She cried. I felt awful. But African Swine Fever doesn't care about your feelings. The sausage stayed with us. That is the cruelty of the frontline: you are paid to be polite, but you are trained to be ruthless about biology and law.
At the passenger terminal, the technology fades into the background. Here, the frontline is psychology.
On the frontline, "nothing" is often a red flag.
The "Nothing to Declare" (Green) lane is where the magic happens. Most people think we ignore this lane. We don't. We watch the walk. The tourist who bought a $9,000 camera and threw the box away to hide it? He walks too fast. The importer bringing in restricted plant material? They shuffle, looking for the nearest restroom to dump the seeds.
Last week, a grandmother came through. Sweetest person you’d ever meet. Her suitcase x-ray showed a dense, organic block. My heart sank. But when we opened the bag, it wasn't drugs. It was 40 pounds of homemade sausage—pork, unrefrigerated, wrapped in banana leaves.
I’ve been yelled at. Threatened. Someone offered me a bribe last Tuesday ($500 to "forget" the extra carton of cigarettes). I've had to tell a bride that her wedding dress (made of endangered moth cocoons) is illegal to import.
