This is culled from http://jeboseboulevard.com
Referenced; Jebose Boulevard


Man Remembers 30 Years of Living in America, Homeless and Alcoholic
May 25, 2016 Azuka 0 Comment

In the U.S, over 3.5 million people experience homelessness every year. The homeless include people from all ethnic backgrounds and discipline. This number includes 35% of the homeless population families with children, the fastest growing segment of the homeless population. In recent years, the number of homeless immigrants, documented or undocumented has doubled as America continues to experience immigration challenges.

John Atari ( Not real last name.), was once an undocumented immigrant in United States. He was also homeless and an alcoholic. John left Nigeria in the early 1980s in search of better life out West. After more than 30 years in America, living homeless and dependent on substance abuse and alcohol, John, few years ago, returned to his country home somewhere near Port Harcourt. He agreed to share his story here on JEBOSE BOULEVARD, on two conditions: we must change his last name and not use his photographs. “I would hope people would learn from my experience. That’s why I agreed to share this story.”. This is a compelling narrative:

“It’s been thirty five years since I left Port Harcourt, Nigeria. I missed the sights and sounds of a garden city: the intrigues of dusty roads and the smells of combusted market places, filled with everyday people hustling to survive through the day. I missed those days, the plantain hawkers by the roadside. I thought I might never see these parts of my life again. I retained faded memory of childhood places: the path that led me to, in some strange ways, where I am today: back to this peaceful place called home. I used to sit in shopping mall parking lots, in the cold weather of United States, waiting endlessly for sunset.

Time and life happened to me: I have advanced type two diabetes. I am also suffering from a cardiovascular disease. I am living on borrowed times, supported by several medications. I don’t have a wife or family except my sister and the church that rescued me when I returned two years ago after living in America for nearly 35 years, as a homeless alcoholic. I didn’t have a green card to find decent job. Even if I did got a job, I was not sobered enough most days to keep my job. I hustled for odd jobs to maintain my passion for alcoholic beverages. It didn’t have to be that way. I occasionally engaged as a gypsy taxicab driver in the city. I lived beyond minimum wage as I began to hang around other homeless Americans in that city. During winter time, I would ride in the City’s mass transit bus all day, just to get warm and during severe weather conditions, I checked into Salvation Army or Rescue mission shelter homes to provide overnight warm food and shelter. I had been homeless until this kind Nigerian asked me to come and drive cab for his company. I drove with no license; no cab permit: I was taking a huge risk to survive and hoped I didn’t get pulled over on any highway or street by the city Police: it would be the end of my stay in America. But the urge to binge on alcohol ruined my chances. Alcohol destroyed me. I was caught. I had been diagnosed then with heart failure. I was handed over to ICE: Immigration and Customs Enforcement and placed for deportation. I stayed 45 days at the Homeland Security Detention Center in Atlanta, awaiting my court appearance. The day I appeared, the Judge allowed me to continue to live in the country on humanitarian grounds. I was sick and he was compassionate about my health. The angels were redirecting me. But I was not helping myself. As soon as I came out of ICE detention, I went back to the streets and celebrated my release with a bottle of vodka and purchased a five dollar sweepstakes scratch card. That day, I won $500 from the scratch. What did you expect from a homeless alcoholic that just won $500.00 from scratch card?.



Jebose, Nigeria was experimenting on a second chance at democracy, the beginning of 80s decade when I left. I had passed my secondary education two years earlier and stayed unemployed. I desired to further my education, but my family had no money to support my dream. Unemployment in the country then was at its highest: school graduates had no job. Crimes were the only trade available for the heartless. I refused to be a part of the neighborhood boys terrorizing our community at nights, robbing and maiming the helpless and innocent while they were at peace midnight in their homes. These activities were how these young unemployed school leavers engaged their frustrated minds and survived a mismanaged nation state then. My mother was a house wife and a clothes mender, helping families to stitch their ragged clothing in those hard times. After I passed my West African Examination Council Exam, WAEC, I begged mother to loan me her singer sewing machine. She was happy that I was going out to hustle on my own. I began to hawk as a mobile one-man sewing tailor, walking the neighborhood and its surroundings all day, stitching, mending clothes for residents. I was self-employed the next three years. I worked so hard and was determined to do something better with my life: I became obsessed with travelling and studying overseas. Three and half years later, I was able to save enough money to apply for a University admission in Toronto Canada.



Canada was a culture shock, but I quickly blended into its mainstream culture, focused on my future and education. Four years after my arrival at this university, I earned my first degree in chemistry. I was hired by a biochemical company my last year at the university. The employment changed my world. I met this charming American beauty. She was a researcher, but loved party more than researching. She saw me as a handsome gentleman with a seductive and sexy exotic accent. The attraction for each other was steamy. We began casual dating that blossomed, four months later, it grew into serious affairs. She invited me to return with her to America. She helped processed United States work authorization. Jebose, I couldn’t resist moving to US with what I considered then, the love of my life. We also got engaged…Her name was Deborah.

