I took a trip two days ago to my country’s capital, Abuja, to sit for a visa interview at the States embassy. Just wanted to get it renewed; the last one I had expired in late June. Unfortunately it didn’t go so well, as you can see from the above listed document. According to them, I’d spent a much longer time frame in the States during my previous visit, and I hadn’t shown signs of acclimatizing myself back in my country. Those guys sure know how to give you devastating news with legalese type of language. I reckon folks won’t need to visit doctors anymore to enquire whatever’s wrong with them; a lawyer, or at least someone who knows how to talk with fancy words would do the job just right.
Wasn’t like I had much of a choice, or that I was aware of this. It’s hard meeting with literary agents, let alone knowing when you’re ever going to get word from them regarding them reading through your work. Not saying those guys don’t do perfect jobs, but . . . between me being homeless when in New York City, and eventually returning home a month later, back in the past . . . I think something happened along the way. Something I missed, because right now I can’t think a single thing I ought have done but didn’t. Reminds me of that Eryka Badu’s song from her ‘Mama’s Gun’ album:
“I’m trying to decide
Which way to go
I think I took a wrong turn back there somewhere.”
– Eryka Badu: Didn’t You Know.
Did it hurt getting turned down? Yes, it did. But what’s done is done. No use crying over spilled milk. What next to do is what I don’t know.
I’m going to see about getting that old manuscript of mine ‘The Rabbit’s Man’ published on Lulu and set it at a free price. Everything about the book disgusts me presently. It’s been the bane of my troubles, and I’d like nothing but cast it off my eyes.