafia came to mind, but it was the woman who looked the most scariest , I became fearful as my imagination gave out pre-determined images of these people.

As they spoke in their native language, they looked serious. Despite my knowledge of their language, I couldn’t quite grasp what they were saying. I could not figure out who they were. Mike looked equally perplexed, but seemed calm, I don’t know if he was anxious as I was inside and he seemed to have a better grasp of the situation. We were served coffee and offered food. Who were these people? I kept asking myself convinced they were mafia types.

And suddenly after all the torment and travelling, my precious baby was across the table and in one of the mafia men’s hands, my feeling was that of seeing a long lost relative. My beautiful red passport, looking as handsome as never before, my heart was relieved and joyous. In my head, the mafia guy handed me the passport, but in reality it just laid there next to the hitmans hands. Why wasn’t he giving me my passport, ‘Its there its mine its finished give it to me’!

 

 

But he didn’t give it back. The Mafia lookalikes and the female godmother started chatting, as they did a scooter passed by the window; there was I figured a connection with my passport and this scooter. I took out my cellphone, nope no messages, however what I did notice was the time, we had been here for around ten minutes although it felt like hours, I turned to Mike who seemed to be enjoying his free beer, putting the glass down on the table, he said ‘I wonder what’s happening next?’

 

Chapter 6

What happened was the scooter rider came into the restaurant and started talking to one of the men sitting at the table, as they talked the mafia man picked up my passport and Mikes   giving it to the scooter rider…….WHAT THE HELL!, My passport is walking again. In broken English the man said to us,’ Now go to control other side’, waving our passports in the air ‘No problem no problem’ he assured us. The passports were handed to the scooter rider and he sped off to the other side. Mike and me looked at each other, Mike gave a laugh, ‘Well it starts now’ he said, ‘What’s your name again?’

Mike and me continued where we had left off in the taxi and chatted for a few minutes about our life and adventures in our adopted home, from what he told me, Mike was having a good life, the life of the typical expat, a type of life that I had purposely stayed away from. I stayed away from expats for many reasons and I was quick to judge them also. Not that they were such an evil crowd, but, they did things that my own moral compass disagreed with, so I tended to be quick with my grumblings and my judgements. Mike was telling me about his wife and various businesses’, things I was all too familiar with expats.he scooter rider returned to the restaurant. Going into his man bag that was over his shoulder, and looking extremely well worn, proceeded to pull out two passports. He proceeded to speak to the Mafia types who had been talking and sipping coffee.

The returning of the two passports brought a sigh of relief, one hurdle accomplished. The Mafia type man proceeded to tell us that the other side had stamped our passports. Now, we waited with belated breathe for the next step on this unwanted adventure. The mafia man now handed the passports to us, finally it was in my hand, my passport my traveling passport. However, whatever the next step was, and how difficult it may be, I had my passport.

But there was no time for celebration, the main man now told me to go with the scooter guy and proceeded to tell me we were heading to the border this side, ‘No problem’ he said as he looked at me with a not so confident face.

 

Chapter 7

It had been a while since I had been on a scooter, in those days I was riding them rather than being a passenger, it felt strange. The driver couldn’t have been more than 20 years of age, he carried his tatty man bag and stunk of cigarette smoke, which mixed with his sweat caused by the heat, gave him an old man smell. Our destination was the border, but as usual that’s the most I knew. Too many things were going through my mind; my biggest fear was what would happen while going to get the stamp. Above all, it was the questions I most feared; I hated questions! But, at the same time It was bizarrely strange, I should have been shitting bricks, wouldn’t that be normal in this type of situation. but strangely enough I felt calm, as if I knew it was going to be alright, it felt as if some invisible force was protecting me, even though I couldn’t explain anything and felt no control of the situation.

The driver drove up a dusty road and then turned off to the left; to my right I could see a very feint checkpoint and an even fainter flag. It looked like we had arrived, we hadn’t been on the bike for more than two minutes and we were hardly going at any speed that would attract the attention of any traffic police. In fact, it was fair to say had we gone any slower the bike would have stopped automatically. That meant that the café string restaurant I had been sitting in was only around five minutes away from the border by foot. The bike made another turn and we slowly approached the immigration on our side. Basically we had driven behind the café turned onto a road and arrived at immigration. We had not crossed any border, but had entered around the back of the checkpoint, such as a department store worker would enter the staff entrance.

