Poker Refugees In the Bahamas

The story you’re about to read is based on a former online grinder’s experience at the Poker Caribbean Adventure (PCA) in the Bahamas. Under his 2+2 username ‘PCA_Refugee,’ he created a viral thread named Even More Terrible Story of 2 Non-Americans Leaving the PCA. In it, he shared with the whole poker community a story about making mistakes and facing the harsh realities of the developing country beyond the bright lights of a state-of-the-art casino. The story was confirmed by Mike ‘Timex’ McDonald among others and it happened several years ago. PCA_Refugee doesn’t play poker for a living anymore and was kind enough to share his experience at length so that others may treat stops like the PCA with a grain of salt before everything else. We will use the name John as a stand in of PCA_Refugee and Joe in place of his companion. Enjoy!

From Atlantis To Purgatory

“SIT DOWN,” one of the officers yelled at John angrily. The officer was wearing a white shirt, black tie, pants, and shoes that matched the tie. John immediately sat back down knowing that this was a battle he wasn’t going to win. He was concerned about the flight he might miss but that didn’t matter anymore. He looked wearily at his friend letting him know that they actually might miss the flight home.

“Are you sure you told them the same thing?” John asked his friend, Joe.

“Yes, I told them that I have $7,000 and part of it is yours. Why would I lie?” Joe responded. “We haven’t done anything wrong,” he said loudly so that the custom officers could hear. Neither of them however reacted; they were all busy with keeping order in the jam-packed room.

Of course they haven’t done anything wrong, John thought. They just followed the advice given by more experienced poker players who know their way around these parts. Since John won under $20,000 in one PCA side event, down at the Atlantis Resort in Paradise Island, he wanted to skip all those customs formalities and decided to give under $10,000 to his friend and keep for himself under $10,000. This way, there was no need to declare the money, count it in front of the custom officers, and lose precious time. By Bahamian laws, if you have under $10,000 cash, you don’t have to declare it.

“What the hell man, I only have $500 on me, why am I back here? My flight’s about to leave,” one man was screaming as he entered the door. The officer was almost dragging him in.

“I only have poker chips, why am I back here?” another one made his case loudly.

John noticed a pattern in the crowded room, he was a poker player after all, an online grinder who did this for a living: male, 20 to 40. At a poker table, 20 to 40 would have been the VPIP on the HUD or a range of poker hands, in that room though, somewhere in Nassau, Bahamas, the numbers represented the age: between 20 and 40 years old. No family, no women. Did they target the poker players leaving the PCA?

“Only 20 minutes left man,” Joe said worriedly pointing at the watch.

“Yep, we’re definitely going to miss the flight,” John thought afraid of telling the bad news aloud to his friend.

Another officer in white shirt, black tie, black pants, and black shoes came through the door as if the room wasn’t packed already. There were few custom officers though and those couldn’t quite handle the situation.

“Mr. X and Mr. Y, please come away with me,” he yelled. “Mr. X and Mr. Y!” John needed a moment to realize that the officer was actually calling him and his friend.

Joe was lost in thoughts.

John hurried to the officer yelling:

The officer looked suspiciously at the two boys and invited them to the hallway. From there, they split up and entered in two separate rooms. John even thought that they could actually catch their flight with a little bit of luck. When he entered the interrogation room, a dark tall officer invited him to sit down.

John pleaded:

The officer stood up and looked down at him gravely.

John was shocked and panicking. He was lost at words but managed to ask the million dollar question.

“False declaration,” the officer told him fixing a small recording camera. “This conversation will be recorded,” he added sitting down in his comfy chair.

“Why didn’t you declare everything young man?” the officer asked calmly, noticing the criminal was visibly shaking.

John gathered himself and spoke truly:

“Why are you traveling to the US if you want to avoid paying taxes?” the tall dark man continued undisturbed as if reading from a book.

John responded as composed as he could be:

The office frowned:

John agreed thinking they would go soft on him. When he finished he was led to another room where he met his friend.

“We’re handing you over to the authorities,” the customs employer told them just before leaving them with two police officers.

“Take off your clothes!” the police officers commanded.

“Should we also do a body cavity search?” one officer asked the other.

Bailing Out Hell

Splitting up was out of the question and John knew it. They had to stay together to survive this… hell.

After the authorities tried to get them admit their guilt, John and Joe were sent to the airport jail where they had to stay for the night until the next day when their trial was scheduled. There, they had only room for one so the police officers decided to split them up: one would stay in the airport jail and the other would be sent to a bigger jail in Nassau.

“Is there a bail we can pay?” John asked the officers.

