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How karma forced us to end our fight
We had entered smack into the battlefield.
What you need to know:
- “You cannot have come here without interstate documents.”
- “Well, here I am.”
- He did not find this funny and pointed at another gentleman. “Go and explain to him. He is the supervisor.”
- The supervisor was stunned that I was in their land without the interstate documents.
It was only after lining up at the passport control in Rwanda that I heard of an animal called an interstate document. Talk of blissful ignorance. As I handed over my identity card to the customs official, I said:
“First time in Rwanda, I’m excited.” The grin on my face quickly cleared when, instead of a smile from this fellow East African, he said,
“It is your interstate documents I need to see. Not this card.” I gave him the boarding pass Kenya Airways had printed out.
“No…no…not this one. The other document, the one with a stamp from your country.”
“I have no other document.”
He sighed and gave me the exact look that I give my six-year-old when he asks me why he must shower every day.
“Check in your handbag. You have them.”
“I have no other document. I did not get any other document. I was told that I only needed this national identity card to come to Rwanda.”
“You cannot have come here without interstate documents.”
“Well, here I am.” He did not find this funny and pointed at another gentleman. “Go and explain to him. He is the supervisor.”
The supervisor was stunned that I was in their land without the interstate documents.
“Where are they?”
“Search me.”
“No. Show them to me.” This was not the time to joke, as it turned out. He listened to my story, which was relatively brief. The invite said that East Africans only require their national identity card. Seeing as my passport was expired, I had carried my identity card with my e-ticket, taxi and accommodation money. The rest was a breeze. Check-in and one and half hours later, boarded the plane and there I was. He interrogated me, called another person who asked me to start the story all over again, more questions and finally said,
“Go sit there. Wait.” Brother, didn’t I wait! Next to the Isolation Room set aside for anyone whose temperatures reached the Covid-19 limits.
The masked officials threw suspicious looks at my sad self. One uniformed official after the other came to hear my story. When they were exhausted with grilling me, their security guards followed. The first three guards had not got the full memo and assumed that I was Rwandese. They spoke in Kinyarwanda, and I responded in Kimeru. We perfectly misunderstood each other. A different official came, grilled me afresh and then said, “We can’t even deport you. There is nothing to show that you have even exited Kenya.”
“Oh. I’m I like an illegal alien now?”
“You have no interstate documents.”
