…My permit would expire in September, so I paid him in May, leaving plenty of time so there would be no problem. Because I planned to visit my mother before the school term, I told him that I would need the permit so that I could re-enter the country without a problem. But it was a problem. He didn’t get it done. I was finished with him and when I left for California he handed over the receipts for government fees that I had already paid. When I flew back to Jamaica,

Immigration detained me at the airport, finally giving me two weeks to get my papers in order or face deportation. Phone calls, trips to Kingston, more fees, extensions, more phone calls, constant visits to the Ministry of Labour. I was told the permit would be ready in two more weeks. The weeks passed. No permit. They couldn’t find it at all. No record of it!

Meanwhile, I wasn’t allowed to work. I lost all the students that were to start in September. I did a lot of praying. “God what is it you want of me? God, am I on the wrong path here?” My only desire was to do God’s will.

I did get the permit at last. Someone knew someone who found out that the attorney had picked up the approval letter when I was out of town, I called him and he said he would give it to me for another $15,000. I paid and finally got that all-important letter dated September 11. However, the last line stated that the permit would be cancelled if not picked up within 30 days of the letter. That was late in November. There were more obstacles to overcome. By the time I finally got the permit I had paid over $100,000 for it. It was valid for less than 12 months, then I would have to go through the process for a third time.

My business never picked back up. I wasn’t getting anywhere with the Math Clinic. I felt defeated. I sincerely asked God if I were supposed to give up my dream. I asked him for a sign and then I learned that the cost of getting a permit had nearly tripled. Still I did not want to give up my dream of teaching in Jamaica. Then a dear friend of mine got killed. Too much of that in Jamaica. We all know that. Still I did not want to give up my dream. I interviewed for a job teaching adults through the “Food For the Poor Programme,” but was told they had to hire a Jamaican. What was there to do?

That was my last hope.

I am leaving now.

I’ve donated all my teaching supplies. My house is for sale, my car, all my belongings will be sold or given away. I don’t really know where I’m going. I thought I’d be in Jamaica until “death do us part”. Maybe I’ll go to Florida, because it’s easiest, although I will be a stranger there. I left the United States because I preferred the Jamaican culture and believed in the Jamaican people. I am not looking forward to going, but I am not looking back either. I’m simply in God’s hands. Amen.