Who is "Cereal?"

This excerpt from My Worst Thanksgiving Ever also appears as the Prologue in Desperately Seeking Cereal. It not only explains why I use the name in the title of my newest book but also why I was so desperate to find him:

I met a man from Belize in the detention center. His name is Cyril but because of his thick patois I thought he said “Cereal.” The Nicaraguan guards pronounced it “Cero” which is Spanish for “Zero.” He hated that nickname because he is “not a nobody.” Instead, he asked me to call him by his middle name, Albert.

Cyril Albert Barnett claimed he is the nephew of the Prime Minister of Belize, Dean Barrow. He said that his mom is Mr. Barrow’s sister. He spoke pidgin English, French, and Spanish. He helped me a lot during my incarceration. In return, I like to think I saved him from suicide.

Cereal ran a successful business and lived in an estate just north of Matagalpa. He was mugged in Managua one October night and the ladrones stole his wallet and passport. He reported it to the police who arrested him instead because he couldn’t prove that he was in Nicaragua legally. He sneaked his cellphone into the detention center, called his girlfriend, and waited for her to come help him. When she did show up with their infant daughter, Cyril told her where he had hidden $3,000 in their house in Matagalpa and she left to find the cash and bail him out.

He never heard from her again.

Belize does not have an embassy in Nicaragua so Cereal didn’t have any diplomatic options. He tried to commit suicide one day in October by overdosing on some acetaminophen he had been hoarding. He was still suicidal when I met him two months later. I promised to get the bail money for him ($500) upon my release. My plan was to have the funds sent by Western Union and instead of using it to pay for a flight back to the States, I would bail him out and then we would both take buses to the Belize embassy in San Salvador. He guaranteed me that his government would then fly us out, him to Belize City and me to Fort Lauderdale to pick up my car. That was Plan A. We would resort to Plan B if we got separated. This plan was to meet up at his estate in Matagalpa, dig up a chestful of money he had buried there, then pay for flights out of Managua. I felt good about both plans because neither one meant I had to deal with the embassy of the United States in Nicaragua ever again.

I promised to help Cereal and he promised not to kill himself.