"No sir, you cannot board the plane!"
The voice of the Korean Airlines manager at Beijing International Airport sounded firm , intractable. But I was freezing and this was supposed to be my last night in Beijing; the last option to leave China when the outbreak began to rage. I had hoped to get on the plane, hoped to be reunited with my wife Mary, hoped for our future together. I didn’t want to die, alone and far away from her.
Thirty months before, I had started the immigration process with the hope of settling in the United States. I was working as a news editor in China when I met my wife in Beijing. She was working there too, as an art professor.
Common sense suggested that the immigration process should be easy. As an American citizen married a Colombian citizen, she should be able to bring me into U.S. legally and easily. The reality is, that the immigration system is quite slow, and then under President Trump it languished even more.
The long wait forced us to separate in the summer 2019. She got a job at the University of North Texas in Denton and I was still waiting in Beijing for a U.S. consulate appointment to continue the immigration process. U.S. Citizenship and Immigration Services (USCIS) took more than a year to approve our application – known as I-130 – and sent it to the State Department. It was in that step when everything collapsed. A chain of misfortunes followed and we celebrated the end-of-year holidays without each other.
As a journalist, I would learn from colleagues in Xinhua News, the official Chinese news agency, about a new pneumonia. At the moment, the only precaution I was told to take was to wash my hands, use hand sanitizer in the subway and wear the face mask. I already had a face mask--one that I used for the lugubrious days when the pollution in Beijing was so heavy.
I took one last pub crawl in late January 2020 with two Cuban friends. That was the last day I spoke with anyone, other than the long conversations I had with my wife on the Chinese app WeChat. “Good morning darling. Happy FIRST anniversary” I read in my phone, the second of February. Mary and I had a long conversation, but we couldn't celebrate. It was a really sad day. I spent it cloistered and fearful of death.
My sleep pattern totally changed, and the wine flowed more. Loneliness changes you and confinement even more so. Should I leave China before I catch the virus? My wife on the other side of the world insisted that I should buy an airline ticket as soon as possible in spite of risking our immigration process.
But what about the cat? Traveling with a pet is difficult, but a trans-Pacific flight in the middle of the epidemic complicates it even more. And then came two strikes, one after another: Trump issued a proclamation to suspend entry to immigrants and non-immigrants, and then he banned travel to the U.S. from China. The Europeans did the same. South Korea was my only alternative. I made the decision and bought airline tickets with layover in Seoul. I was on the phone for hours reserving a place for Inca, the stray cat we had adopted in Beijing, trying to make it clear that the Trump ban did not affect me because I was married to a U.S. citizen. The White House Proclamation banned the entry of people arriving from China unless they were citizens, permanent residents, and a few other categories, including "any alien who is the spouse of a U.S. citizen or lawful permanent resident." I had the I-130 approved form to demonstrate I was part of this last category.
I ran some final errands and applied for a government permit to travel with a pet. The crowded streets of Beijing were now deserted. I too was afraid of catching it. I traveled with Inca in a Didi car, a service similar to Uber, to our vet who gave me proof of feline immunizations--necessary for an export animal permit.
In the next few days, the city looked empty but white. Beijing had never received much snow in the three winters that I lived there- until now. My conspiratorial colleagues and I joked that the Communist Party of China forced citizens to stay home in every way possible, including controlling the weather.
The airport was unrecognizable, there were few travelers. I handed my passport to the Korean Airlines manager, and he asked for proof of permanent residence in the United States. He didn't read nor understand Trump’s proclamation, he wouldn't give me the boarding pass. My wife called and spoke to him, too. No one could make him understand. I explained over and over, showed him my marriage certificate, the White House proclamation and I-130 immigration receipts, but he was stubborn.
I took a risk: “You must give me the boarding pass to Seoul. I am allowed to travel to South Korea.” I was angry, it was late, I was hungry, but still I had hope. Mary was beside herself.
The manager asked me, “What if Seoul will not let you travel to the U.S.?”
“Then I will travel back to China. I am a permanent resident here," I said.
Finally he changed his mind. An hour and a half later, I arrived in Seoul.
I had never seen biohazard airport security like that which greeted me in Seoul. Because I had arrived from China, the epicenter, I was the object of exhaustive scrutiny by men wearing the same protective suits that are used in laboratories that work with deadly viruses. After many temperature tests, I was placed in a line.
,South Korea's immigration officials didn't know what to do with me. I didn't have a boarding pass to anywhere beyond Seoul and I didn't want to stay in the country. The official asked me several questions, he checked my passport many times, with its U.S. visa stamp and its Chinese residence permit. When he asked me what I was going to do if I was not able to complete the last part of my trip, I replied that I would take the next flight back to China. My response was enough to persuade him to give me 24 hours in the airport, at least until the flight to Dallas at 10 a.m.
I was tired; it was two in the morning; I looked for a secluded place to let Inca out of her cage for a while. What in Beijing was a nightmare was transformed again into hope in Seoul. The I-130 approved receipt number and a short call from a Korean Airlines employee to U.S. immigration authorities was what it took. I bought a coffee and ham & cheese panini at Starbucks and placed a short, happy call to Mary. I was worried about contracting the virus the entire time, but my biggest worry was getting stranded.
I remember being assigned to the last row of the plane. It was almost empty, and I had three seats to myself. I was able to sleep for several hours with a face mask. I only took off the mask for lunch and dinner.
The immigration line at DFW International Airport moved quickly until the moment I said that I was traveling from China. They sent me to a special area of the airport. After having my temperature taken, I was asked further questions: Had I been on contact with someone who had COVID-19? Had I visited Wuhan? More waiting followed.
Meanwhile, I was chatting with Mary. We were anxious about this last step. The Border and Custom Immigration officer would be able to deny my entrance to the U.S. and end our entire immigration process with an expedited removal should he doubt my intentions. However, after a short final interview, he stamped my passport and welcomed me to the United States, informing me that I was required to remain in quarantine for 14 days. I received a flyer with information about COVID-19, and a record where I was required to write my temperature daily, in the morning and at night. Someone from the Denton County Public Health Department would call me for 14 days to check on my condition.
Mary was waiting there in the airport welcome area for three worry-filled hours. She never received by last messages because of bad Wi-Fi reception at the airport. The same woman I loved on our first date at a salsa dancing club in Beijing was the only one wearing a face mask. We were together again. A tight embrace.
We have started a new life in a different country. I have done it before in Australia and China but this time it felt different, and it's because of her. Despite the uncertainty of COVID, not to mention global warming and a civilization on the brink of violence, we have decided to have our first child. We hope for a better world and the best of humanity. Perhaps the “pandemial” generation can tell a better story than us.