One of them smiled and responded:

John pointed at a bag behind them:

“We can’t use that,” the officer said with what look like mockery on his face rather than remorse. He changed the tone and spoke like he was talking to a two-year old:

John didn’t mind anymore:

“Do you have a withdrawal limit?” the officer asked him with the same mockery expression.

John didn’t think and the number ‘ $5,000’ came out of mouth even though he regretted immediately after.

“Ohhh, that’s too baaaad,” the officer reversed to his ‘speaking with a two-year-old’ voice. “The bail is $6,000,” and smiled defiantly.

John was definitely not shocked when he heard that answer. He tried to think of his poker friends who were still hanging around in Nassau. Most of the players had already left Bahamas except… YES, that’s right: Mike who decided to play PokerStars’ Sunday Majors from Nassau. Being on a plane would have forced Mike to miss all those juicy online poker tournaments. ‘Oh, thank God for those Sunday Majors,’ John thought and asked:

“Sureeeeeee,” the officer continued to mock him. “But you will have to get in touch with him in the next...let’s say,” and looked at his big counterfeited watch that showed 8 PM:

John hurried for the phone, praying for his friend, Mike to hear the ring that could save both him and Joe. The ring stopped and an annoyed voice responded: “Hello?”

John was relieved:

“I can’t explain to you right now. Please, come down here with the money and I’ll tell you everything,” John desperately tried to reach Mike.

At the other end of the line, John could hear loud rings, going off one after the other, sounding the alarm: Mike had just timed out.

The Trial

“Your Honor, I’m very sorry,” John pleaded his case trying not to look as sleepy as he actually felt. He barely slept the night before while trying to find a way out. Luckily though, his sleeping bed wasn’t located in a cold unwelcoming cell but in a five-star hotel, all comfortable and clean. Mike arrived just in time to pay the bail and they got back to the hotel they had recently stayed at. There, J ohn and Joe couldn’t sleep waiting for something to happen at the trial. They searched the web for answers finding lots of similar cases that ended up with charges and huge fines. They didn’t want that to happen to them so they called a local lawyer.

“I’m deeply sorry, it was an innocent mistake,” John continued to talk in front of the Honorable Judge.

The Judge looked at the two boys unfazed:

John remembered all that the lawyer had told him a few hours ago, to say that it was an innocent mistake, that he was a student who didn’t know better.

If they had pleaded not guilty, the judge most likely would have sent them back to jail and forced them to pay a hefty five-digit bail if they wanted out. So they choose the simpler path: guilty, no charges and a much smaller fine.

“Alright I understand it was a mistake and I’m willing to go soft on you,” the Honorable Judge said to the two hiding his emotions behind a poker face that made John envious.

“What?” John barely controlled himself and shut his mouth just in time before the situation could get worse. $16,000 was all their money, the amount of money the Bahamian authorities seized from them the day before. “How could this be?” John thought. “We did everything right and we came up empty-handed!?”

John bit his lip: another battle that he wasn’t going to win in a million years.

“Well, at least we’re going home,” he told Joe putting on a fake smile.

“Your poker face isn’t working John,” Joe noticed.

“I know...”

After they finished all the formalities, the two boys called a cab and when it came, they rushed towards it. A hand though grabbed John by the arm on their way.

“You’ll have to come with me young sirs,” an officer lady said to them.

“Whaaaaat? But we did all that was required from us...” John reacted desperately.

“Please young sirs, come with me...”

Bailing Out Hell… Again

An officer was standing in front of John and Joe, caressing his oversized belly and in no mood for negotiation. The buttons on his white sweaty shirt looked like they were ready to explode. His face was more similar to Jabba the Hutt from the Star Wars series rather than a normal human being.

“I don’t know darling… I’m pretty busy right now,” he said to the lady that brought them in, letting his huge body loose in his high leather chair.

“NO, PLEASE!” John stood up as if he has just tried to sit on a hot iron chair. They had paid the bail, they had a trial, and the judge only gave them a warning plus a fine worth all their money but that didn’t matter anymore. They just wanted to go home.

The lady officer realized that putting two boyish and harmless Caucasians in a cell with criminals from all over the Caribbean wasn’t that good of an idea.

“Actually, let me talk to my partners, maybe we can escort them ourselves,” the lady tried to reason with her Jabba.

The fat Jabba wasn’t impressed and looked at them with glowing eyes.

“NO, I insist! Let me talk to them and I’ll be right back.” The lady escorted the two boys outside of the small room into what look like a waiting hall. They ordered a couple of other officers to take their fingerprints as she tried to reason with the Head Jailer.