We settled into a happy couple life style in America. I got a transfer from my Canadian firm to US and Deborah found a job. Life seemed great for three years until I returned home one early spring in the 90s and discovered that Deborah had moved out. She left a note that she was moving across town with a 22 year old plumber. I was devastated. I never recovered from that heart break.

After my fiancée eloped with our apartment complex handyman, I began to live vicariously in America and I seriously didn’t know how times flew and left me behind, consoling myself with bottles of vodka every day. My careless and irresponsible lifestyle manifested in my daily work and behavior. I would ooze alcohol at work. The company provided me with therapy for substance abuse and alcoholism dependence. It didn’t work. I didn’t care. The company had to let me go after my work authorization expired. I came to American seeking a fulfilled dream, but I ended up as a poster child for American immigrant nightmare.

My father died in 1996. I felt a lot of guilt from his death. I went into serious depression. My mother died two years later and my world collapsed. I did not visit home for their funeral ceremonies. Those that I shared life and dreams with were slowly departing my life. A part of me left with these close family members. My life distanced from my birth place. I was ashamed of returning to Port Harcourt, a loser, years after I travelled overseas for best life opportunities.

I turned to alcohol to numb the pains and disappointments of living in America and losing my parents. I became a heavy alcoholic, secretly engaging in the recreation whenever I had the opportunity. I became homeless and avoided few Nigerian friends that I had met in the early years when I came to this place. The Rivers state community in my city heard of my circumstance and began an engagement with me. Few years ago, I had stroke. I am diabetic. I was also diagnosed with heart disease. These illnesses were the effects of unstable lifestyle in America. I had nothing. I went to the Baptist Church every day for my meals, then roam the city endlessly, carrying my trash bag that contained dirty clothes and, always, a bottle of vodka to sip at any City Park. I got donated clothes from the rescue mission or the Salvation Army. The Urban Ministries also provided me with free medical health for my sickness.

During my stay at the hospital for stroke treatment, friends from the Rivers state association visited me and began to encourage me to consider returning home. It was a difficult decision: a home I left more than 30 years. I had never returned. One of my Statesmen contacted my sister and she encouraged me to return, promising to care for me. I was still ill. I needed regular medications to treat diabetes and heart problems. I got these meds free in America. I began to think seriously of going back home. I was not getting any younger. I was in my late 50s and I must close this chapter of my life. After I came out of physical therapy, I took an offer from the Rivers State association: it promised to pay for my flight ticket to return to Nigeria. Today, I live happily with my sister in our village near Port Harcourt. I am serving the Lord and praising his worthiness for this new life. Alcoholism and homelessness are past experience. I feel a healing power in me as every day is an adventure here in my village.”


All i can say is hmmmmm...American Life...You afi choose wisely to avoid rain drop falling from your eyes.

I envisage a time in Nigeria when people will not
have to run to foreign countries for greener
pastures.
Together we can make our own land green. It
will not be easy but I believe we can do it.

i recommend it for FP.
cc.justwise,Lalasticlala

xs

This is so sad

LostCity:
I envisage a time in Nigeria when people will not
have to run to foreign countries for greener
pastures.
Together we can make our own land green. It
will not be easy but I believe we can do it.
i recommend it for FP.
cc.justwise,Lalasticlala

Yes we can! God help us
God Bless My Country Nigeria

Gbyte:

There is nothing that can be made great about this country. Greed, corruption and self-centered mind has eaten too deep into this country, nothing goes for nothing in Nigeria.

I pray Naija becomes great, but the only thing i see is a fragile union and what worries me most is youth wantomly torn apart on ethnic rumble.
The youth are suppose to bé the bridge of our greatness and unity. Our laeders/elders have failed us woefully!

Always put yourself first. The first mistake he made was leaving Canada for a woman. He should have stayed, advance in his career, and got papers in Toronto before following a woman down south.

maternal:
Always put yourself first. The first mistake he made was leaving Canada for a woman. He should have stayed, advance in his career, and got papers in Toronto before following a woman down south.

that became the genesis of his predicament.

This man is a real mugu .. You left Nigeria for greener pastures ,I was even thinking he got into drug peddling and got jailed ,I am very sorry sir buy u are what the igbo man will call an EFULEFU .. You forgot your purpose abroad because of some Yankee woman ,who broke your heart ,Na only that woman remain .. Soldier come soldier go ..I just wish I can have 10% chance of schooling abroad and also working legitmagely ...May God grant you the grace to stand the shame you must be experiencing in your village now.. Nna Dede you fuvk up big time

LostCity:
I envisage a time in Nigeria when people will not
have to run to foreign countries for greener
pastures.
Together we can make our own land green. It
will not be easy but I believe we can do it.

i recommend it for FP.
cc.justwise,Lalasticlala

Tales by moonlight ..if I have the luck of a Yankee visa .. I go move dey go without looking back.. this man clearly lost his purpose and turned himself into a YO man ..was sup