Falling down, and getting up again

We continue our series this week on female deportees and their struggles. God is always planning our lives and setting us on the correct path. But sometimes we take the wrong turn and have to accept punishment before the success comes.

Carol, whose name has been changed at her request, thought dealing drugs was the answer to getting away from poverty. all woman writers Beverly Melbourne and Doreen Clarke took her story.

To Miami I go

It has been 14 years since my deportation. I had put all the pain behind me until I read Veronica’s story two weeks ago, and realised that I was not alone in this journey. There is hope for all who stumble and fall, if we take up the pieces and

try again.

My name is Carol, and I’m the second of eight children. We were left behind in Jamaica by my mother who migrated to the USA to seek a better life. I was nine. At age 17, I migrated to the States along with my eldest brother.

I was already a mother with two sons, both of whom I had to leave behind in order to get my life together. My mother, although angry with me for having children so early, decided to give me another chance to achieve something in life. Miami, Florida, was my destination, and it was also the place where I made all the wrong moves, defeating the purpose of my mother’s efforts.

I settled and attended North Miami Senior High and although I had dropped out of school in Jamaica, I picked up really well and was at the top of my class – a straight ‘A’ student. After I graduated I was employed by the State Department and attended the Miami Dade Community College.

Everything was going great for me, but the man I was with was a drug dealer. I had it going on, making the money, taking care of my family, even along with the embarrassment of an arrest and my first seven months of jail time. It took seven months to really hear what my mother was telling me about my lifestyle and the crowd I was hanging with. But I was bent on doing what I wanted as I finally felt a sense of independence, and it felt good.

Looking back I realise that I was selfish and stupid, leaving a two-month-old baby with my mother to go and serve seven months behind bars. What was I thinking? I had been on my way to Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, with 20 pounds of weed when I was apprehended at Miami airport.

The narcotic agents seemed to have known who I was when I entered the airport. I learnt later that one of my boyfriend’s other women gave information to the police out of jealousy.

My boyfriend’s friend who was travelling with me was also arrested. I was sentenced to one year and one day, seven months of which I served in a state facility.

Joshua’s dream

Joshua, my eldest brother, had a dream when he migrated – of owning a Glock. The first thing he said to me when he got off the plane was that he had to get one. And believe me, he took less than a week to get that Glock. He worked hard to improve his criminal profile, getting involved in both drug-related and other criminal offences. And so the state of Florida delivered him from all temptation for nine years, putting him behind bars after he was caught with the gun.

After serving his term I thought he had learnt a lesson, but he continued the same lifestyle and was deported. He is now dead and buried, after paying for his crimes with his life.

We were hurting our mother’s heart and could not see it through our selfishness. I was warned so many times about the relationships I had and the friends I kept, but I thought I was wise.

In 1986 I was arrested again in Kansas City for selling one ounce of cocaine to an undercover agent. I had gone to Kansas with friends after my baby’s father threatened to change the locks on the house where we both lived because there was a feud between myself and his sister. He took her side and I made my exit.

I was doing fine for myself until a group of friends I was with were put under police surveillance.

The prison years

I was sentenced to 12 years, but had to serve four before being considered for parole. After attending an Immigration hearing at the prison, I was granted a stay in the US as I was found undeportable. Three-and-a half years was all I had to do in prison and the remaining six months were spent at a half-way house.

A half-way house is a place where one stays under the prison system. You have to be working and you’re allowed to mix with other people and your family, but you still have to abide by the rules and regulations of the prison system. If you violate any of the conditions of your release, you are placed back into full custody.

I completed all requirements of the system and was free to return home to my family on an eight-year parole.

One day, while I was at home, I had a visit from the US Marshalls and immigration officers. I was handcuffed and informed that an error was made and I was to be deported.

Mom searched frantically until she found my court papers to prove that I was telling the truth. The cuffs were removed and I was released. I knew right then that I had to get myself together as this nightmare was not over.

Two months after that ordeal, I was at work when they came again. This time, they brought federal agents with them. I was taken in for interrogation and they threatened me with deportation. They told me that the government had appealed my stay and won, so now I was deportable.

However, they said, this decision could change if I co-operated with them. On their first visit, they had made an offer: if I helped them catch some known drug dealers, I would be allowed to stay in the US. I refused.

The threats continue

They kept repeating the threats to deport me unless I helped them locate persons they wanted. Again I refused to snitch and was taken to Chrome Detention Centre and deported the following day. I was a Green Card holder and my mother was a US citizen.

I was back home in Jamaica, away from my family, and all I had was the clothes I had worn to work the day before. I made my way to my mother’s house, where some of my relatives were staying. I contacted Mom and her advice was, “Stay where you are. It will be hard but stay. God knows best.”

For the first time, my mother’s voice penetrated my heart and I wept bitterly as I played her voice of caution over and over.

On top of all that I was two months pregnant, and I realised that my baby needed me with a sound mind.

Trials and success

The first five years after deportation were hell. My life was stagnant and my past played tricks on me. The desire to return to the States was overwhelming. I knew that I had wasted a wonderful opportunity and would never get it back. Many tearful calls to mom were made and her compassion was unrelenting. She continually discouraged me from making another mistake by trying to return illegally.

I gave birth to a baby girl. I started to help myself by selling jerk chicken and soup from my gate to make a living for us. I was on my own with only the help of my mother and I could not distress her any more, as she was mothering my four children back in the States.

Business was slow so I sold fruits, then started cooking from home, and with the help of loved ones, secured some office orders.

I always prayed to God … I constantly prayed. Today I am a successful entrepreneur with a chain of businesses and with a number of persons in and around my community in my employ.

I had a business mindset before but had channelled it the wrong way. Now I have applied the same principles with a different product and I am more prosperous and respected.

I met a man since I came home who I fell in love with. He is my mentor and guide in my business. I have another daughter from this relationship. She is now eight years old. The other baby girl is now 14 and attends a prominent high school.

Last Mother’s Day I received a surprise visit from my children in Miami. All I could do was scream and cry as I hugged each of them. My older children are working and doing fine. I am now able to be their mentor and guide them into being successful contributors to the society they live in.

I am now a ‘clean’, wealthy woman, who can advise that a dead end does not mean you cannot go any further – it means you have to turn around and try another way. God will reveal your hidden skills and talents. He did it for me, he will do it for you too.