He rustled through the documents perfunctorily
Before he dragged out of the room with a gloommy face
And then …. nothing
They left us to ourselves
Wait… wait…. wait
The clock ticked away
The silence in the room was thick
You could cut through it
The wait was frustrating
And it brought back the old cruel memory of the past
There was about seven of us in the qausi conference room
We busied ourselves with our toys – laptops, phones, tablets, pen and paper
A tall good looking lady was fiddling her black long braids
Another young man looked so disinterested, he rested on his chin half-asleep
And there was a frustrated young mother doing all she could to keep her three-months old baby hush and calm. She danced to imaginary tunes, pacing to and fro the room
We pretended all was well, too civic to make a scene, disappointed but calm
No one said a word to another. No questions asked
Deep down the thoughts were the same, our fears were similar
When shall we be attended to ?
Will I make it out of here in time for my flight ?
What exactly is going on ?
Does anyone here really care about us ?
Why’s, when’s, what, …Mtcheeewwww
These questions are why I left motherland
Seven oceans and a million tribes away
I still face the same gloomy questions
No answers nor an answerer
Thirty two paged green coated armed cover piece of passport
Which holds my only tie to the Niger-area of West Africa
Was all it takes on a very cold morning in solitary Canberra
To awake me up from my fantasy and remind me
That afterall I’m still from a third world country