The Prodigal Renegade. Victor Fakunle

arrived at the USCIS office at 8:45. The building was heavily fortified, with armed guards in front of the security check point and metal detectors. After Danny was patted down, he got a ticket and was asked to sit in the waiting area with other applicants. Most were there from war torn countries and conflict zones. Some were with their entire family. He had ticket number ninety-two, and the last number called had been number forty-five.

      It’s going to be a long day, thought Danny.

      He took a seat next to a Mexican family. Danny wanted to strike up a conversation just to kill time, but he knew to keep quiet. He needed to stay in line with the script he had researched for possible answers to the immigration agent’s questions.

      A couple of times, people were escorted in handcuffs from the interview room. Danny felt his heart racing fast. He began to sweat down his back, even though it was freezing outside. Almost everyone in the waiting room still had their jackets on.

      “Calm down Danny. Calm down”, he whispered under his breath.

      Two hours later, number ninety-two flashed on the screen. He walked towards the interview room as if he were a pirate walking the plank. A blonde, blue-eyed, scrawny agent sat behind the desk. He looked as if he had not slept in days. His aura gave the impression that he was counting the days to retirement and a pension from uncle Sam.

      “Good morning. I’m Special Agent Scott Walker. Please close the door and have a seat.”

      “Thank you”, said Danny.

      As he tried to close the door, he saw the handle was missing. He remembered the people he had seen being escorted out in handcuffs earlier. The interview room was a trap. Without a doubt, Agent Walker must have had the pleasure of making lots of arrest.

      “I see you’ve applied for asylum and your birth certificate states you were born in Monrovia. I’ve been doing this job for a long time Mr. Adeyinka.”

      “Please just call me Danny.”

      “Okay Danny, I’m going to be straight with you. I think you are Nigerian. Though all your paperwork is complete and looks authentic, my gut feeling tells me you are Nigerian.”

      “I’m not Nigerian,” said Danny.

      “Tell me, how did you get to the shores of the U.S.?”

      Danny was glad when he heard the question. It had been one of the questions he figured they would ask.

      “During the war, I escaped to Yamoussoukro in Côte D’ivoire. That was where I boarded a plane to Canada and a few days later, crossed the border into Buffalo, New York.”

      “Really? So, what’s the color of the uniform for the Canadian immigration officers?”

      “White and navy blue,” said Danny swiftly.

      Agent Walker was quiet for a minute. “This is exactly why I believe you are Nigerian. You are too smart and cunning.”

      Danny wasn’t sure whether that was an insult or compliment. The door opened and two more agents walked in.

      “Can you stand up and place your hands on the wall, sir?” asked one of them.

      Danny did as they asked. They patted him down from his collar to his shoes and checked his wallet. He felt relief when he remembered he’d removed everything except a five-dollar bill before leaving the apartment in the morning.

      “Nothing here, sir,” the agents said to Walker.

      “Thank you gentlemen,” he replied looking very disappointed.

      When had Agent Walker called for back-up? He had been right in front of him the entire time. Maybe Walker had a secret button under his table. After the agents left the interview room, Walker apologized.

      “I was just doing my job, he said. I’m still going to go with my gut feeling and deny your asylum application. Do you have anything else to tell me? Can you show me further evidence to corroborate your story?

      “I can check when I get back home.”

      “Alright, your file will be on my desk. You are free to go. Here is my card, just in case you need to call me.”

      Danny said, “thank you” and quickly walked out of the building.

      “That was close”, he muttered.

      Before he got back on the train, he threw Agent Walker’s card in the bin. He hoped never to see that building again.

      Chapter 8

      IT HAD BEEN SIX YEARS SINCE EVELYN LEFT DANNY IN THE U.S. Danny became an undocumented immigrant once his B2 visa expired. Getting a job was challenging. Danny wandered for miles and filled out several job applications, but was unsuccessful. It wasn’t long before Danny knew all the characters on the popular daytime soaps. After agonizing months of joblessness, he became frustrated. It had not been comfortable living with Chubi and Bunmi. Chubi came home from work drunk every day and slept on the couch snoring violently.

      Who could blame him? thought Danny.

      He had caught his wife cheating with Musa, an old friend of Chubi who also lived in the same apartment complex. Chubi began paying daily visits to the liquor store after his shift. The atmosphere was tense, and it was soon clear to Danny that he was no longer receiving free board. One day, Danny came home after a fruitless job hunt and decided to get something to eat. He was looking forward to the delicious leftovers from the day before. He opened the fridge and was greeted with a sign on the pot of egusi soup that read, “PLEASE DO NOT TOUCH.” Danny called Dele over.

      “Do you know anything about this?”

      “Now you know why I eat at work before coming home. I don’t need this crap,” he said.

      “Well, I don’t have that luxury since I don’t have a job yet. Until then, I’m just going to skim off the top.”

      “What if you get caught? asked Dele”

      “Bite me,” he replied.

      Danny finally got his first job as a cook at Pizza Hut. Desperate, he had called Jimmy, his cousin living in Dallas for help. Jimmy’s friend was a manager at the restaurant in the upper east side of Maryland. In six months after a lot of hard work, Danny became a Shift Manager and was proud of his achievement. He loved going to work. It was exciting. There was always some kind of drama at the restaurant with a customer. Once, a customer complained that her pizza did not look exactly like the one advertised on television. She created such a scene, the police were called to address the public disturbance.

      Danny later got a job as a security guard and finally decided to start his own business, selling used cars. He was passionate about cars. He got the idea from Nnamdi, a regular at the bank where Danny worked. His company had won the contract after the bank got robbed during the previous Christmas.

      Nnamdi came into the bank daily to make deposits. Danny admired the way he dressed and the cars he drove. Every time he came to the bank, he drove a different car. Danny got curious and approached him after his daily deposit.

      “Good morning to you Danny. How are you today?”

      “Great I suppose. Sorry to bother, are you a car dealer?”

      “Yes, I am. Why do you ask?”

      “Well, just wondering how I can get in on the action?”

      “Oh! No worries. I go to different auto auctions every day to buy cars. Anytime you are free, you can join me.”

      “How about next Monday? I’ll take the day off.

      “Okay. Send me your address and I’ll pick you up on Monday.”

      “Great,” said Danny. He was excited.

      At his first auction, Danny purchased two cars for five hundred dollars each, and sold them for a profit over the weekend. Danny had found his