Ralph’s 12:30 flight on Tuesday, February 8th out of Port-Au-Prince into Miami was delayed 3 times, ultimately cancelled and another flight was scheduled for 6:30 p.m. My flight from New York arrived in Miami at 12:30 that same day; plenty of time to meet his 1:30 original arrival time. I was the 'hand off' person. I met up with LP and Rodney (another relief worker) in the airport. We heard about the delays but because Ralph did not have a phone, we had no way of knowing if he ever made the later flight. The airline is actually prohibited from telling anyone who is on a plane. When the plane from Haiti finally arrived and all the passengers appeared to come through the customs gate, Ralph was nowhere to be found. It was more than an hour after the plane had landed and we had no idea where he was. Not only are customs and immigration agents hard to find, they don’t like to talk to the people waiting. They point and shrug and exhibit tremendous annoyance at anyone who dare ask them a question.
It was almost 9:30 p.m., 9 hours after my plane landed and I still didn't know if Ralph was even in the United States. I was starting to stress which is something I seldom do. I have such confidence in The Universe, I always feel that as long as I do what I need to do and put my best foot forward, whatever is happening is what’s suppose to be happening. My job is to deal with it. OK, I was not dealing with it very well (I was frantic) so I looked around for some assistance; someone I felt I could appeal to in some way. A young uniformed man comes walking out of the customs gate and I’m confident I can work this. “Maybe you can help me – PLEASE”, I say, leaning in, I put my hand on his forearm. “I’ve been waiting here since 12:30. It’s now almost 10:30. I don’t even know if the child I’m waiting for is even here. No one will talk to me. Please, can you just tell me if he is here or not”? The agent looks around, takes out a pen and asks me for the passengers’ name. Ten minutes later the agent reappears, looks at me from a distance, shakes his head yes and points upstairs. I don't know exactly where "upstairs" is but I know it's not in Haiti and that's all I care about. I relax. An hour later, I get a phone call telling me Ralph will be down in ten minutes.
Ralph was interrogated for 3 ½ hours. “Where did you get these papers?” “Did you buy them”? “How long were you in Haiti?” “How long were you in the United States?” He was asked the same questions over and over. One of the agents told him he would have to pay a $589.00 fine before they let him out. “How can I pay that if you won’t let me make a phone call?” Ralph answered wisely. Basically, it was 3 ½ hours of accusations that he falsified his documents. All they had to do was call me. I could have given them our Embassy contact in Haiti. OR, if they had looked at the document, they would have seen a name and number and made a call. Am I missing something? Are you allowed to hold a minor and deny him a phone call? One agent asked him if he wanted a bag of chips. “You better eat” he said. “You’re gonna be here for a while”. Ralph was told they could hold him for up to 12 hours and that he would have to go before an immigration judge. Thankfully, that never happened. They let him go and that's all that mattered. It was now Wednesday and we had a 1 p.m. flight to catch back to New York - out of Tampa!
to be continued......
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