SAMIRA
If someone had told me I'd be spending my day in jail, yesterday or some other day, I'd have shunned them for feeding me with lies, nevertheless, here I stood, the cold metal bars of the cell clasped in my hands and the foul smell coming from everywhere and nowhere in particular, reminded me constantly that I had been locked up. The whole ordeal was exasperating.
This morning, I had woken up with a silly grin on my face, all thanks to Chiké and the evening we shared. I couldn't stop smiling and talking to myself in the shower as I got ready for work. In fact, I had recounted last night's scene in my head a gazillion times that I could probably recount word for word, all of our conversations. It wasn't like we were on a date or anything, it was just two people hanging out, having dinner and getting to know each other better. Well, that sounds like the appropriate definition of a date to me, my subconscious replied with her tongue stuck out in a silly fashion. I left for work pretty late because all my thoughts were centered on the date we had. Did that mean I was beginning to want more between us? The novel thought made me pause to mull over by the pedestrian road walk.
Like lightening, my path was blocked by two men whose uniforms identified them as the police. One grabbed my hand and the other, in a brusque tone, asked for any means of identification I had with me. I only had my international passport which I took wherever I went to and from the very depth of my heart, I knew it had expired and that my stay here in Canada was illegal therefore, I feigned ignorance and acted like I had forgotten my Identity card at home in the hope that they would let me go. Alas! I was arrested faster than I could say the word 'please', taken to the police station and an investigation was carried out to know more about me. Before that, as I was dragged in, one of the detectives present had recognized me for my height and gold-dyed, low-cut hairstyle, as the woman who escaped being arrested at the train station. Damn, if I survived this, I would have to change my hairstyle into something more common that I would be rarely recognizable in a multitude of women.
The results of the investigation brought my illegal stay to light. I was told I would be locked up all day and then the following day, I would be deported to France. I lost awareness of the exact moment I began to cry until my cheeks were wet with tears.
"Before you get behind bars, is there anyone you would like to call? A family member, relative or friend?" The same detective who recognized me, asked, handing my phone over to me and stepping a few feet apart to give me a reasonable amount of privacy. I clutched my phone to my chest, baffled as to who I would call. Should I call my parents and tell them to wait for me at the airport tomorrow? No, that would be quite shameful as I wasn't returning home for the right reasons. What about Rose, or the maybe my old time modeling agents? Perhaps they could do something to help me? No, as far as I knew, Rose was also a woman hustling to make ends meet. Furthermore, it was possible that she was also staying illegally in the country. I couldn't bring her into this! More so, my modeling agents whom I hadn't been in contact with would find it odd that I was calling all of a sudden. I was sure they would ignore my call if they knew I was calling to ask for help rather than offering a business deal.
Damn! This was worse than I envisaged!
God, who do I call now? My frustration had rekindled. Just then, I remembered the man I had been thinking about all day. How come the thought of him flew out now when I needed him? Hastily, I dialed his number—which I had saved last night before going to bed—and drummed my fingers on the desk in anticipation. Ruefully, I realized he wasn't gonna pick after the third dial. A tear ran down as the officer collected my phone, a somber expression written all over his face as he ordered me to stand to my feet and get ready for detention. With my head bowed, I walked sluggishly behind him, dumbfounded that my life in Canada was about to end and I had not achieved anything tangible to support my family with. My parents and siblings would wait at the airport, eyes sparkling with happiness that their eldest daughter and sister had finally returned. And then what? It would only take them a day to realize I was penniless. It hurt to imagine the shock and disappointment they would feel if the exact scene unfolded.
Oh goodness! This couldn't happen. What have I done to deserve this? All my life, I had hoped that things could get difficult at first but would get better with time, so why did it feel like my better days were nonexistent? Why couldn't I live the life I had always dreamed and imagined? Why had life dealt cruelly with me? Why was life succeeding at breaking me into fragments of bitterness? Why didn't things go as planned or even smoother?
All my life, I had chosen to get back up when life pushed me down, to smile despite going through a host of misfortunes, to hold on to the thought of the light at the end of the tunnel even when it seemed like I had spent my whole life in a tunnel that had no end. Truly, I could say I faced my fears head on, refusing to give up. Why then were my misfortunes hellbent on shattering me; dragging me hook, line and sinker into misery and depression?
If I could fit into a huge tank, the tears I shed in jail, then I guess a million tanks wouldn't be enough to enclose my tears. I had never cried this way before! It felt like I was carrying the weights of the world. Why me? Why me? Why me? Didn't I deserve a shot at complete happiness? When will my battles end? When will I genuinely smile deeply from the bottom of my heart over the turnout of my life?
I felt lonely! I felt rejected! I felt removed from everyone else.
I felt defeated.
This realization broke me as I wailed until my body succumbed to sleep.
Jesus, help me!