Waving the flag of Trinidad and Tobago

DEBBIE JACOB

IT FELT like the ghosts of bygone Carnivals paraded through the streets on Ash Wednesday to celebrate with me. After 38 years of living here, Trinidad and Tobago finally granted me citizenship.

Three Nigerians and I crammed into a small office in the Ministry of National Security for the ceremony. I wore a new, black dress and a locket passed down from my Grandma Gotz to my mom. The locket had pictures of my children Ijanaya and Zino inside so I could feel my family’s presence.

Ms A warned us against seeking a third citizenship from another country. Then we stood to sing the national anthem. One at a time we had to place our right hand on the holy book of our choice and read an oath of allegiance.

Ms A called one of the Nigerians to go first.

“We must do the right thing, the respectful thing. There is one lady. She should go first," said a Nigerian.

“Yes, yes, this is true,” the other two Nigerians said.

I thought: This might be my only chance to ever be first in line in this country. So, I got up, placed my hand on the Bible and read that oath of allegiance with all my heart and soul.

Ms A said, “You are now a citizen of Trinidad and Tobago.” I can’t remember if she said "congratulations." She handed me an envelope and said, “Go outside and look over the citizenship certificate to make sure all of your information is correct because it can never be changed once you leave here.”

“But I don’t want to go outside,” I said. “I want to see everyone get their citizenship."

“Yes, yes, yes,” my comrades in citizenship said. “We must see each other get our citizenship.”

Ms A shook her head. We really were a handful.

After everyone recited the oath, one of the Nigerians said, “Can we take a picture by the flag?”

“No,” said Ms A.

“No? But we want to take a picture by the flag.”

“No, said Ms A.

We all stared at the flag in the corner.

Then, Augustine Madu said, "We will go outside to take a picture.”

Madu, who works as an optometrist in San Fernando, took selfies of us and then called one of National Security’s guards to take pictures.

“Now everyone take off your masks for one picture," he said.

We complied. I took everyone’s phone number.

Weeks later, I asked Dr Verinton Okolo, “What did that day when you got citizenship mean to you?”

“I was so excited and happy,” he said. “It is what I have been waiting for all these years. Trinidad is a country I love so much. I feel blessed. I’ve been living here for 14 years.”

Okolo is a general practitioner with the Eastern Regional Health Authority. “I work for government. I am grateful for the opportunities the country has given me. You know how people say they live the American dream. I live the Trinidadian dream. I came here as a foreigner with nothing.”

Madu said, “The oath-taking day was exciting and eventful. It was undoubtedly the long-awaited end of a tedious journey to T&T citizenship. It felt like Christmas. It wasn’t so much the day, but the buildup and the expectations leading up to the day.”

Ahmed Oshomah, a lawyer who came to Trinidad 14 years ago, said, “It was a day that put a total rest to all my worries. I often had to leave the country for my work in Nigeria, and I always had to return here quickly so I didn’t lose my residence status. That was a little stressful. Right now, I am at peace with everything. I am very happy.”

On the day we received citizenship and Madu organised our pictures, I said, “No one from Trinidad and Tobago could have read that oath better than we did.”

“No, no, nobody,” the Nigerians said in unison.

We found our own sense of pride and joy on that day. I thought: What a pity the four newest and most enthusiastic citizens of Trinidad and Tobago couldn’t take a picture next to the flag.

“Taking a picture by the flag would have been nice,” said Oshomah. “We would have had something to show to our families.”

It would have turned a momentous day into a cherishable memory.