My Encounter with America
Part 3: Arrested in New York

By Zadok Ekimwere
zomwere@hotmail.com

In 1980 I worked with The Uganda Times , as a features writer. One day, my boss asked me to into his office and told me I had been nominated for a study tour to America, organized by the U.S. Information Service. I felt awkward because I was a junior reporter and had not yet traveled to the neighboring countries.

To confound matters, I still did not have a passport. My boss asked me if I had one. This question put me to the biggest test. If I told the truth, I would blow the chance and the journalistic attributes of cunning and craftiness. I told my boss I had a valid passport.

He wrote me a letter to take to the U.S. Embassy so my visa would be processed. I worked very hard and got my passport within a day. The following day I reported to the U.S. Embassy and presented my papers for a visa. When I went back two days later, I was briefed about life in America then given my visa, return air ticket, and some transit allowance money in dollars. I felt totally changed as I walked out of the embassy.

When I learned I was to travel to the U.S., I became the most wanted and precious person on earth. I was presented with all sorts of shopping lists because my country was still reeling from acute shortages after the ouster of Idi Amin. Political activists told me to be very careful about the CIA, who they said would be watching all my movements. Others wanted me to find out from the U.S. government what they thought about the new government in Kampala. They told me I should tell the U.S. government to step in and help rebuild Uganda from the destruction of the liberation war.

When I arrived in New York, I was amazed to see such skyscrapers. I was picked up from the airport by an escort, booked into a hotel, and told to freshen up for a meeting in the lobby in 20 minutes.

After a bath, I was curious to get a feel of the streets before the meeting. So I stepped out. After a while I tried to find my way back to the hotel. I kept walking but could not find the hotel, and I was late for the meeting.

I panicked and hailed a yellow taxi. As I tried to jump in, I realized it was a police car. I apologized and told the cop I was a visitor from Africa. I then tried to flee.

"Stop. You are under arrest," he shouted as he drew a gun on me. He drove me to the hotel to prove I was genuine.

Everybody was at the lobby waiting for me. When they saw me being led by a policemen, they applauded and cheered. That was my first day in America, my dreamland.