Brother, I'm Dying

months, but he was determined to go back. This was why he’d gotten his police report from the anti-gang unit. This was why he had wanted the officer, a justice of the peace or an investigative judge, to go to Bel Air to witness and inspect, so he could return when things were calmer and reclaim his house, school and church. He had said as much to Tante Zi the day before.

I can only assume that when he was asked how long he would be staying in the United States, he knew that he would be staying past the thirty days his visa allowed him and he wanted to tell the truth.

***

Maxo and my uncle were approached by another Customs and Border Protection officer again at 5:38 p.m., at which point it was determined that my uncle would need a translator for his interview. Maxo, a fluent English speaker, could not as his son act as his translator.

Documents from the Bureau of Customs and Border Protection indicate that my uncle was interviewed by an Officer Reyes with help from a translator. A standard CBP interview form would have had Officer Reyes begin by saying, “I am an officer of the United States Immigration and Naturalization Service. I am authorized to administer the immigration laws and take sworn statements. I want to take your sworn statement regarding your application for admission to the United States.”

A digitized picture attached to my uncle’s interview form shows him looking tired and perplexed. His head is cropped from the tip of his widow’s peak down to his chin. The picture shows a bit of his shoulder, which is slumped back, away from the frame. He is wearing a jacket, the same one that, according to Maxo, he’d been wearing since he left his house in Bel Air. Though he is facing the camera, his eyes are turned sideways, possibly toward the photographer.

The interview began with Officer Reyes asking my uncle, “Do you understand what I have said to you?”

“Yes,” answered my uncle.

“Are you willing to answer my questions at this time?”

After making my uncle swear and affirm that all the statements he was about to make would be true and complete, Officer Reyes asked him to state his full name.

“Dantica Joseph Nosius,” answered my uncle.

“Of what country are you a citizen?”

“Haiti.”

“Do you have any reason to believe you are a citizen of the United States?”

“NO.”

“Do you have any family, mother, father, brother, sister, spouse, or child who are citizens or permanent residents of the United States?”

My uncle replied that he had two brothers in the United States, one-my father-a naturalized U.S. citizen, and the second-my uncle Franck-a permanent resident.

“What is your purpose in entering the United States today?” asked Officer Reyes.

“Because a group that is causing trouble in Haiti wants to kill me,” my uncle answered.

According to the transcript, Officer Reyes did not ask for further explanation or details.

“How much money do you have?” he asked, proceeding with the interview.

My uncle answered that he had one thousand and nine U.S. dollars with him.

“What is your occupation?” asked Officer Reyes.

The transcriber/translator has my uncle saying, “I am a priest,” but he most likely said he was an evek, a bishop, or elder pastor.

“What documents did you present today to the first Customs and Border Protection officer that you encountered?” asked Officer Reyes.

“My Haitian passport and immigration forms,” my uncle answered.

“What name is on those documents?”

“Dantica Joseph Nosius.”

“Is the name on the documents your true and correct name?”

“Yes.”

“Have you ever used any other names?”

“No.”

“Are you currently taking any prescription medication for any health condition?” asked Officer Reyes.

The transcriber/translator has my uncle saying, “Yes, for back pain and chest.” And in parentheses, writes, “ibuprofen.”

The transcript has neither my uncle nor the interviewer mentioning two rum bottles filled with herbal medicine, one for himself and one for my father, as well as the smaller bottles of prescription pills he was taking for his blood pressure and inflamed prostate.

“How would you describe your current health status?” Officer Reyes continued.

According to the transcript, my uncle answered, “Not bad.” He had probably said, “Pa pi mal,” just as my father continued to, even as he lay dying.

“Have you ever been arrested before at any time or any place?”

“No.”

“Why exactly are you requesting for [sic] political asylum in the United States today?”

“Because they burned down my church in Haiti and I fear for my life.”

Again no further explanation or details were requested and my uncle did not offer more.

“Have you had [sic] applied for political asylum before in the United States or any other country?”

“No.”

“Have anyone [sic] ever petition for you to become a United States Legal Permanent Resident”

“No.”

“Were you in the United States in the year 1984?”

“Yes, but I do not remember.”

(I couldn’t remember either whether or not he’d been in the United States in 1984. I knew he had been the year before, during the summer of 1983, when he got the voice box, but could not recall if he’d returned the following year.)

“Have you have any encounter [sic] the United States Immigration Services before?”

“No.”

“Why did you leave your home country of last residence?”

“Because I fear for my life in Haiti. And they burned down my church.”

“Do you have any fear or concern about being returned to your home country or being removed from the United States?”