From the waiting hall, John could hear all those presumably convicted criminals shouting. The small cells were overcrowded and none of the faces they’d seen on their way to the Head Jailer looked friendly whatsoever.

“PUTA,” one scream came and went making John twist and turn in his chair uncomfortably. “MARICON,” another shouted from the cells. Some words were familiar to John from TV and the Internet and he knew for a fact that they weren’t welcoming words at all. He couldn’t stop thinking of the TV series ‘ OZ.’

“We don’t belong here,” John said to himself trying to hide his fear.

After arguing for quite some time with the Head Jailer, the lady returned:

The two were visibly relieved.

From behind the door, John could see the Head Jailer in his leather chair. Jabba the Hutt was clearly disappointed.

The Road To… Where Exactly?

“Where exactly are you taking us?” John asked one the officers who was escorting them. Joe wasn’t feeling good at all. He looked as if he was in a great deal of pain. He already missed a day at work and by the looks of it, he was about to miss a whole week. His boss didn’t know and his friends at work couldn’t contact him. John on the other hand didn’t worry that much as he was his own boss, grinding the online poker tables at his own pace.

“It’s just the outskirts of the city. It’s like a dorm, you can buy food and stuff and it’s not so bad,” the officer responded as John tried to read his soul. He wasn’t thankful anymore, he was suspicious and even paranoid about everybody around him. It was like everyone was trying to bluff him and clean him off. He couldn’t trust anyone, not after what happened earlier. The lady from Immigration was indeed nice, she even took them to a nice Chinese restaurant where they ate after about a 24-hour break. The two talked with the Immigration officers down at the headquarters about poker and life in general and everything seemed fine until one of them came and told them the bad news: the Immigration couldn’t escort them for the time being. They could only escort people on Fridays. Until then, the two had to be kept in custody.

“Listen, when you check in, you’ll have to leave your phone, luggage and passports at the desk for safety reasons,” the officer broke the silence.

Something was definitely wrong and John could feel it.

The officer added:

“Where is this place anyway?” John asked reluctantly.

“See for yourself,” the officer encouraged him. John looked from the car into the abyss and what he saw was terrifying: barbed wire, fences, and lots and lots of filth.

He knew he didn’t have much time so he quickly grabbed the cellphone and texted his mother:

The Grand Tour

The place was a real maze of barbed wire and fence. It wasn’t a dorm, it was a hellhole.

After leaving their belongings to the ‘front desk,’ John and Joe traversed a series of barbed wire fences and saw for themselves where they were going to stay: They entered what looked like a prison yard. Multiple guards with real shotguns were patrolling the area. All four corners were occupied by watchtowers with armed men in them. The men in the yard - over 100 maybe - were looking strangely at their new Caucasian inmates.

John was in a state of shock: “This isn’t OZ, it’s Prison Break,” he thought as he watched the surroundings.

“HEAD COUNT!” a voice yelled angrily and all the men in the yard started organizing in files. More men came out of the windowless building that shielded the yard on one side overcrowding the area. There were not 100, there were almost 200 souls for sure.

“How could someone live like this?” John asked Joe but didn’t wait for an answer.

“NOT YOU TWO,” the guard who led the headcount pointed at John and Joe. ”YOU INSIDE!”

As soon as they entered, John could hear the guard saying:

Inside, the two met a Cuban in his early 30s who barely spoke English.

“Welcome!” he said. “Welcome! Come in!” inviting the suspicious boys. “I show Grand Tour to you,” and for the first time in many days, John smiled. “Grand Tour,” he repeated. “OK. Show us!” He liked the Cuban and although he was all rugged, he seemed to be genuine human being. One the firsts he met in actual days.

Not too far away from the yard entrance, the Cuban stopped and John’s smile vanished. He saw around 15 single bed bunks near the walls and around 60-70 mattresses, all in terrible condition, with lots of holes in them.

“Here we sleep man,” the Cuban said in broken English.

“All of us??” John asked shocked gesturing to the yard. How can almost 200 men sleep in here? It’s impossible, he thought.

“All, all,” the Cuban responded. “You, sleep up here,” he said pointing at a random bed. “You, sleep here,” he added taking Joe to the far corner. J ohn put his clothes on top and noticed blood stains on the bedsheet “Oh God,” he said. “I can’t sleep in here.”

The Cuban heard him: “No God in here man. God gone from here. You sleep there or...” and pointed to the cold floor.

John understood the message and wanted to get out of there. The Cuban complied and took them into the yard again. He pointed to a rubber hose all dirty.

“Thanks for the heads-up,” John said in silence and nodded his head letting the guide know he understood.

