Undocumented island woman.

Dear you, read, if you have nothing else to do.

 I am in the garden to rake. Raking is Zen, I love it. I am philosophizing over my longtime cohort in Tantra. She is technically bad in bed but I love her trying to reach the climax and she is so very good in her heart, she is so pure. Born under the sign of Virgo, she has a virgin like conduct although she flaunts her long legs and make all the men look at her. She radiates sexual power and very few men do not feel young when they observe her legs. On her right calf and upper thigh she has some unclear tattoos, it makes one want to see it closer. Part of her purity is now under attack. She has no nationality and no identification papers at all. The authorities that must give her rights (and duties) are getting to her head. She is not registered anywhere but in the French system from the hospital where she was born, from where the French census gets the information and register her as being born, nothing else. It does not give her automatically the French nationality. It depends on her parents what nationality they have. Her parents however have never done the needed registering. Her son, who also was born in the same hospital 20 years after her was also never registered anywhere unless by the medical facility, automatically. This pure young mother has hardly learned to write but never ever set a pen to paper or it was to doodle. Her son of four is a very quiet boy who hardly reacts when addressed. He is a little sweet boy without kindergarten knowledge, he grows up with the kids in the hood.

She needs help, money, education, work, a social worker. She has never seen the need for any papers. I respect that belief with all my soul. My integration into the paper mill, the paper tiger I call it, went smooth and easily in the Netherlands, a country of high education and control. Automatically the authorities had my name when they gave me travel papers and driving license when I needed them. Innumerable times I lost, renewed and showed my passport to border guards and consulates and embassies, policemen inside countries and on many borders on this planet. It is a man-made pain in the neck. I even had to renew a passport one day myself in the Red Sea when an outstanding debt prevented me getting it renewed at an embassy. After traveling through Egypt, Cyprus, Turkey and Greece I finally had paid off my debt and I got an official "laissez-passer" from the embassy in Rome so I could get back to Holland where i got a new passport. I will take financial help from my government if I need it, after all, they made me take their passport and nationality, let them care for their subject, me, if needed. I am also in the pure mind and realize that we are all slaves of the authorities, the system, the matrix. My impossible dream is a planet without borders where war is a crime. In my quest to find a pure friend, I went around the world and found this young princess of Sint Maarten/Saint Martin. Because I follow the rules and have my papers, I am. This lady is without any papers so she is not. She gets no voting card, no tax forms nor any government related anything. I am surprised that such miraculous unregistered pure person could be found on this tropical paradise island. I met this pretty woman when she was 17 or 18. She came with a group of girls to welcome me, to check me out, in Suckergarden, in 2003. When I found that she has no papers I wanted to help her. I went and I got her a extrait d'acte de naissance, a paper from Marigot Hotel de Ville saying   dated 1re octobre 2001. I am sure it was dated wrong. I think 2005 was the year that I got it. The clerk in the office may have had a reason to misdate the paper, some immigration laws changed lately.

She does not go out in the day much, danger of controls are real, and what will police do with one who has no identification at all?

She moves at night and walks with only the simple birth certificate in her pocket, that should be enough we hope. Anyway, this lovely cohort in the Tantra experience never enjoyed intimacy much, but she enjoyed my respect because of her pureness.

We developed a deep trust and I heard many eery things she witnessed in the night. She works not, and asked why, she replies “My time has not yet come“. She lived a little both sides of the line that authorities made on Soualiga long ago to each claim a part and she grew up innocent of authorities, government laws and politics. She is the opposite from many many other girls. She does not sex for money, she does nothing at all for money. When you observe neutrally, she actually is a bit like a Buddhist monk. Not so surprising, she shuns the daylight, when all the people are working in offices to pay loans for their SUVs and homes, and she sleeps during that time, she lives at night when the money makers are not sending disturbing vibes. She roams the island bars until early in the morning or late at night, many times the rising sun puts her to bed. She goes to parties, celebrations, BBQs, dancings, and even to whore house bars to pass the time. But never alone, she is pure and she always wants a lady friend, or several, at her side. She tells me laughingly that a nice girl wants to make love to her. Some girl may like that, but definitely not not she. Why she always lives so, in the night life, with friends and strange people who also like dancing, she replies:”That is to forget the misery that goes on everywhere”. At the rare police controls she talks her way through. At shootings in parkings and bars she is always far out of the line of fire, but her witness reports are clear. She gets pocket change from people who have. But sometimes she is sick of begging and comes to me for petty cash. In her world she always has to lie, make promises that are never kept, she often has to offer something in the future, when she gets some cash. She is just like a begging monk or priest or politician. She promises you what you want. She has no money and no paper to prove who she is, no registered address, and no national identity card. I think she may give up some little pureness if she gets money from the authorities. She knows that French young single mothers like she get money from the welfare office. Now she is a gypsy. I hope that the promise of money may make this pure lady come to the registry office. She may be illiterate but she is highly sensitive to the vibes and very assertive, she senses the bad vibes coming from the census office, the door to a lifelong keeping up with the paper tiger, the renewals, the voting, the passport. What those paper pushers are doing she does not understand, it is not thought of in her pure world at all. And if you ever make something and get it sold, you will get taxed. She is an undocumented original islander. Kalinago are the original people of the Caribbean and in Soualiga she has no problem. But in the Republic of France, or in the Kingdom of the Netherlands, with the two lions of Zion holding the coat of arms with the crown on top. Kings and Queens are fairy tale things, an invention of the high priests of old. Now the King or Queen wants to know his or her subjects. Anyone within the Republic of France or the Kingdom of the Netherlands must be known. But what if you have higher guidance and stay pure, without a bond with any rulers. This is a wonderful island world for her. There was a chance to convince her for the need of a passport to travel when she wanted to go to Statia, to see a friend. Then she had heard from others that an identity card is good to have. Otherwise it is impossible to leave the island. She knows now that she needs a passport, or ID card but she will not understand why. I respect that, I see her pureness. Her gypsy free soul. But to go to the registry office, she will still not do. I should drop the case where it not that I heard her say that her sister is doing paper work for her and if I could get her an updated birth certificate again. I once got a copy of a birth certificate for her from the Hotel de Ville in Marigot. A simple paper for anybody who wants to know if a person is born there.  I was refused at first. In the internet, the cyber cloud, I looked the “Service de Public Francais” up again and found that it was a service and duty of the Hotel de Ville to give out birth certificates. I had to show it to the leader of the pack, a lady in an separate office who was in command. After she verified that one of the two sorts of birth certificates could be given, I got it.

Will be continued.  I thought for a title “To the Burger Master,  Le Maire, the Mayor. But I called it Undocumented island people. Who will care? The hotel the ville, the aide social, the news papers?

Captain Zen

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