Living in The Bahamas-Boat Confiscat(Gordon England) LIVING IN THE BAHAMAS
MY BOAT CONFISCATED BY CUSTOMS

With a glorious spring weekend forecast for Nassau, I called Paul MacDonald in Florida. “Be on Friday’s evening flight to Nassau if you want in on a run of big dolphin.”
“Count me in, buddy.”
I began boat preparations on Thursday evening in anticipation of a forty-five-mile trip to Exuma to fill my fish boxes with dolphins. When I took Boat Tales to the gas pump, I noticed one of the buddy bearings had come off the trailer axle, making a wheel wobble. Drat. It was always something with a boat.
When I pulled the wheel off my trailer the next morning, I discovered blackened bearings. I had to get new ones right away, so I called around town for replacement parts. After many calls, I found a mechanic, Philmore, who would make the repair if I provided new bearings.
At noon I took off work and drove downtown to Browns Marina to buy new bearings. I went back home to hook up Boat Tales and take her to the mechanic. It just so happened his office was across the street from Customs Department, where agents lounged on the front steps watching traffic go by. Wouldn’t you know it, they noticed my boat. With nothing else to do, they followed me to the garage.
I hopped out of my car and walked up to Philmore. “I called earlier about my bearings.”
“We been waiting for you, boss,” he said with a big smile. He took my parts and jacked up my trailer.
About that time, I looked at the driveway and saw a Customs car pull in.
“You got your papers, boss?” Philmore asked.
I watched three cocky Customs agents step out of their car to inspect my boat. I realized they were looking for Bahamian registration stickers. With Florida tags on my boat and trailer, they moved in for a bust. They hesitated when they saw my Bahamian government uniform. Generally, white people were tourists, not to be bothered. This was uncharted territory for them. The largest of them stepped forward with his white uniform, black patent leather hat and shoes, and red belt. As a fellow government employee, my only hope was to use lots of brass.
“What’s up, gentlemen?” I said with a relaxed smile.
“Why does your boat have Florida registration?” he asked with a serious face. “Do you have a work permit to live here?”
I had little choice but to give them my Public Works badge, which confirmed I lived in Nassau under a government contract. With no Bahamian registration for my boat, they had me cold.
“I have a Cruising Permit.” I looked over my shoulder to see Philmore’s workers walking away. This was not good.
“Where is it?” Shiny Hat asked. I climbed onto Boat Tales to retrieve my permit.
Shiny Hat inspected my papers, then said with a frown, “This permit expired four weeks ago.”
With a straight face, I thought, here we go. I had not renewed my permit because bad weather had prevented me from launching the boat and going to the Customs office at the docks to obtain a Cruising Permit.
“Well, you see, my trailer is obviously broken. That’s why I’m here, for repairs. It has been broken for a while. I'm trying to fix it today, so I can get my permit renewed tomorrow.” I wiped sweat from my brow.
“Don’t you know you can’t have a Cruising Permit?” Shiny Hat asked with a serious face.
When I had brought my boat over from Miami last year, I had obtained a Cruising Permit for foreigners for $150. If a Bahamian brings a boat into the country permanently, Duty was twenty-five percent of the boat’s value. However, I was here for a temporary job and would take my boat back to the States when I left, so I thought a Cruising Permit would suffice.
I insisted, “When I came into Nassau, the Customs officer said all I needed was a Cruising Permit.”
“Did you tell him you’d be working here or visiting?”
“I don’t remember. I had just come to the country. What did I know?” Sensing a rare opportunity, the agents slowly surrounded me. Shiny Hat looked down at me, then at my permit again.
Noticing I had declared a 32-caliber revolver on my Cruising Permit, he asked, “Do you have a pistol on board?” Possession of a pistol was legal with a Cruising Permit as long as it stayed on the boat for protection from sharks and pirates when cruising the islands. Possession of an illegal pistol was punishable with five years of hard time in their second world prison, a $10,000 fine, plus $1,000 per bullet fine. My Friday afternoon was going downhill fast.
