Day 30: A Little Family
I spent Monday of this week with a family staying at our shelter in Juarez. They are from Honduras, but left because of gang activity there. The father told me that he didn't want his kids growing up in a place where they would fear for their lives while playing in a park or walking to the corner store. He didn't want to be pressured into joining a gang himself.
They left Honduras two years ago, and have stayed at various shelters in Mexico, waiting for approval into the United States. There are four of them—their kids are one and four years old (the youngest was born in Mexico).
The mother was deported from Mexico three times. And though the father has MPP status, the mother and baby both don't.
Their story is not uncommon, but what struck me about this family was living and coexisting with them for a day. Because of COVID and gang activity in Juarez, the family isn't allowed to leave our shelter. They spend most of their days in two rooms. They do needlepoint, cook, and watch T.V.
The air in the house was stuffy. The four-year-old just had a few blocks, some stuffed animals, and a tub of Play-Doh.
It's a better life than having to be on the run and in fear, but it still seems so unfair. They've been living this way for four months, anticipating a call from immigration.
At around mid-morning, the phone ran and the father leapt up off the couch with excitement.
When he talked to the woman on the other side though, his face fell. Another week in confinement.
No one wanted to cook after that, so we ordered KFC for lunch. The mother said grace—praying for her relatives in Honduras who currently have COVID, and praying for a stroke of luck to end their arduous journey.
They are ultimately headed to North Carolina, where the father hopes to work for a restaurant and take English lessons.
I take some solace knowing that neither kid will really remember this.
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