Children fight to survive in the blistering heat, desperately needing water. They don’t realize that children on the other side of the world—a world they’re trying to get to—live in what they would consider luxury, rarely struggling to survive.
On the other side, children go to school. They can go play outside without the fear of a drug lord threatening their very existence.
There are such cases where the mothers must leave their children because they do not have enough money or shelter to protect them. The children often end up dealing drugs and on the street as thugs.
Gabriela* knows that story. She knows about life on the other side. It wasn’t long ago, that she was there.
“I was just 5 or 6 years old when I saw my dad get shot,” she said. “At the time we lived in Caltimacan Hidalgo, Mexico. I remember he was standing about 10 feet away from me when the first shot to his chest was fired. He was shot three times, one to the front and two in the back. The man who shot my father shot his shoulder and then again his lower back. I screamed as soon as my dad hit the floor. Then the man had the nerve to make sure his job was rightly done. He walked up to my father, smirked, turned him onto his back and shot him dead center between the eyes. I will never forget my dad’s expression as he yelled at me to leave. “Corrè mija! Corrè! Dejame aqui, ve! Ve!” (Run my daughter! Run! Leave me here! Go! GO!)
“I remember running all around town being able to hear all the screaming, all the cries, I could see the houses being burnt down; there were other children roaming the streets looking for their mothers. I ran for about seven or eight minutes until I finally found my mom at the end of the street.
Tears running down my cheeks, I clasped my mom with tremendous force. It didn’t last so long though. Soon she jerked my arm and we started running again. As I ran I heard the woman behind us declare “Dale mas rappido! Si nos cachan nos matarà!” (Go faster! If they catch us they’ll kill us!)
“In that time most the men in our little town would both be taken as prisoners and forced to work on the streets of other towns selling drugs, or be dragged out of their home to be executed.
“My father had made the mistake of getting involved with these people and when he could not ‘deliver the goods,’ he was killed. I miss him greatly and there’s not one day that goes by that the memory of him lying there drenched in his own blood doesn’t cross my mind.
“My mother and I found it hard to survive alone, without food, shelter, and water. We had nowhere to go. The only family we had lived in Texas, and there was no way we were going to be able to make it to the United states without any money or passports. We would be shot down at the frontera (border) for sure.
“After a couple days of struggling to survive, eating out of the garbage, and living of on the streets, my mother and I decided that anything would be better than what we were going through here. The decision was to go to the United States. We knew it was going to be hard to make it without getting caught. There is a group leader we knew of that could possibly help, so we traveled to Pachuca, Mexico. “There in a back ally we met with the best-built, most gigantic, tannest man I have ever seen. He yelled at us as soon as he saw us. ‘You have to get used to all the yelling, all the shot sounds and all the blood shed. You must know now before you go that there is a possibility that you might not make it. If by any chance you do make it, you will not be allowed to come back. You understand this don’t you?’
“We slightly nodded. I looked up at my mother who was clenching me as tight as she could. ‘Yes, we know” she said.
“The man went on to tell us that there were certain things that we were allowed to take which included a gallon of water and whatever we could carry in a small backpack.
“The next day at 4:00 in the morning we were required to get up and get ready to leave in five minutes. The actual trip was the longest, most exhausting trip I have ever taken. It took us 10 days to get to Dallas, Texas.
“We had to climb fences, run through many farmers’ fields and many rabid dog infested territories. We were shot at many times and chased out of many abandoned houses. We would travel during the night and sleep half the day. We had to sleep on dirt floors, or if we were lucky in a log or any place where the immigration would not find us.
“It was very hard especially for my mom, having me and all. I could tell she was worried about me not being able to make it. We started out with six people in our group and ended up with four.
“One man was shot and the gun wound got infected, the other was found dead one morning thought to have died of unknown diseases. It was hard for me to see the men lying there dead, especially since I was so young.
“Now that I’m 17 and still not legal, it’s hard to think about my childhood. I did not have a ‘normal’ childhood. It’s especially hard as I see my friends with their dads. It makes me think about what my life would have been like if I had just been born in this country rather then my own.
Then, I stop and think ‘well my country might not be perfect, but I’m proud of it all the same.’
Gabriela, a former Rider student, is not alone. Immigrants and their families across the nation have stories to share, including those here. As most teachers here at Rider, Ethan Shaw is one of the many who know stories about their students’ pasts. He tells the story about one of those students whose father had escaped out of Guatemala due to the fact that his family was threatened to be killed.
A while back in Guatemala there were conflicts between two very different groups. Both social and racial classes were formed. Peninsulares, as they were called were in control, next came the Mestisos, and last on the class list were the Indians known as the Mayans.
Since there weren’t many Peninsulares in Guatemala the Mestisos were put in charge. When politics came into effect the Mayans were treated badly. When Rikky Corrtez’s* father was only 8-yrs-old, he was forced to travel out of Guatemala and come to the United States.
Rikky’s Mayan grandfather had somehow been involved into the Guatemalan politics, and the Mestizos did not agree on what was going on. The sudden uproar in the government threatened the whole family so they had to escape as fast as they possibly could.
The Corrtez family had a very old red truck in which they used to travel. Since the truck was old it would always break down on them. There were times when the truck would not want to start and they had to push the truck until it would start again.
The family did fairly well for a while. Mr. Corrtez, Rikky’s father, met a young woman from Oklahoma and they decided to get married and then had Rikky.
His grandfather ended up going back to Guatemala, after the chaos had died down. Mr. Corrtez is now the head of the Health Department. Daniela and The Corrtez family are not alone.
Another Rider student remembers his journey. He was very young when he had to cross the border from Guanajuato Mexico to the United States.
“I remember it was really hard,” Alfredo Munoz* said “especially since we had to walk for quite a few days with my baby sister in our arms.” They were going through a rough part in their life. They did not have money for food, they could not find jobs, they could barley maintain themselves in the current state they were in. They decided to move to the United States, but they decided they couldn’t split the family, so they all had to make the trip. Alfredo, his mother, his father, and his little sister walked, took buses; they took anything that could get them a bit further.
“We had to hide from the immigration,” Munoz said. “There were lights shinning, helicopters above us, and immigration everywhere.”
For food they would sometimes be lucky enough to find a taco stand or an old restaurant and work enough to pay for their food. Once his family finally got here, it took a long time before he could get used to the place and all the new people speaking a foreign language. It was distressing trying to live their lives in hiding from the immigration.
After a few months passed the government found out he was an illegal immigrant and sent him back to Guanajuato. He remained there for two years, in care of his grandmother. In the two years that he was there, his grandmother helped him get his legal documentation ready so that he would be able to come to the United States legally. He soon received the proper credentials to be able to come to the United States.
Once he arrived he was able to go the California where his family lived. Next he traveled to Oklahoma with his aunt and uncle. His uncle then brought his family down to Wichita Falls. They’ve been living here since—on the other side.
*indicates name change