My friend, my destroyer

Sometimes when you take someone on as a friend, you build a level of trust for them that when broken, will lead to the deepest pain. This week, as our series on female deportees continue, all woman writers Beverly Melbourne and Doreen Clarke spoke to a higgler whose best friend became her worst enemy.

My career as an Informal Commercial Importer (ICI) started in 1987, when I purchased items for resale locally from other higglers who travelled to the US and other countries.

My business progressed and by 1988 I started travelling to Curacao and Haiti, purchasing merchandise for resale. I worked very hard to establish myself and the business, saving at the bank and by joining a partner as another means of achieving my goal of owning a home.

In 1995, I received a US visa and secured visas for my children. My husband, a public commuter driver and I made our home pleasant and comfortable. We bought a car and also acquired a lot of land in the countryside on which we had planned to build our dream home. But all that comfort ended when my partner banker migrated with our investment – a very large sum of money.

I had several hands in the partner and would have received all at once as I would be the last to receive a draw. I had plans and could not bring them to a reality. I had to refinance my house to secure the land.

Serious financial pressure

I was now experiencing serious financial pressure from my creditors as my stock was not moving as expected.

One day while feeling down, I related my situation to a friend who told me that I should just take it easy, as she knew of a man who paid well for cocaine runs to the United States.

I refused at first, but eventually agreed to be a mule.

I made several successful trips unbeknownst to my family. Blinded by the bulk of the money and the material trappings, I continued to traffic despite my misgivings.

I confided in a friend of mine and told her about what I was doing. She is a naturalised US citizen and sometimes I would stay at her place on my many visits. She told her husband in Jamaica about it and before long we were both making several trips.

I became pregnant in 1999 with my fourth child and so I had to stop the drug trafficking. I had planned to have the child in the States and my friend was to be my baby’s godmother.

On February 2, 2000 I arrived in New York at her house and my friend left for Jamaica on February 25th, saying that she needed to spend some time with her husband and would not return until March 3rd. I was a bit worried being by myself at this stage of my pregnancy, but she had a friend close by who would be there to help me if I needed assistance. My mother and sisters were in the States, but because of my drug involvement I chose not to be around them. I did not want them to find out what I was doing and I wanted them to be exempted from implications if anything went wrong. My oldest daughter had migrated and was living with my mother so I had to protect them at all costs.

My friend did not arrive on time on March 3rd and she called and advised me that her flight had been delayed.

There was nothing strange about a flight being delayed, that was quite normal, but the conversation that followed spurred fear in me.

She told me that she could not find her luggage and mentioned a package she was carrying and the fear she had about them finding it. Knowing that what she had did not concern me, I became suspicious that she was telling me about it over the telephone. Immediately, I suspected that something was wrong and so I avoided the topic. But no matter how I tried, she would divert to the drug topic and at one stage asked me to come to the airport and stay with her as she would be awaiting the arrival of the other flight from Jamaica to get her luggage. I told her she was crazy and that my feet were too swollen for me to do that and I hung up the phone.

Paranoia

Call me paranoid, I knew something was wrong and I had to leave her house. I called her friend and explained the situation to her and she suggested that I come to her house immediately. When I arrived I placed my passport and other identifications inside her oven to hide my identity.

At around midnight I heard a heavy knocking at the front door. To my surprise it was the DEA with a warrant for my arrest and they called me by my real name.

This passport was burnt to ashes a few days later as my friend lit the oven to prepare a meal and was unaware of the documents there.

I was taken to the John F Kennedy airport and that was when I realised what my friend had done. She was busted that evening in the airport with one kilogram of cocaine and she told them that she was my worker. I felt labour pains immediately.

All my past trafficking activities were being accurately replayed by the police. My best friend who I trusted, who I was like a sister and a mother to, had told the DEA that I had sent her to Jamaica to pick up and traffic one kilo of cocaine, and that for years she had been doing runs for me. My state of pregnancy meant nothing to her.

I later learnt that the agents had gone to the cab company that I had used that night and they were given the address where I was dropped off. My friend had told them that if they did not find me at her house they were to call the number she gave them as I always used the cabs.

My friend had sacrificed mine and my baby’s freedom to secure hers. I was strip searched and interrogated.

I was charged with conspiracy to traffic one kilogram of cocaine into the United States of America.

Later the following morning I was taken to the Metropolitan Detention Centre in Brooklyn where I stayed for 18 months while the government and my attorney argued my future.

On March 23rd I gave birth to a girl in the detention centre and she was given to my mother.

The future

I did not take my case to trial but accepted what the government offered – 60 months (5 years) imprisonment. My friend was the government’s evidence against me and I was not going to give her the joy to sit before me and destroy me any further, so I took a deal.

I knew I had to pay for my past dealings but I didn’t expect to be charged with someone else’s crime while they went free. And both her and her husband escaped conviction. I am still bitter, I am afraid to get close to anyone.

My marriage vows were being tested and I had feared the worst. Would my incarceration separate us or bind us? But my husband assured me that he would not leave me.

He kept our home intact and our children together during my incarceration. He had to liquidate assets to support our children.

I was deported from the Dublin Federal Correction Institute for Women in August of 2005.

Today, my family has survived the brutality of my unwise decisions and the selfish and evil mindset of my so-called best friend. My second daughter is now attending the University of the West Indies, the third one is in high school and the oldest and last are still in the US with my mother.

During my time in the institution, I tried to enhance my business skills by doing short courses which helped me to gain meaningful employment.

I will be extremely careful of friends as long as I live.

-beverlysquire@yahoo.com