Deportation from the United Kingdom (UK)

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Deportation from the United Kingdom (UK)

By bigpumpkin | May 28, 2007

When I was a student in London, I’d travel in and out of the UK perhaps up to five times a year - trip home to KL, architectural school visit, trip to Italy (to visit ex-boyfriend’s family), and a holiday here and there if funds permitted. All throughout my seven years there, I had never encountered a problem with the British Immigration. It was almost like I was born there.

Until one fine day. When I got a bitch of a blond immigration officer.

She asked me how much money I had on me and I told her I had 40 sterling pounds (too little). She asked me what I was doing in the UK and I told her I was working as an architect’s assistant (There was no work visa stamped on my passport but as an architectural student, I didn’t need one - the lady just didn’t know the rules. Architectural students are allowed to work without a work visa in the UK for two years). She wanted to see some evidence of that and I had none.

STAMP. CHOP. SIGN. She made me follow a security guard into an isolated room.

The bitch had denied my entry into the UK despite the fact that I was legally allowed to be there. The least she could have done was to make a phone call, get a fax, check with her colleagues, whatever. But no. She just blackmarked my passport. And sent me to hell.

The first thing they did was to tear my luggage apart. Then they searched me and eventually slit opened a few packets of Indo Mee that I had brought along with me. After a gruelling hour’s long interview with a few good men, I was thrown into a room full of ‘real‘ crime practitioners. They were Nigerian con men, illegal workers from China and more illegal workers from China, in search of a better life. We were fed a miserable dry sandwich as our meal. And treated a million times worse than plebs. Actually, make that animals. They were animal abusers.

I begged and hollered. I did not want to take a 14 hour plane back to where I’d just come from! This was ridiculous!!! They couldn’t care less. There was a payphone in the room but they wouldn’t offer any change. The only calls I could make were ALL collect. And I had to fight amongst the other illegal immigrants for that one payphone. Thankfully, a dearest friend in London, was efficient and smart enough to get in touch with my University and my employers, who immediately faxed over the necessary documents. The Malaysian Consulate couldn’t help. My parents hadn’t a clue what to do. Alas, because my passport had already been blackmarked with that blasted stamp, I had to leave the country no matter what.

I suggested that I leave to Italy (which was a lot closer) instead of Malaysia, to which they agreed (for once, and to my surprise). I quickly purchased an airline ticket excitedly with my inherited bodyguards and then anxiously waited and waited and waited till it was time to get the fuck out of that room. I made arrangements with my then boyfriend (who was in Italy) and his family, to pick me up at such a time. Bear in mind there were no handphones then.

When it was time to board the Alitalia plane, my sense of relief exalted and I hurriedly knocked on the doors of the immigration officers. It was exactly 8.10pm London time. Nothing.

I knocked harder. And more furiously. They still completely ignored me.

I began thrashing the door when they finally came out to escort me to my plane at 8.30pm. But hey guess what? They’d made me miss my 8.45pm plane. On purpose.

I was fuming mad. I was reaking with hatred and disgust, for the unfairness of it all. There was no way I could contact my then boyfriend as they were already at the airport in Milan. I never thought it possible to feel so much anger but that was probably the most outraged time I’d ever experienced in my entire life. I yelled at them to the point where they’d ensured all their immigration officers knew of the rule for foreign architectural students being allowed to work in the UK without a proper work permit.

They had gotten their way, which was to send me back to where I’d come from and that was my 24 hours in hell.

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