Deported

I had planned a visit to the States during the summer. Not a super long amount of time, after all I had a job, a life to return to. I was flying out of Ireland and planned two weeks beforehand to explore the UK, starting in London. But at the airport in Czech, security seized my passport and questioned me about how long I'd been in the country. I assured them that I was perfectly legal, a lawyer had walked me through the visa process and everything was in place. The immigration police disagreed and so that they could deport me properly I was kept from boarding my flight and made to purchase a new one for the next day so they could be sure I was leaving. Then came the fine, the photographs, the issuing of a visa for the night with the departure order sealed into my passport. When the time came to be fingerprinted, they squeezed a tube of black ink onto some cellophane and rolled it out into a thin layer and had me stick my hands into it one finger at a time. I've been printed before for work (though I should be considering a life of crime at this point), and this was new, as was the fact that they had me press my own fingerprints onto the card, before they saw how inept I was at printing myself and took over. It took a little bit of trial and error and I think there are still traces of ink on my hands.

A guard sat with me at all times. At first I was kept in a conference room where I was able to Skype, use my cell phone and even order a pizza for dinner. I've never been held under guard, but even with the freedoms I had there were deep impressions setting in which I wouldn't recognize as humiliation and degradation until days afterward.

I tried contacting the embassy but couldn't get through. Alone in central Europe, speaking with police whose English, though excellent, was limited, facing foreign authorities without any recourse or legal advice, powerless, unsure of my rights but having been oft told how corrupt Czech authorities were, I was terrified. I suppose it seems silly now, but I'd never been so scared in my life, which is why I started posting on facebook— in case I disappeared into a black bag.

I was presented with paperwork, all in Czech. After a woman translated it for me verbally, she told me to sign it. I insisted on calling somebody before signing, seeing as it was a legal document that I couldn't read. The translator kept explaining how, if I didn't agree and sign, they would call their supervisors, punish me more, throw me in jail, etc. etc. etc. Once I'd spoken with a friend familiar with the Czech system (and language), I signed their paper. Then they assured me again and again how nice they were being since they had the authority to put me in jail and ban me from the country for 5 years. But because I'd been misinformed and wasn't trying to be illegal, they limited the ban to the minimum and skipped the jail sentence.

I was supposed to sleep in the departure hall, but they confiscated my shampoo, body wash, etc. because you can only have those 100ml containers of liquid past security. They wanted to throw away every liquid item in what was suppose to be my checked bag. Past my breaking point, maybe I just needed a win, but I refused to let them touch the items that represented a chunk of a girl's budget. The guard seemed almost amused, which I was in no humor to brush off, but I turned to the woman behind the security scanner and pleaded, “You understand, don't you?” She nodded, set down my toiletries and got on the phone. It was arranged for me to stay in the arrival hall, which would allow me to keep my shampoo.

Two women approached me around midnight, just after I'd settled in to sleep on the terminal chairs. They worked for the airport and offered me a room in the employee hostel, if I promised not to leave (this airport was in the middle of miles of fields in the Czech Republic, I'd love to know what they were expecting).

The next day, back in the airport terminal, I was met by the head of the airport. He had been on the phone with security in London to let them know a deportee was on her way. He explained that if the immigration officer in London didn't like my story, he could refuse me access to the UK. But he wouldn't send me to America, he'd send me back to the Czech Republic! A seed of panic planted itself in my brain.

I boarded the plane that night without pomp or circumstance. We landed in London and while my heart pounded wildly, the customs agent stared at me hard and interrogated me thoroughly but finally stamped my passport. England at last! I was so relieved I nearly burst into tears, but afraid it would look suspicious, held it in and rushed off to baggage claim. I just wanted get out of there before somebody changed their mind.