How I Wasted 35 Years Of My Life In America – Nigerian Returnee From The US

 

In the United States, over 3.5 million people experience homelessness every year. The homeless include people from all ethnic backgroundsand discipline. This number includes 35 per cent of the homeless population families with children.

In recent years, the number of homeless immigrants, documented or undocumented, has doubled as America continues to experience immigration challenges.

John Atari (not real name.) was once an undocumented immigrant in the US. He was also homeless and an alcoholic. He left Nigeria in the early 1980s in search of better life. After more than 30 years in America,with no home and dependent on substance abuse and alcohol, John, few years ago, returned to Nigeria, somewhere near Port Harcourt. He agreed to share his story here on JEBOSE BOULEVARD, on two conditions: we must change his last name and not use his photographs. “I hope people would learn from my experience. That’s why I agreed to share this story.”

This is a compelling narrative:

“I left Port Harcourt more than 35 years ago. I missed the sights and sounds of the Garden City; the intrigues of dusty roads and the smells of combusted market places, filled with everyday people hustling to survive through the day. I missed those days, when plantain sellers hawked by the roadside. I thought I might never see these parts of my life again. I retained faded memory of childhood, the path that led me to, in some strange ways, where I am today, back to this peaceful place called home. I used to sit in shopping mall parking lots, in the cold weather of the US, waiting endlessly for sunset.

“A lot happened to me, I have advanced type two diabetes. I am also suffering from a cardiovascular disease. I am living on borrowed time, supported by several medications. I don’t have a wife or family except my sister and the church that rescued me when I returned two years ago, after living in America for nearly 35 years, as a homeless alcoholic. I didn’t have Green Card to find a decent job. Even if I did get a job, I was not sober enough most days to keep my job. I hustled for odd jobs to maintain my passion for alcoholic beverages. It didn’t have to be that way. I occasionally engaged as a gypsy taxicab driver in the city. I lived beyond minimum wage as I began to hang around other homeless Americans in that city. During winter time, I would ride in the city’s mass transit bus all day, just to get warm and during severe weather conditions, I checked into the Salvation Army or Rescue Mission shelter homes to get warmth, food and shelter. I had been homeless until one Nigerian asked me to come and drive cab for his company. I drove with no licence, no cab permit. I took a huge risk to survive and hoped I didn’t get pulled over on any highway or street by the police as it would be the end of my stay in America. But the urge to binge on alcohol ruined my chances. Alcohol destroyed me. I was caught. I had been diagnosed then with heart failure. I was handed over to the Immigration and Customs Enforcement and placed for deportation. I stayed 45 days at the Homeland Security Detention Centre in Atlanta, awaiting my court appearance. The day I appeared, the judge allowed me to continue to live in the country on humanitarian grounds. I was sick and he was compassionate about my health. The angels were redirecting me. But I was not helping myself. As soon as I came out of the ICE detention, I went back to the streets and celebrated my release with a bottle of vodka and purchased a five-dollar sweepstakes scratch card. That day, I won $500 from the scratch. What did you expect from a homeless alcoholic that just won $500 from scratch card?