The Journey !

 

      The morning of January 18^th of 1995, my father woke me up at 4a.m. to say good-bye. After pondering about it for many months, he finally decided to join his brother Reyes “on the other side,” He was promised a job having to do with construction along side with his brother when he crossed the border (Phoenix, Arizona was his target destination). After being a musician for 12 years, trading his guitar and microphone for a hammer and nails didn’t seem much of an exiting idea for him. However, thanks to the economy of our country, he had no other choice. I don’t know much about the details, but the morning of January 20^th he safely arrived in Phoenix.

      Five months later my mother decided to join him bringing my sister and myself along. It was June 24^th of 1995 around 5a.m. my grandfather drove us to the bus that would be taking us to “Agua Prieta”, the border city with Douglas Arizona where we will be crossing. In small black back-pack each of us had one change of clothes in addition to what we were wearing, enough “burritos” to last us through the day, and my sister had packed one doll which at the young age of five it did seem vital to take with her. My mom had eighty American dollars with her hidden in her clothes in case something would happen. Now looking back at it, that’s all we were worth at the time, three outfits, ten burritos, one Barbie doll and eighty American dollars. No photographs or anything of value was aloud on such a journey, because it would have been a risk of being lost or taken away even though each of us ran with that same risk.

      After an eight hour bus ride, we arrived in “Agua Prieta” and were quickly picked up by “The Coyotes” from the bus station. We were taken to the home of the female who was in charge of our shipment. They were referring to us as “EL CARGAMENTO”, “the shipment” although we were all humans and very little of anything else. At that house, seven other people were already waiting for night fall; they were going to be our partners in crime and our fellow companions for the journey. All of us were given gallons of water to pack within our few belongings. They sat us down in the living room and instructed us with details of what we should and shouldn’t do. Not that anything within such a night could be predictable, but they tried to cover the basics. About 6pm. the lady in charge decided to take two of the children with her on a separate route. I was one of them. She said that they would be able to move faster through the desert without the children. She tried to take my sister but that didn’t work my sister and two other little ones stayed with the adults.

      Me at the age of ten, and another boy name Jose who was 12 were put in a car and taken towards the border. The plan was to pass us through the actual security check point at the border as her two nephews. She had two birth certificates of some other “American” children, and as we drove towards the border line we were instructed to memorize the information on each of our birth certificates specially the new name and birthdates. A few minutes later she received a call on her cell phone, one of her team leaders decided that she should turn back and bring both of us back to the house. I am not sure what they discussed but it was all in English, and obviously a language I didn’t understand even if I tried. It was 7pm when I met back with my mother, by then the sun was finally gone and we were all ready to start the famous walk across the desert.

      All ten of us were packed in two cars and taken for a road trip towards the border. We finally arrived behind a factory that was sitting next to a huge open field. Right as we pulled up, a young man appeared from the dark and quickly moved towards the driver’s window of the car. Our driver said he was our “guide”. That was the guy who would lead us through the walk. The two cars emptied in a matter of seconds and drove away. The guide, who was a Hispanic male of no more than 20 years old, had us sit down on the dirt in order to give us instructions on what would happen next. The first thing he explained was the way we would actually “cross” the border line. There was a huge barbwire fence dividing the open field. There was a small opening at the bottom of the fence. Someone had dug a small “tunnel” under the barbwire in order to let a human bodies pass under. He said that we all had to cross throw that gap on the fence and quickly run to a close-by bridge directly ahead of us. He went first through the fence. The four males were next in order to help the two females and four children by pulling them from the other side. Six adults ranging from ages 18-60 and four children ages 12, 10 and 5 years, and a 2-month old baby had finally touched American land.

      We quickly ran towards the bridge passing many bushes and cracks all over the field floor. When we arrived under the bridge we all sat down on what was part of the black waters of the city. It was muddy and the smell was indescribable, but it was the only place where we could hide out while we knew what to do next. The guide pointed with his index finger in direction of some very small city lights. He told us those were Douglas’ city lights and we had exactly two hours to get there before the border patrol would start their regular “tour drive” at 10pm within that area of the border. It was a total of 10 people carrying 15 gallons of water. Two of the children were physically unable to carry their water and also the mother of the two-month-old baby who she was carrying on her arms as he slept. There was no talking aloud during the walk, very few whispering was heard as the parents of the crowd let their children know not to be scared and that everything would be okay. After seventy-five minutes of walking, the guide directed us to another bridge where we would take a brief break.