‘Show no fear,’ I thought. “Yes, I brought that pistol in with my Cruising Permit.” Regretfully, that permit had now expired.
“Where are your bullets?” I had declared twelve bullets on my permit.
“Right there in the holster.” They carefully counted the bullets twice, then went to their car to call their office.
When they returned, Shiny Hat announced, “We’re confiscating this boat now. You need to take it to our Customs office across the street.”
“No problem, officer. I’ll make it there as soon as that wheel is repaired. I can’t drive it any further.” I pointed to Philmore with the wheel off my trailer.
“We’ll wait,” Shiny Hat replied. They knew I wasn’t going anywhere, so they retreated under the shade of a magnolia tree. Smirks on their faces showed pride for busting an American.
Philmore walked up to me with wide eyes, “Boss, you brought the right inner bearing, but the outer bearing is too small. You need a bigger bearing."
I looked at my watch; two o'clock with traffic building for Friday rush hour. Sweat poured off my face.
I went to the lounging Customs agents to announce, “I need to go get more parts for my trailer.”
Shiny Hat thought about it, then said, “Fine, we know where you work. Bring the boat over to Customs when you get it fixed. We close at four o’clock.”
They left for their air-conditioned office to wait for me. They knew I had no choice but to bring my boat to them.
“Please stay open for me,” I pleaded with Philmore.
“Don’t you worry, Boss. I’ll be here.”
He found a cinderblock and jacked up the trailer to disconnect it from my jeep. I drove away to struggle with downtown traffic again. While in the car, I called my attorney. At two o’clock Friday afternoon, he wasn’t to be found. I called another attorney. Again, he was not to be found. Now I was thinking about Nassau’s infamous jail. I would be surrounded by thousands of Bahamians and Haitians. That thought scared the hell out of me. I called Annie to explain my sticky situation, then asked how much cash she had. I told her I might not be home tonight, so she should plan on picking up Paul at the airport at six o’clock. Next, I called Willie Thompson, my cleaning squad supervisor, who was also a part-time policeman. I explained my predicament to him.
"This is bigger than me, Boss. You better call my Commander.”
I knew Commander Albright from previous social functions.
He picked up my call at the police station right away. “Mr. England, how are you?”
“I am in a spot of trouble, Mr. Albright.” I went through my story, then begged, “I don’t want to go to jail tonight because of that pistol. Can you help me?”
“Don’t worry, you won’t go to jail,” he said. “My cousin is Chief of Customs. Let me see what I can do.”
Relief flowed through me, but I wasn’t out of the woods yet. I returned to Browns Marina through heavy traffic to purchase the correct bearings for my trailer. When I left, traffic ground to a complete stop after just two blocks. A Summertime Junkanoo parade had shut down the street. Dancers in bright, glittered costumes pulsated along the road.
“Damn,” I yelled, slamming my steering wheel.
I turned through an alley and snaked through the crowd until I found an open road.
I prayed, please, Lord, let me make it to Customs before four o’clock.
I tried to call Annie again, but there was no cell phone coverage in this section of downtown. I thought, Gordon, you’re going to have to be cool to get out of this jam.
I made a quick stop at an ATM machine for $400 more cash. There was no telling how much this was going to cost before the day was over. I pulled into the garage at 3:45.
Philmore came out to my car, “We’ve be waiting for you, Boss. We’ll get your trailer fixed right up.”
Fifteen minutes later, he had the bearings and wheel repaired. I connected my trailer to the hitch and took a deep breath of resignation.
I called Annie and told her, “I’m turning myself in now. I don’t know when I’ll see you again.”
“Good luck. I love you," Annie replied, trying to be brave.
“Love you too.”
Then I lifted my head and drove to the Customs office like a Christian going into a lion’s den, pulling into the Customs driveway at 4:05.
