Beyond borders

"79!"
Zia had been waiting for almost thirty minutes when his number got called out. He got up and carried his belongings towards a door which led out of the waiting area, but not out of the building.
He walked into another room where many other men and women in uniforms were attending to passengers who had just landed. Their faces not distinguishable, from even a short distance they looked like uniforms with bodies. No smiles, no emotions, no hobbies. Only a most ominous and unwelcoming presence.
Behind every desk was a sign that read: "Welcome to the United States of America". A cheery message for a gloomy place. Like sunlight sneaking its way into a prison cell, it was on the other side of the barrier.
"This way, sir" called out a voice, a man's voice, from one of the uniforms from behind one of the desks. As soon as Zia was within an earshot he heard "Passport please!".
Zia complied, he handed the uniform his passport which was not an American passport but it was, none the less, Blue in colour. Though not blue enough, as the man in the uniform, while making the customary inquiries regarding the purpose of the visit and the amount of alcohol and tobacco in the luggage, said: "One bottle of wine? Looks like you're not getting your 69 or 70 virgins."
"Excuse me?", Zia unsure of what he heard. It didn't sound like a joke.
"You heard me". The uniform confirming what Zia had thought he'd heard. And it wasn't a joke.
So it became a matter of bigotry. It's not the colour of your passport but the colour of your skin, the origin of your name, Zia realized.
After a little more probing Zia heard the uniform say, " Welcome to the USA".
USA, the most sought after yet the most hated country in the whole world. If you're not welcome in heaven, it's just as bad as being in hell.