      He asked all the guys to quickly pour the half empty water gallons into one so we could get rid of the unnecessary trash. By that time five of the gallons were gone. He also said that we had two more bridges to get to before arriving in the city. The third bridge was a local hang out spot for some gang members that made a hobby stealing all immigrants’ belongings and water. At that moment when he said that, two of the women started crying, they had heard of people that got raped and killed by gang members in the desert who are against illegal immigration. He instructed us to leave all of our bags and clothing there to not attract any attention from the gang members. Nothing but the water would leave that bridge. The three outfits and the Barbie inside of the back-pack were left behind. I know my mother was scared inside and she even asked herself why she found herself in the middle of the night, with her two children and trusting strangers around her to aid us if something happened. She never said anything to me other than not to be scared and that everything would be okay.

      As we arrived at the third bridge, the guide had all of us walk in front of him which was very smart of him to do. Thank God it was all a false alarm and the bridge was empty. There were plenty of belongings left from all the other immigrants who had crossed within the past few weeks. It is interesting to know now that every plastic bag and back-pack left in that desert has a story just like mine. I wonder if anyone else ran into our back-pack and I wonder if they ever made it safely to there desired destination.

We had one bridge left and after that, if everything would go according to plan we would be done with the beginning stage of our journey. We continued walking towards the last bridge, by this time we had walked about one hour and fort-five minutes in an extreme fast pace. My sister had already been passed around everyone’s arms taking turns carrying the little ones. Mom tried to hold my hand the whole time except when it was her turn to carry my little sister again.

      Finally the last bridge was above us as we sat down to take one more break before arriving into the city. The guide let us know that his part of the deal was done and from there on it was all up to us. He directed us to a nearby shopping center were there was a huge store I believe it was a Wal-Mart, or some kind of “All-in-one” store. He was very detailed about his instructions. We all had to walk in groups of two or three, five minutes ahead of one another so we would not arrive at the same time. Once we would enter the store we would pretend to shop and walk through out the whole store without talking to the rest of us. He said the same people who had dropped us off with him would be approaching the front door of the store to get us back in the cars. We had to walk around but periodically check the front door for familiar faces.

      My mother, sister and I were the second group to walk into the store. Once we finally saw ourselves in the light we realized our entire clothes were full of mud and dirt. How would we blend in as regular shoppers if we looked like we just got drag by a car through a pile of mud? God only knows, but we sure pretended to walk and shop around the entire store. My sister’s eyes totally opened when we discovered the toy section. For one second we completely forgot of the whole world and gazed at the millions of toys you could ever possibly imagine. Coming from a town of only 3,000 people, 1 doctor, 2 grocery stores and not 1 paved road, that was as close to heaven as I had ever been.

Within twenty minutes the lady from earlier arrived at the store. She gave my mom a signal with her head, directing us to the car. In the car two other fellow partners in crime were already waiting. Two thirds of the prime group was already heading forward to the next step. We never saw the other five people again. I believe their destination was California instead of Phoenix so their route was taken to a different destination.

      We started driving back to some hotel where others were waiting since the night before to be taken to Phoenix. We arrived to the hotel and were taken to a room. One hotel room was holding twenty five other immigrants. Children, men and women with one room, two single beds, one bathroom and all the lights shut off so that they do not attract any attention. Apparently that night only the people whose families already had the money ready (at the time it was $600.00 per head) could leave otherwise they would be confined there until their family members would call and say the money was collected. Gladly my father and family had already put together $1,800.00 needed for us to leave right away and not have to spend the night there. She selected ten people including the three of us to leave that same night. The unexpected part of that decision is that we had to take only one car. Not a van or SUV but a 1990, four-door TEMPO. After having a quick snack from McDonalds which she provided to us in the hotel room, we went outside and started planning by the car behind the hotel how the sitting arrangements would work out.

      It was a father and a mother and their three daughters, also my mother, sister and I, the driver and her daughter too. The deal with the car was that from an outside viewer only four people should be visible and six of us had to be invisible.

