CHAPTER 62

Ida believed the optimum time to land at Raleigh-Durham International was around two or three in the afternoon. Though she had been negotiating with Immigration and Customs Enforcement and thought they had an understanding, she knew from experience that things could go wrong. She might need an hour or so to run to Immigration Court, where a judge was on standby.

· · ·

They left the hotel in the same van at 4 a. m. and drove an hour to the airport at Entebbe. Gaston thanked the driver and tipped him heavily. He’d been tipping a lot in Kampala. A woman with the same sense of authority as Ida Walker met them at the general aviation terminal and led them inside. The word “Customs” was embroidered above the pocket of her shirt and she seemed to own the place. It was deserted and there was little traffic in this corner of the sprawling airport. She collected all six passports, pointed to a pot of coffee in a corner, and disappeared. On the tarmac, their beautiful jet was glistening in the lights as the pilots went through the preflight routines.

James and Chol wore matching khaki shorts, white golf shirts, and white socks and sneakers. Beatrice had found a bright yellow gomesi, the floor-length traditional dress of Ugandan women. She would have preferred something from her own country, but for the moment she was pretending to be Ugandan. At any rate, the three looked adorable and gave every indication of being a prosperous family headed to a new adventure in the United States.

Without asking for their ID cards, the customs official brought the passports back stamped and ready to go. Two men in uniforms scanned the bags and put them on a cart to be pushed to the jet. Clearing customs took less than fifteen minutes. On board, Murray introduced the family to the flight attendant, a person he now knew well. She situated them in a club area with four large chairs and asked what they wanted to drink. Of course, the boys were hungry and they were soon talking about breakfast.

James, the clown and a spitting image of Samuel, said to Murray that this plane was a bit nicer than the Ugandan cargo twin they had used the day before. Murray showed the boys around, stepping around the feet of the adults, and promised that they could watch as many movies as they wanted over the next fifteen hours.

· · ·

At 2 p. m. Eastern Time, Ida and her team gathered in the lobby of the private terminal at Raleigh-Durham International. She had two lawyers from her office with her, and she asked Tyler Guy, Sooley’s pro bono immigration lawyer, to join them as well. Ida had been working with the International Rescue Committee, and Ms. Keyser was on hand. She had met Samuel the previous September.

Four ICE officers arrived and things were immediately tense. Ida managed to lighten the mood with some banter, but the ICE boys were not easy to mollify. They had a job to do: to arrest and detain people caught entering the country illegally.

When the Gulfstream landed at 2: 10, it was directed to a place on the tarmac fifty yards from the terminal. By the time its engines were cut off, three ICE SUVs were waiting, all with as many flashing blue lights on as possible.

On board, Silvia sat with Beatrice and the boys and tried to reassure them. She said, “I know we’ve been through this before, but there’s no way around what’s about to happen. You will be arrested and taken away, but you won’t be locked up for long. Whatever you do, smile and be polite to the agents. They’re just doing their jobs. ”

Now that reality had hit home, Murray had a knot in his stomach. Why go to all the trouble of sneaking in refugees if they’re just going to be arrested? But, he knew his mother was in charge.

Gaston collected the fake passports and ID cards from the family, and said, “Just keep smiling. Everything is going to be fine. ”

Ten minutes passed, then fifteen. Ida and her team watched nervously from inside the terminal. Finally, the jet’s door opened and ICE agents walked up the steps. Ten more minutes passed. Ida had been promised that she would be allowed to speak to the family before they were taken away. Finally, Murray appeared, and was followed down the steps by Silvia, then James, Chol, Beatrice, Gary Gaston, then the ICE agents. The three were not handcuffed and were led into the terminal where Ida stepped forward and said, “Welcome, Beatrice. I’m Samuel’s American mother and I’m delighted to meet his real one. ” They embraced, and kissed on both cheeks, and Ida was struck by how tall Beatrice was.

