I glanced at the suitcase in my hand and cursed it as a traitor. The fine luggage had given me away as a peasant with a rich man’s property. The interpreter surely thought I’d stolen it. The looks on the faces of the interpreter and the police spelled danger to me. I took a hesitant step away from the men and the officer’s words, “Stop! Thief!” needed no translation. The interpreter commanded me, in my own language, to halt. Confused, I complied. The officer grabbed the case from my hand. The clasp came undone and it opened, pilling the contents onto the platform – all items that would be in the possession of a wealthy German businessman. I stood in dismay, unable to understand the commands of the Irish officer but I clearly understood the interpreter as he yelled at me, “You’re going to jail, you dirty Bosnian thief.”
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