The tour continued and the three entered a smaller building that was mistakenly labeled as a bathroom. It had to be, John thought, the smell coming out from there was awful.

“You piss here man, you shit here, you take bath here,” the Cuban reassured him.

Inside, there were no lights and the floor was water-logged. John and Joe had to hold their breaths. The Cuban seemed much more comfortable with the smell.

“ No barefoot. Never. Shoes on when you bath. Shoes on. No barefoot,” the guide gestured with a grave expression on his face. “Sick! Sick!” And that’s when they saw the toilets. All were clogged and that’s where all the water from the floor was coming from. In the corner, a shit was floating in that very water the three were walking on. John saw enough and ran out of that sickening sight. He vomited outside and Joe quickly followed.

“Ah yes, man and rats,” the Cuban warned the two when they were finished.

John opened his eyes as wide as he could in horror. “What? Rats?” He could barely speak.

“ Yes, big rats! Come when we sleep. Don’t let bite you.”

The two looked at each other wanting to weep but knowing that they couldn’t. Nobody had to see their fear.

The Light At The End Of The Tunnel

The mess hall was crowded and louder than ever. John and Joe didn’t know why so they asked the Cuban who they met on their second day and spoke decent English.

“Fish boys. They are serving us anchovies,” he said with a big smile. He also spoke to them of the facility they were staying. It wasn’t a prison after all, it was actually a refugee camp: people fleeing from their country in search of a better life. Half were from Haiti, a quarter from Cuba, and the others from all parts of the world. Nobody was a convicted criminal and almost everybody behaved like a decent human being. Of course, there were some exceptions like the Iranian schizophrenic guy who talked all the time with himself. John even managed to talk to him a little bit and found out he was actually on medication but his medication ran out and the staff from the refugee camp didn’t want to help him. Nevertheless, he was pretty much harmless.

Surprisingly in their five days of staying in the camp, they saw many great acts of humanity. There was one guy seriously burnt on his calves and thighs after a boat accident. The camp had no medical facility so fellow inmates would carry this poor guy almost everyday to the rubber hose to wash his wounds, helping him back to bed and using toilet paper as bandages. They even offered John and Joe cups of drinkable water and crackers.

“Ah poker boys,” one Haitian said as he passed them by, pointing at his ear and laughing. The boys smiled back. Several nights ago, they were invited to a special poker game. It was basically Texas Holdem with a twist: no poker chips and certainly no real cash. They could fold pre-flop but if they wanted to see the board, they were taking quite a risk: if they lost the hand, they would had to stick clothespins on their ear and it hurt very much. If they won, they could take a clothespin off. Whoever couldn’t stand the pain was eliminated. Luckily, John and Joe were good at the game and didn’t lose too many hands. At the end of the game, John even won a blow pop.

“Hey boys,” another Haitian hailed them as he passed them by. Many Haitians rushed to line up first whenever some sort of food was served and stand in line again and again until there was no food left. John learned that food in Haiti was scarce and to receive a meal was actually a very big deal for them. “When you two leave?” Many of them seemed to have a watery yellow and surely unhealthy eyes.

“Any day now,” John put on that fake smile again. He wasn’t sure, not after what they did to them the other day. One of the officers brought them a form and said they were going to leave that afternoon. ‘That afternoon’ never actually came and he already heard other talking about how the staff keeps ‘forgetting’ to get people out. Luckily, John knew his mother got the text message he sent five days ago before entering the camp and he also knew she would do everything the get them out. He even talked to her at the phone and told her about the seriousness of the situation in front of all the staff.

“You devil man! You wouldn’t even feed this to your dogs,” a Jamaican in front screamed at one of the guards throwing his anchovy meal to the wall. “Why do you give us such garbage?” Many followed, Jamaicans, Cubans and Haitians and the guards quickly lined up in a formation.

John and Joe got scared and backed down slowly trying to stay away from the uprising riot on the mess hall. Behind them, a giant hand grabbed them both and shook them.

He screamed:

The two tried to defend themselves.

The officer didn’t want to hear any of it: “YOU LEAVE NOW!” and confronted John.

John wasn’t. He thought he had the best mother in the world.

The two players eventually returned to their home country after five days of staying in the refugee camp. They came back healthy and PCA_Refugee tried to reach embassies and human rights organizations to tell them about his terrible experience and about the way people are treated in the Bahamian refugee camps. Unfortunately, few reacted and actually did something. He kept in touch with some of the refugees and later found out they did eventually get out of there.

Not long after this experience, PCA_Refugee gave up pursuing a poker career and focused entirely on his less-lucrative passion. He was never going to be the same again.