A guard at the gate said, “We be closed.”
“This boat’s been confiscated. Your officers told me to bring it in."
He waved me through. I drove to the backdoor of the Customs building, where Shiny Hat and his buddies waited for me. They watched while I disconnected my boat. Deep scowls reflected unhappiness with working past closing time. They led me to a cubicle and stood across its entrance with intimidation as I filled out paperwork that felt like a confession. Other agents strolled by, looking with curiosity at the rare sight of a white government official in their building. Thirty minutes later, they put me in a small office and told me to wait. I sweated but kept my head up with an impassive face. Ten minutes later, Shiny Hat opened the door.
He said, “Follow me. We’re going to see Assistant Chief of Customs Poitier.”
I walked into Poitier’s office with my shoulders slumped, looking subservient. He pointed to a low wooden chair. I sat down. With a frown on his face, he ignored me to look at my paperwork. He wanted to go home but had been told to take care of me. Two minutes, later Poitier looked up.
With obvious irritation, he growled, “Why are you here?”
I repeated my story.
“When you came to Nassau, did you tell them you worked for the government?”
With a straight face, I looked him right in the eyes. “I don’t remember. I’d been on my boat for two days and didn’t know a thing about Duty.”
He grilled me for a few more minutes, making me repeat my story. “Who’s your boss?”
“Minister Roberts.” He twitched in his seat, thinking about Minister Roberts also being a Senator.
He rubbed his eyes, then made a dramatic pause.
He said with exasperation, "You have two choices, Mr. England. We can impound your boat and go to court later this year to figure it out, or you can pay Duty now and take your boat home. However, we have to confiscate your pistol. We’ll give it back when you leave Nassau.”
“Where do I pay?”
With a smirk, he said, “I thought you’d see it my way. Go down to Valuation Department.”
“Thank you very much. This was a big misunderstanding on my part. I am sorry I kept you after hours.”
“Goodbye, Mr. England. I hope we don’t meet again.”
“We won’t.” I shook his hand, then left his office.
Shiny Hat took me downstairs to Valuations Department to determine how much my Duty payment would be. Though the office had already closed, one unhappy agent waited for me.
With a sneer, he said, “Duty is based on the boat’s value. My computer’s down, so what’s the boat worth?”
I knew he was looking at the value I declared on the Cruising Permit.
“$20,000.”
He punched his calculator, then looked up with a grin. “Duty plus penalty is $5,825.”
“Where do I pay?”
He shook his head, feigning sympathy. “Collections Department is closed. Let’s go outside to look at your boat.”
After inspecting it, he filled out more paperwork.
I cautiously asked, “Can I leave my credit card or a cash deposit now? I’ll pay the rest next week.”
“No need. Take your boat home and come back next week to pay. I want to go home now. I'm late for a party.”
Unbelievable! I wasn’t going to jail. I’d have my boat for fishing with Paul. The relief overwhelmed me. I hooked up Boat Tales and drove away, ecstatic and exhausted.
I called Annie and told her, “I am on my way home.”
“What?” she screamed.
“I’ll be there soon.”
Next, I called Commander Albright and related my story. “Albright, I owe you big time. Thanks a million.”
“That was nothing. Come by and see me sometime, Brother.”
When I pulled into my driveway, Annie greeted me with smiles and hugs. She had drinks and island music waiting for me at our pool. I jumped in to wash off a lot of sweat and cool down. I leaned back on pool steps, took a big swig of rum and coconut water. With such a lousy day, coming home to Annie was what I needed.
I told Annie, “Another day in paradise.”
“You better go get Paul at the airport. Drive careful this time.”
“Let’s go get a cheeseburger and margarita tonight at Green Parrot on Paradise Island. I deserve it after today.”
She laughed, “You sure do. Being a pirate is hard work.”
“Yes, It helps to get in trouble on Friday afternoon when people want to leave work early.” I laughed, thinking about my luck.

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