The rider told me to get off the bike, which I did without hesitation and my guess was I was to walk to immigration, I looked at the rider, and he pointed saying ‘Go go’. The last leg of this unwanted journey was about to begin. I hated these checkpoints, I always hated going through immigration in this country, and you just never knew what they might say or do. There were no rules. I had heard tourists having to pay a bribe/fine to get to the other side; it was always dependent on which immigration officer you happened to meet that day. I never had problems, but I had so many stamps in my passport that there was always in the back of my mind that one day when I would be asked tons of questions. I wasn’t a criminal and did nothing against the law, except working illegally that is .Most foreigners did and it was basically accepted from the locals, because they knew the hassle of working legally put everybody off the process of legality, it even seemed as if the government turned a blind eye. My job actually did not want me to get a working visa and they were a respectable institution.

There were two immigration officers, in two separate booths, whenever I had to go to immigration I would always study the officer’s faces carefully to see which officer seemed in a good mood and had a kind face. It was my strategy. I tended to avoid the obvious scary face, those who looked like they were eager for promotion. If they had a serious face and dressed too smart, it meant they were eager, as I said it was my strategy, I also avoided female officers, as they with a point to prove would also be eager. Young guys were more easy going and from experience wanted to get their shift over as quick as possible and with as little hassles as possible. Funny enough male officers with glasses I didn’t mind as they appeared intelligent and wouldn’t ask me any difficult questions either. I guessed their intelligence told them that I was a normal Joe who dressed respectably and had a respectable job; be-it without an official work permit. 

I slowly walked to the right sided booth, the officer seemed to have a more soft kind face than the officer did on the left, or maybe he was just having a better day. I handed my precious passport to the officer who to my surprise gave me a smile. The next part was always the most difficult. The silence that accompanied the checking of the passport, then suddenly as if from nowhere the silence was shattered by a bomb, or in my case a question, disturbing my balance and putting me on the backfoot despite the preparation done before hand in my mind. The officer looked at me and with that look my instinct breathed a sigh of relief, no questions came and he stamped it and then to my complete surprise said ‘sorry’.

I returned to the scooter waiting for me by the side of the flag, it was over.

 

Chapter 8

Back in the restaurant, I was sipping coffee when Mike returned from having his passport stamp and he seemed agitated.

‘Did they ask you any questions at the checkpoint?’ he asked me.

‘No’ I replied ‘Why’

‘They asked me some questions about my life here’ he said fidgeting on his chair his calm demeanour that had been prevalent throughout the day shattered right at the end.

‘It’s done now man’ I said trying to cheer him up. I was feeling happy even though I didn’t show it, I never did. I felt it was more justified to thank my lucky stars that my passport was back and that I was legit again. What a f*****g journey that was, another one of my stupid clumsy adventures. The Mafia guy wearing a Hawaiian shirt, smiled at us and to my complete shock also said sorry.

‘Many problems for you I am so sorry’. I really was confused now, which showed my complete naivety of the situation.

‘Not good for us’ he continued to say ‘Now we lose money’

Mike who had regained his composure turned to me and said that they were losing a lot of money because of the big meeting,

‘There all involved in this, they all make a little profit form this service’

‘I thought these people were really dangerous’ I replied

‘No I don’t think so, there just trying to make a quick buck, remember they are paid really poorly, for them this business with the meeting has proved to be a nightmare’

I suddenly realised that after all my fears there really had been nothing to worry about, well not as much as I imagined. Sure, the business at the checkpoint could have been uncomfortable, but as far as the people I was dealing with, it appeared they meant no harm. From the agent to the Indian guy right down to these people sitting at the table, were all involved in this scam. These people at my table were not mafia they were government officers, who were taking money under the table, they were here to help us not hurt us. I laughed inside what a country I thought, you have to adore it.

If I had taken a step back, maybe my rationality could have judged the situation better. Instead, fear took over and clouded my mind, yes on the outside, I appeared calm, but on the inside, I was nothing of the sort. But there had never been massive panic, and if I just had looked deep maybe I would have been more closer to my instinct and worried less much like the chubby Mike.

Returning home, via a taxi then a plane, I kept checking my passport admiring it and checking if the stamp was correct, and re-checking it; making the sure the stamp was of the correct type, worry is always around. I promised myself I would never lose my passport and trust it with nobody but me and for once, I was kind to myself and stuck to that promise.