Murray introduced James and Chol and for a few awkward moments they chatted and welcomed them to American soil.

As promised, the ICE agents then, rather gently, handcuffed all three and led them away. They were driven to a federal detention facility near Raleigh where Beatrice was placed in a cell on the female floor. James and Chol were placed together in a juvenile wing.

They knew a brief stint in jail was unavoidable, but it was still unsettling to be behind bars. James and Chol laughed at the fact that the night before they were hanging out in the luxurious Serena hotel, while the night before that they had gone to sleep in their tent at Rhino Camp South.

Compared to the tent, the cheap bunk beds in one corner of their cell didn’t look so bad.

· · ·

U. S. law requires that any person who enters the country illegally and requests political asylum be detained by ICE for as short a time as possible before being brought before an Immigration judge.

At ten the following morning, Ida and her team were waiting in the courtroom of the Honorable Stanley Furlow, a former intern at Legal Aid and a Central law school graduate. Beatrice and the boys were brought in, all smiling, all wearing what they had worn on the plane. They spent a few minutes talking to their lawyers and getting oriented. Judge Furlow called their case and proceeded to separately ask all three the same basic questions. There were no real issues to contest, not at that point anyway. In a trial several months down the road, the government could argue that the three did not meet the requirements for asylum, but that was another fight for another day.

Some paperwork was passed around and the lawyers whispered to their clients. After about an hour, Judge Furlow ordered the family released to the custody of their sponsors, Ernie and Ida Walker, and a date for their trial would be set later.

A small caravan left downtown Durham and ten minutes later turned onto a street near Central’s campus. The house was one of three in a triplex. It was new and had been built by an affordable housing coalition in partnership with the city. Murray had kicked in some money from the Sooley Fund. The home’s exterior walls were a bright yellow and almost matched Beatrice’s gomesi.

A crowd was already there. The IRC had rounded up a dozen South Sudanese refugees in the area and invited them to the open house. Most of Ida’s staff was there, along with Ernie. Coach Grinnell and his wife had stopped by.

When Beatrice and the boys walked up the sidewalk, the crowd clapped and yelled, “Welcome to your new home. ” When they stepped inside and saw the furniture, the pretty pictures on the wall, the rugs, and a table covered with food, they were overcome.

· · ·

Late in the afternoon, long after the guests were gone, Ida asked Beatrice if she wanted to visit the cemetery. She replied that she was ready for it. The families took two cars and drove ten minutes to Rustling Meadows Memorial Park, a modern-style cemetery without vaults and tombstones. All the graves were identical and were laid out in large perfect half-moons that covered a long rolling meadow.

They parked by the chapel and walked along perfectly landscaped trails until they drew close. Ida stopped and pointed to a newer grave with red dirt and fresh flowers. Murray took James and Chol by the hand and led them closer. A new granite plaque read: “Samuel Sooleymon, Born August 11, 1997. Died June 19, 2016. ”

Both boys started to cry and wiped their cheeks. Murray backed away and watched as they each leaned on their mother.

It was a heartbreaking scene, and neither Murray nor Ida nor anyone else could begin to imagine their pain.

· · ·

Two days later, after work, Murray stopped by the house and collected James and Chol. He had told them to wear their new sneakers. He drove them to the campus and parked outside The Nest, in Coach Grinnell’s reserved space. He proudly showed them his own key, opened the side door, and led them through the underground hallway until they emerged onto the court. They tried to absorb the place, with its shiny wood floors, its thousands of maroon seats, its banners hanging from the ceiling. In one corner there was a huge photo of Sooley in action.

Murray said, “This is where he played. ”

They roamed around the floor, from one end to the other, trying to connect with the history left behind by their big brother, but they were too overwhelmed. Murray found a rack of balls and tossed out a couple. Chol was thirteen and already pushing six feet. He bounced a ball twice, pulled up, and fired away from 20 feet.

Nothing but net.

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