Extirpation..

xtirpation is defined as, "The elimination of a species or subspecies from a particular area, but not from its entire range." ~ a process by which an organism finds it can no longer sustain in a habitat, due to environmental influences that force the organism elsewhere. Those environmental influences could be climate change, as in pollution, habitat loss such as occurs when man-made development encroaches or, indeed, even hunting or poaching.

Plans to meet with the immigration officer at the end of the first week of July were postponed. He'd since been called out to Texas, and would not return for 10 days. His schedule wouldn't permit a trip to my area until much later in the summer, but he was anxious to get working on the file, and consequently asked if I'd be able to make the 4 hour drive to the local district office. I wasn't exactly thrilled with the prospect of such a jaunt, as it coincided with my initial plans to travel to Vermont to conduct some research at the ACF and a surprise visit to Doug at the same time (he'd be well settled into normal work schedule upon his return from California by that time). But I agreed to be there on July 25th. My trip to the East Coast would have to wait.

I bundled the banker's box file that had contained everything DF and I had ever submitted to the immigration department into the back of my SUV and began the trek, before 07:00 hours. The appointment had been made for 1:00pm; I'd arrive well in advance of that. Filing through the security check point was a major undertaking, my belongings were scrutinised, along with my person before I was asked the purpose of my visit and heralded to stand behind the left "yellow line". The building was packed with people awaiting scheduled appointments, but within a matter of minutes a woman approached me and informed me that the AO was still tied up with another appointment but would be out to meet me in a minute. Sure enough, he did; offered to secure the box of information I'd brought in his office while I visited the nearest Starbucks coffee bar, for which he gave me clear directions, before returning an hour later. When I returned, I was escorted to the front of the line queueing up before the security device and whistled off behind a locking door into the bowels of the building to a small but inviting office, well removed from public access areas.

Just as expected, the AO he was very cordial and accommodating as he proceeded to prepare to take what he termed a "sworn statement" of the circumstances that occurred during my marriage. At one point he promptly picked up the phone and speed-dialed Nebraska to enquire. "John, it's Bill, you'll never guess who is sitting in my office right now", he commented and then confirmed "Yes, that's right!" Apparently, John in Nebraska was intimately familiar with my case, or me, that he knew instantly. How odd. They exchanged a couple of words in a friendly manner, and the call was ended when it was suggested that the report would be both mailed and emailed before the end of the week.

My plan to make the round trip trek within one day was fashioned on the thought that an hour would be sufficient to offer whatever USCIS needed from me. I was mistaken. The meeting lasted close to 4 hours, 3 of which were a case of me retelling the events that lead up to my first encounter with DF and ending with the divorce, along with presenting evidence of some of the incidents that took place, letters and correspondence between DF and KMC that indicated some sort of a scheme to secure my signature on the I-751 under the premise that the marriage would survive his affair, all the while the AO was clicking away at lightening speed on his computer and glancing at a 1/2 thick stack of paper-clipped papers from his file.

In the midst of the questioning, the Mr. Defluri left the room momentarily, and while gone I reached across the desk to pick up the copies of my divorce decree to place back in the binder that were lying on top of the report he was using. The door burst open, and a woman exclaimed "Stop! What are you doing? Don't touch anything on that desk, do you hear me?" Startled, I turned around to show her that all I had picked up were my own documents, only to witness Mr. Defluri reappear and calm his work-mate with the words, "What are you doing? It's OK, she's the US citizen. It's no problem".

He settled back into his chair to resume the series of questions, and within a period of about another quarter of an hour, a thirteen page document rolled off the laser printer and into the tray beneath, ready for my endorsement. The header page appeared to be a rather formal looking template, into which the AO had added pertinent details. It clearly profiled the reason for USCIS' contact with me. The words, "Nebraska Service Center" and below "Marriage Fraud Investigation" were printed in bold letters across the middle of the page.

He not only escorted out of the private recesses of the building, but to my car, which was parked in the yard across the street, thanking me for coming and offering me precise directions to the expressway. It was at this point that I asked why I had been called in to the district office. After all, I'd chosen not to report the matter to USCIS, for DF's children's benefit and I was no longer married to the alien. It was my understanding that I had no involvement in his immigration case other than to be obliged under the Affidavit of Support for the next 10 years. "This case was sent to me for investigation, as it had the NSC a little stumped. I wouldn't be too concerned about the Affidavit of Support if I were you".

About fifteen minutes elapsed and my cell phone rang. He wished to thank me once again for my willingness to make the long trip to meet with him and was just making sure I'd made it safely onto the highway. I'd have plenty of time during the 250 mile trip home that night to reflect on the peculiar arrival of mail at my home even up to a year after DF's disappearance. Yes, DF's failure to report his change of address to USCIS had indeed thwarted his plans....