“I was a victim of Guyana’s drug trafficking reputation”

Nov 09, 2014 News

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– detained by US Customs for hours in Aruba  

By Dale Andrews

Two Sundays ago I set out on a much needed one-week vacation to Florida, USA. I really

needed the break and I was desperately hoping to enjoy Ocala, since it was my first visit there.
But my holiday could not have started out on a more disastrous note; I was detained by agents of the United States Customs and Border Patrol, who appeared to be convinced that I was a drug trafficker.
The delay caused me to miss the connecting flights to Miami and my final destination of Orlando, with no compensation from the US authorities. It was clear to me that I was a victim of Guyana’s drug trafficking reputation.
I was travelling with Insel Air, and I was elated that the airline was stopping over on the island of Aruba, where I had to clear US Customs and Immigration. The flight from Guyana was pleasant, except for the fact that I thought I was travelling from a foreign country – so much Spanish was filling my ears throughout the flight.
After two and a half hours, I landed in Aruba where I had to clear US Customs before going on to Miami.
That’s when my unexpected ordeal began.
As soon as I collected my lone suitcase and was heading towards one of the cubicles to clear US Customs, one of the officers approached me and began asking questions.
At first I thought the officer was just being courteous, because he was asking me questions about my employment and the length of my intended stay. When I told him I was a Journalist, he asked me what was my area of coverage and I told him, crime. He seemed impressed, but gave away very little else by way of expression.
He then scribbled something on my US Immigration form and sent me on to another officer, who was in the cubicle. Being a journalist, and having travelled to the US on previous occasions, I sensed that   something was not right after the officer made the notation on my Immigration form. Nevertheless I approached the cubicle where I was interviewed by an officer whose name tag read “Matos”.
Officer Matos proceeded with some of the usual formalities, like enquiring how much money I was travelling with and when was the last time I visited the United States.
I told him how much money I had on my person and went on to explain that I last visited the United States in 2009 on work assignment.
I was convinced that I was the subject of special attention when instead of stamping my passport and waving me through, in order to catch my connecting flight to Miami, Officer Matos requested that I sit on a nearby bench, and had me waiting for several minutes before he left his post and ushered me into a room.

Again he asked me the question I had answered before and my frustration was beginning to rise, since I only had a few minutes left to board my flight to Miami. I asked the officer the reason for my detention, and with some amount of arrogance, he informed me that he was the person to ask the questions.
It required a fair degree of effort, but I managed to keep my cool.
He then told me that our conversation was being recorded and that he already knew the answers to the questions that he was about to ask me. I knew it was a bluff, and since I sensed that whatever the outcome, this was a great story in the making, I played along.
Officer Matos asked me if I had any help to pack my suitcase and if I was carrying anything for anyone – questions I expected. He then asked, “What if I tell you that someone called us and told us that you were transporting drugs?”
I was shocked! Was this for real? But then I boldly replied that that was a fabrication.
He observed that I had paid cash for my connecting flight to Orlando and asked why I did not use a credit card. I had to inform him that Guyana has a cash-based economy and there is no real alarm whenever large payments are made with cash.
Another officer joined us and right there and then I realized that I would be subjected to more special attention.
I gave then my aunt’s address where I was going in Orlando, and even gave them her telephone number.
Incidentally, I was carrying a copy of Kaieteur News’ Sunday Special and a Sunday Stabroek, which I had taken on board the aircraft to read to kill the time throughout the flight. I showed the US Customs officer the Kaieteur News and told them that that was the newspaper that I wrote for.
They asked me to show them which article was mine and I pointed it out to them. Since the article did not carry my by-line, they seemed unconvinced that I was speaking the truth. I even showed them my media identification badge, but that too did not budge them, for they took me into another room where I would later be subjected to a detailed search of my luggage.
Officer Matos first asked me to lift up the foot of my jeans so that he could examine my ankles. When I compiled he got excited when he noticed that my left ankle was a bit swollen, which is a result of my medical condition.
I guess he thought that it had something to do with ingesting an illegal substance, a method that is used by many drug mules.
The story was getting more exciting by the minute as more officers converged in the room and began carrying on inaudible whispered conversations.
Officer Matos then began meticulously unpacking my suitcase, taking out item by item. There were a few shirts, a couple of jeans, three pairs of sneakers, underwear and two bottles of colognes and a half bottle of Lander Baby Oil.
The suitcase also contained a small pouch with my medication for my hypertensive condition. Of course they paid close attention to that until one of them recognized that they were indeed tablets for my blood pressure and heart condition.
After much bending and painstaking examination of my sneakers, Officer Matos turned his attention to my colognes, which he sprayed liberally onto a special surface to see if it contained any foreign substance. The officers showed a special interest in my baby oil, with one of them indicating that it was unusually heavy.
When they found nothing, they took to my cellular phones, going through my messages word for word to see if they would unearth anything that suggested that I was a drug trafficker.
As if to justify going through my phone, Officer Matos was heard telling one of his colleagues that one of the messages was suspicious. I don’t know what could have been suspicious, because all the messages were from the Police Public Relations Office, DIGICEL, and a few friends asking me to put credit in their phones.
Again the officers found nothing, but they seemed determined to make me suffer. I guess they were observing me carefully for any sign of nervousness, the kind displayed by guilty drug mules.
Eventually, they contacted my aunt in Florida, and I guess they were disappointed when she gave them the same answers that I had given to their questions.
At this point I realized that I would be late for my flight to Miami, but I said nothing, since I expected that arrangements would have been put in place to get me on a subsequent flight so that I could keep my rendezvous with American Airlines in Miami in order to get to Orlando.
I was so frustrated that I blurted out to the officers that what they were doing was only giving me a great article to write when the ordeal would have been over.
The only thing that was left for the US authorities to do was an x-ray on my body, but I guess they realized that they were making a big mistake.
After almost two hours, with a sign of resignation, Officer Matos told me that I was free to go.
He tried to be nice to me by telling me that he would see if I could be placed on a direct flight to Orlando (I later found out that that was a big bluff).
I told him, however, that I was impressed with the meticulousness of their search, after which he confided that they were mandated to conduct such searches on persons, especially those from Guyana.
Minutes later I was approached by Insel Air officials who informed me that I would have to check in with Aruban Immigration authorities, since I would have to spend the night on the island and wait for the next flight out the following morning. I protested, since missing the flight out of Aruba would also result in me missing my connecting flight to Orlando.
Officer Matos in his usual subterfuge, tried to indicate that the airlines would arrange for me to get to Miami. However, the airline official told him that they were not responsible for the delay and hence they could not guarantee me a flight. Eventually I was led out of the US Customs area and I really thought that I was going to be placed on a flight. But much to my dismay, I was taken to the Aruba Immigration desk where I was cleared to remain on the island, pending arrangements to secure a flight out.
Thankfully my sister in London came to my rescue by purchasing another ticket from Aruba to Miami to Orlando, while I had the expense of booking into a hotel for the night.
While I am not bitter with the US authorities for doing their job, I am mad that after inconveniencing me, they did not have the decency of ensuring that I did not suffer any financial loss as a result of missing my connecting flight.
Again, I blame Guyana’s reputation as a drug transshipment point for my ordeal, for if the Guyanese authorities were as meticulous as the Americans, that reputation would have been eliminated a long time ago.

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