The Journey Home

"So, you're leaving already?" she said with her arms folded "You've only just got here" she continued, trying to make me feel guilty. "You always knew I'd have to go sooner or later. Besides, I'll be back to visit. Maybe when it's warmer..." I said as I glanced at the blizzard raging outside. 

"Fine. Well, I hope you know you'll always be welcome, I really hope you had a wonderful time here... When do you leave?" she asked. "The bus leaves at dawn tomorrow." I said with some urgency. "How long is the bus?". "I don't know. Nine, ten, maybe twelve meters. But it makes little difference". I wished her luck as she stared at me blankly and I left to get busy with my packing. As I stumbled home, the wind blew snow in all directions. The mad icy swirl around me matched the dim painful swirling in my head. It had been quite a party last night. Every year, for as long as I can remember, always started with a hangover.

The next morning, I was not on the bus very long before I encountered the first hurdle of my journey. The border was not very far. I was expecting trouble, after all I'm an unusual case. The border guards must be very careful, everyone loves tourists, but migrants are a different matter. Without all this scrutiny, knowledge-based migrants like myself will take away all the native jobs. Doctors, architects, engineers and philosophers would swarm in from the third world and through their tireless work and cheap rates would force all the local specialists into menial jobs. A country must protect its specialists, who did their time in colleges and universities, to allow them to continue to live in the manner to which they have become accustomed. One must ensure that only migrants who have the skills that are clearly, provably and manifestly lacking in the economy are allowed in, lest this tide of migration allow these opportunists to manipulate the market through their competition.

Almost an hour later, after twenty questions, I got my beleaguered passport back. It had been scanned, folded, stamped and stapled multiple times. Scrutinised by the entire office. No violations, this one can pass. I walked through the bitter cold back to the bus, and climbed on to be greeted by scores of icy faces. "You." the faces seemed to say. You're the reason we are late. You're the reason we've been left in the cold, waiting to depart. What war-torn, failed, evil country did you escape from? Or is it your criminal record they didn't like? Why did they let you through anyway? Why don't you just go back to wherever the hell it is you come from. I took my seat quickly and quietly as the bus' engines revved to go.

"They give ya a hard time, huh?" said the young man in the seat across the aisle from me, some time after we were on our way. "Excuse me?" I said, "Oh, at the border? Yeah, I guess they're just doing their job...". "Damn right", he said. "We can't have all them people coming and going as they please! Before you know it, they be coming in by the million to take advantage of our generous welfare state. That welfare is intended for people born over here. Not no other place. That's our money an' that comes outta our taxes. Ain't no one taking our welfare who's not paying our taxes. No sir.". "Oh, that seems more than reasonable", I said, trying to avoid a discussion and the urge to point out the contradiction in his last sentence. "I'll be working, paying my taxes. No way I'll be on welfare". The conversation continued only shortly before we reached our first break stop, which gave me an excuse to end the conversation.

"Please, stop asking me." the driver said over the intercom. "I do not know how late we'll be. Our aim is to get you to your destination as fast as we can as safely and... safely. There is a snow storm going on and visibility is very poor. I promise we will get there, but I do not know when. So, please, stop asking me because I do not know. I have to concentrate on the road and it doesn't help to have you all coming up here and saying 'Hey...'. I promise we will get there before Friday, if you have a question please ask me when we're at a stop. Now, please, sit down, relax and enjoy the pretty snow on the pretty trees."

As the bus went on through the pitch-black night, dizzy from having had nothing to eat all day, I really wished I caught a plane. Finally the country dark gave way to city lights and traffic. The bus stopped and there was the familiar face at the station. I had arrived. I was home.

Home: Maybe I should have gone further south