Saturday, January 1, 2011

Immigration: Undocumented Workers and their Dreams

I woke before dawn.  My mind would not allow sleep to continue; it was arrested before first light.  I pushed the sheet aside which separated my stacked cinderblock home into two rooms and stepped carefully over my three children.  The hunger in my stomach begged me to partake of the crusts of bread that Ana, my wife, had placed in the aluminum pot and covered and placed carefully in the corner.  The decision was made easier. The candlelight revealed that one of the children had kicked the lid off during the night.  The rats, I'm sure were thankful for their feast.

Today, I will walk Gabriel, Hector, and Helena to the local market that tourists frequent and will pray that they remember the lessons they observed yesterday.  Receiving compassion (and money for food) is an art and a skill.  Today, please do not let them be hungry.  Today, I will make my way to the airport and carry luggage for arriving tourists and businessmen and women.  In recent weeks this has been the most successful way to make money, but it has been nearly impossible to save. I cannot allow my family to starve, but if I am ever to escape this unending and repeating cycle I must save enough money to pay for our passage to the United States.  I'm walking a tight rope and I'm consumed by guilt.  My children are barefoot and hungry.  I know that if this is ever to change, we will continue to only survive.  My family will forego the luxury of a full stomach and shoes on their feet until we arrive in America.  

I dream that one day my children will go to school and learn to read and write; maybe even attend a university.  Gabriel is already 9 years old and has had to work to help support himself and the family.  Other children will have a head start on him, but he is a bright boy.  In America all things are possible, or so they say.  I want my children to have shoes to wear, food to eat, a bed instead of the hard plywood floor, and electricity.

 My dreams are not too big; my dreams are real; my dreams are for my family.

1 comment:

Deneen said...

Geoff,
Thanks for sharing this. While I have never had to walk in those particular shoes, I know the stories that my Dad told me. I know the stories of his family that I met when I spent 6 months in Mexico. I thank God everyday for the life I have been given, and the life that I can give my son.
This particular perspective is so right on the money, and I would hope it gives those that don't understand why we have illegal immigrants coming to the US, a better idea of their daily life. It is truly life or death, and nothing more than that when they make the decision to cross the border, in order to gain a better life for their families.
I can never blame them for that, and I pray that someday we will figure out a way to make the US a place that realizes the importance of the immigrants, who do help with agriculture, and so many other industries. Thanks again!