Here’s how it finally worked out. The back seat: The mother and two daughters were sitting down. The little one in the middle was too short and her head would not stick out the window so that worked out okay. The other daughter and the father had to lie down directly over their legs. Five people on the back seat with only two showing; we were doing well so far. Next, the front seats: The lady obviously took the driver’s seat and my mother the other. The driver’s little girl had to go with her because there was no baby sitters available that night so she sat in the middle of both of them. My sister was in my mom’s arms, but had to be ducking the entire time for her head not to peak over the window. I was the last to get in the car. I had to fit myself in the room left where my mom had her feet and laid my head on her knees. It felt comfortable for me squatting by mom’s feet. We were all ready and the drive began.

      It took no more than forty five minutes by the time my legs were completely numb, also my mom’s arms from carrying my five year-old sister and all the girls on the back having to hold two grown bodies over their legs. We had about 4 hours to go. We were not aloud to have any type of breaks. Not even restroom breaks. If anyone would see all those people getting off the car it would be very suspicious and the driver didn’t want to run that risk. Three hours on the road I had already been quietly crying for a good 30 minutes. It is such an indescribable feeling having to sit in an uncomfortable position for so long and know that you had to stay that way whether you liked it or not. I know it was breaking my mother’s heart as I kept telling her that I truly couldn’t take it anymore. All she could say was “we are almost there baby, we are almost there!” Nature of the beast, right before passing Tucson, as I was still crying non stop, I realized it was time to go to the restroom. I was able to hold it, but didn’t know for how long. 30 minutes after passing Tucson I had to urinate on myself. Apparently as I told my mom I had to, one of the girls on the back did the same thing.

      The more we drove the more the tension roused up. Our bodies were not capable of holding the same positions for that long. Though the people who were sitting up seemed to be in a comfortable position, with everyone else’s weight over their legs it ended up being the same uncomfortable turn out. I don’t know how, though I was still crying I fell asleep with my head over my mom’s knees. After that, I remember my mom waking me up to see the “tunnel” we were about to drive through. We were on the I-10 freeway located right below 7^th street and 7^th avenue. That was the first picture I have in my head of Phoenix Arizona. This time, now in the city the driver aloud me to rise up my head and peak through the window so I could see the tunnel we would be crossing very soon. Until this day, all three of us remember exactly that night when we pass that tunnel. It is almost like a monument of our journey trying to get here. While I was sleeping the driver had called my father and selected a parking lot of a store to make the final delivery. It was a K-mart I believe. A few minutes after waking up, we arrived at the agreed destination. We pulled into the store’s parking lot and quickly jumped out of the car. All of us even the people in the back. I couldn’t walk. My legs had been locked for so long that I honestly couldn’t stand up but I was glad to see my dad and my uncle, we finally made it and that’s all it matter. We did it with no major complications.

My father paid the lady and she quickly left, it was no more than a five minute business deal. As soon as we got in my uncle’s car and started driving through the city I was fully awake. It was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen, so many lights and buildings and roads. It was beautiful.

      We finally arrived at our new home. A two-bedroom, one-restroom apartment that we would be sharing together with a total of 14 people, all family members and a few of my cousins friends. We had our own room, as a family, all four of us. We were finally together again, alive, safe and ready to start what I now call my daily life in the most powerful country on earth.

      Everything since then has been a challenge and a daily struggle. That was just a small portion part of the journey that has yet to end. It has been eleven years since that night. I finally graduated high school and continued to college, I own my own car and live on my own. My parents bought their own home and are doing well along with my sister. I’ve learned this country’s language, I have adjusted to the U.S. as if I was born here and now I am a proud owner of my own business, assisting this country with its powerful economy. But I am yet to call myself “American”, thanks to all these politics and regulations; I am still not eligible for residency or any type of documentation that allows me to call myself that. I am as illegal as I was under every bridge I found myself the night I came here with my family. Since I am unable to get any type of employment I decided to start my own business. Since I am not being employed by anyone I can actually obtain a business license in order to report my earnings to the government. Although I drive everyday I own no driver’s license. I am unable to obtain an I.D. or travel within the country if needed for pleasure or business. So the journey still continues, I run with the risk of being deported every time a police officer can pull me over or if I find myself on the wrong place at the wrong time not necessarily doing anything wrong.

