No Land's Man by RN Gourgot (phonics story books .txt) 📖

When a junction leads you to two different types of hell, you chose the lesser evil one.
That

is what I did. That

is what I had to do.

Leaving my whole family behind and by themselves, I embarked on a long journey toward a better life, never to look back. The last image I will ever have of them is that of their hopeful smiles, drowned with tears of uncertainty about my future. Everything was meant to be okay, as long as I carried out my plans smoothly.


I am now surrounded by black uniformed officials donning either green or red or yellow commando caps, depending on their rank. All of them seem to be talking in really low-pitch voices, none higher than that of a baritone.

The night is as dark as soot and as cold as ice. A strong wind vengefully blows across our faces, causing the big green tents to sway to its whistling tunes. It seems to announce the arrival of a deadly blizzard. Adding more to the ice hell aura, there seems to be no apparent non-human form of life within the perimeter of my bifocal lens.

We are at a no man’s land, between two nations. The border of my destination country is beefed up with high security much tighter than I had ever heard or imagined to ever see.
Suddenly, I am told to watch as my passport is snipped into pieces with a huge pair of sharp smooth stainless steel scissors. And then it hits me like a lightning bolt: at this point in time, I have no other proof that I belong to any

country. I am no land’s man in a no man’s land.

I am then escorted to a much smaller tent where all I see is a table, two chairs facing each other, and an overhead light bulb. I take my seat, and wait patiently. After a few minutes of icy silence, the leader starts to interrogate me in their language, which I understand by now… after all the training and coaching I received. They then end the session, and ask me to remain seated as they begin to review my response and conduct. I wait for about thirty minutes as they stand at the entrance of the tent as speak among themselves not loud enough for me to hear everything they are saying; but I can make out that they are talking about me, with their constant gaze.

One of them then approaches me and tells me that will now begin to process the last documents of the last phase of my naturalization process. I politely nod, as a sigh of relief sends soothing shivers down my spine.


It is the Annual Naturalization Ceremony, but a rather quiet somber one. The reason: I was the sole applicant this year - and the first one in almost five decades - for this country’s nationality. Those were definitely not reasons for me to celebrate at all, given that it was definitely not one of the best places to live; but at least it had much more promise of a better life than my birth country did.

An hour later, the leader – flanked by white uniformed bodyguards – walks up to me and formally hands me my new passport, as he declares the ceremony open. A 10-man army choir belches out the national anthem, after which I am made to take an oath.
Finally, I am escorted through a 500-meter walk toward their side of the border. Finally, I am out of the no man’s land. Finally, I am their land’s man.

Publication Date: 11-29-2012

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