Behold the Dreamers(7)

“Na so,” Winston replied. “Let’s just stick to the matter at hand.”

Jende sighed and waited for the conversation to return to his asylum application.

“But just so you know,” Winston added, “my job as a corporate lawyer does not involve any lying or manipulation.”

“Of course,” Bubakar replied. “I’m sorry, my brother. I must have mistaken it with another kind of law.”

The two men laughed.

“What happened to the young lady you impregnated?” Bubakar said, turning to Jende.

“She is back in Limbe.”

“And the child you had with her?”

“She died.”

“I’m so sorry, oh, my brother. So sorry.”

Jende averted his gaze. He needed no sympathies. He certainly did not need condolences coming fourteen years later.

“You went to prison before or after she died?”

“Before she was born, when my girl’s parents found out I was the one who pregnant her.”

“That’s how it normally works,” Winston said. “Parents call the police, boyfriend gets arrested.”

Bubakar nodded, double-underlining a word on his writing pad.

“I was in prison for four months. I came out, the baby was one month old. Three months later, she died of yellow fever.”

“Sorry, oh, my brother,” Bubakar said again. “Truly sorry.”

Jende took a sip from a glass of water on the table and cleared his throat. “But I have another child in Cameroon,” he said. “I have a three-years-old son.”

“With the same woman that you had the daughter with?”

“Yes. She is the mother of my son. She is still my girlfriend. We would be married now and be a family with our son if only her father would let me marry her.”

“And what’s his reason for disapproving of the marriage?”

“He says he needs time to think about it, but I know it’s because I’m a poor man.”

“It’s a class thing,” Winston said. “Jende’s from a poor family. This young lady’s family has a bit more money.”

“Or maybe it’s because this young lady’s father hasn’t gotten over what happened to his daughter?” Bubakar said. “I mean, as a father, to see your young daughter get pregnant, drop out of school, and then lose the child, it’s all very hard, abi? I don’t think I’ll ever like the person who did this to my daughter, whether he is from a rich family or poor family.”

Neither cousin responded.

“But it doesn’t really matter what his reason is,” Bubakar continued. “I think the story is our best chance for your asylum. We claim persecution based on belonging to a particular social group. We weave a story about how you’re afraid of going back home because you’re afraid your girlfriend’s family wants to kill you so you two don’t get married.”

“That sounds like something that would happen in India,” Winston said. “No one does anything like that in Cameroon.”

“Are you trying to say Cameroon is better than India?” Bubakar retorted.

“I’m trying to say Cameroon is not like India.”

“Leave that up to me, my brother.”

Winston sighed.

“When can we send the application?” Jende asked.

“As soon as you provide me with all the evidence.”

“Evidence? Like what?”

“Like what? Like your prison record. Birth certificates of your children. Both of them. Death certificate of the little girl. Letters. Lots of letters, from people who’ll say that they’ve heard this man say he’s going to kill you if he ever sees you again. People who’ve heard his brothers, his cousins, anyone in that family talk about destroying you. Pictures, too. In fact, anything and everything about you and this gal and her father. Can you get it for me?”

“I’ll try,” Jende said hesitantly. “But what if I cannot get enough evidence?”

Bubakar looked at him with a dash of amusement and shook his head. “Ah, my brother,” he said, putting down his pen and leaning forward. “Do I have to spell it out for you? You got to use your common sense and produce for me something I can show these people. Eh? It’s like that man Jerry Maguire says, show me the money. These people at USCIS are going to say, show me the evidence. Show me the evidence! You get me?”

He laughed at his own joke. Winston puffed. Jende did not react—he’d never heard of a man named Jerry Maguire.

“We got to show a lot of stuff to convince them, you understand me? One way or another, we produce a lot of evidence.”

“We’ll see what we can do,” Winston said.

Jende nodded in agreement, although he knew getting the kind of letters Bubakar wanted would be difficult. Neni’s father didn’t like him—that he’d known for years—but the old man had never once threatened to kill him. No one in Limbe could attest to that. But filing for asylum was his best chance at staying in the country, so he had to do something. He would have to talk it out with Winston and see what could be done; Winston would have ideas on how to do it.

“And you’re confident this will work?” Winston asked.

“I’ll make a strong case,” Bubakar said. “Your cousin will get his papers, Inshallah.”