      I consider myself an American. My life is here; my friends, all my efforts and education, all my work and memories are now based in a place that doesn’t allow me to simply live like every other person who luckily happened to be born on this particular part of the world. Hope is the last to die; therefore my plans of becoming a legal citizen are still standing, many dreams and accomplishments are still in process, if I’ve made it this far I know I have no limits.

      Sometimes we think with such a journey that this person had gone that why is it that he is not granted something that he deserves, the privileged of citizenship within the country he grew up in. Why with all that him and his family he is not able to even be allowed to begin the process in becoming a citizen. Just like Malia and Atu in the book called Voyages by Cathy A. Small, they had a dream of migrating along with there family. There reasons, like the person I interviewed, were similar for reasons why they left Mexico verses why Malia and the gang wanted to leave the Tongan Islands. They wanted to leave for reasons such as opportunities for the kids to go to school, new better paying jobs, and a chance for Malia be with her family especially her mother (Small 79). This is similar to my interviewer’s story because this is simply all they wanted. To be closer with his dad and uncle, as well as other relatives that have already made it across the border.

 

      Unfortunately my interviewer migrated to the United States in the year of 1995. The reason being is that around this time no laws or thoughts of amnesty were being in progress. The last time that such a thing occurred was in 1986. Around this time in the United States, we had and over flow of immigrants that have been illegally coming, ones that have been here for over 10 years as well as people that have migrated as a baby or young child and grew up in the U.S. This led to a series of congressional proposals that concluded in the immigration Reform and Control Act of 1986. This law basically created a limited regularization program whereby all undocumented aliens who could prove their continuous residence in the United States since January of 1982 and meet certain other eligibility criteria could legalize their status. What I found also good about this new Act also contained sanction against employers who knowingly hire undocumented workers; and an extended guest worker program wage workers for agriculture (Sassen 6). If my interviewer came around this time he would have been able to be apart of this amnesty act. He would have been granted legal status and would have been able to safely and securely carry out his life as he wished.

      One thing for sure in our world we are all living in a transnational environment. As stated in the Transnationlism: New Analytical Framework for Understanding Migration Article it gives many examples of how we all live today in a Transnational world, a world that seems to be like boiling pot. The article talks about how transnational field are in part shaped by the migrants’ perception s that they must keep there options opened. Although we have access to everything in our nation there is no one secure place. One way migrants keep their options opened is to continuously translate the economic and social positions gained in one political, social and/or economic capital in another (Transnationalism 12). This sense of transnationalism and sense of a boiling pot society we live in today, why should we not let my interviewer as well as other illegal migrants to come into our nations freely and assist in the growth and trade of knowledge and information. Why does it have to be so much headache for the government to make it into a social and economic issue when countries are not as they use to be, closed off and stuck in there own world. We should open up our borders with minimal restrictions and allow continuous growth of our nations with the help of a transnational social environment.

      What is common in the thoughts of many here in the U.S. when thinking on “Mexican” immigration places the U.S. as the powerless victim and the U.S. border patrol as the defender of the victims honor and the “stalwart” but ineffective guard against an insidious enemy (meaning migrants) with powerful friends (Chavez 230). The reality of the border issue is that a border is just a line on a map that separates two nations from one another. Whether a nation puts up a fence and barbwire to separate itself as well as to secure it self from the opposite nation, there will always be gaps, holes, and other ways for people to come up with to get across to the next side. Just as my interviewer and the people who he migrated with discovered that dug up hole in the fencing and barbwire, there a many holes and gaps that are unprotected between the U.S. and Mexico border (Chavez 231). This will always be a problem that most likely may never be solved. If we look back in time this issue has been around ever since humans began to group together in villages and separate themselves from other villages.

      My interviewee has successfully established himself here U.S., and with all he has went through and is still going through. His identity is still lost. He is still just another undocumented immigrant that fears day after day to when something might happen and he gets caught and thrown back into Mexico. With all of what he has here in Phoenix, Arizona would just be seen as another dream, and inch of the past of what he had and now what he lost, just because his parents brought him here to seek a better life illegally. I ponder on why can’t the U.S. and Mexico work out a better way of solving this problem together. “Finally, we speak to the peoples of the United States and Mexico. Our two nations are more interdependent than ever before in our history, sharing cultural and social values, common interests, and hopes for the future. Our nations have a singular opportunity to act as true neighbors and to work together to build a more just and generous