Week 13: Foreign and free

By Camille Johnson
Berlin Elementary School, Grade 6

My name is Carmelita or Eliza. I am eleven years old. My parents, Theresa and Seferino, changed my name when my family illegally immigrated to The United States of America from Mexico. My older sister, Isabella, who is thirteen, had her name changed to Sarah.

My family lived in a small town called Beracruz, Mexico. The town in which we live is poor, desolate, and barren except for the shacks, market, and few businesses. There were fourteen families who lived in shacks or on the streets of Beracruz. Each of us had to struggle for food, water, and life, itself.

In our shack there were two rooms. One room where we all slept and one room where we ate. My mother and father had a small handmade mattress to sleep on with a quilt. Isabella and I slept on the dirt floor under a quilt. We had shaped the dirt to fit to our heads as if we had a pillow. In the other room, our kitchen, there was a table, place for a fire, and three shelves. We kept whatever food we had on those shelves. The hay roof of our shack had a hole in it that allowed smoke to go out from the fire. As you can see our life was full of hardships. That is why my family immigrated illegally to the United States of America. Here is my story.

Dear Diary, August 14, 1998
Today I helped mama with cooking. Mama had bought an onion. So we made onion soup with a few of the layers of the onion. It used to be fun to help mama with soup before but now I just worry about…. I worry about if we will have enough for everyone. If we will still go to bed hungry. If we shall eat tomorrow. Isabella just tells me I worry about that because I am hungry. It did make sense but what will happen when I’m not hungry. Will I still worry? Will that mean I am mentally ill? I try to shake it off but mama had seen my concern. I could never say that to mama though because I was afraid she would be ashamed of me for only thinking about hunger.

“Carmelita dear, what is it? You have been awfully dazed or down lately?” she had asked. “It’s nothing”, I had said, shaking my head. Mama stopped and walked over to me. She took hold of my chin. I looked at the floor. She stroked my hair, combing out my tangles.
“Tell me darling, what is it?”
“I’m just hungry.”
“Oh baby”, she said.

She pulled me close to her bosom. “Its okay, little Carmelita. We all are.” Tears started falling down my face. “Someday, we will have enough food to eat snacks in between meals. Someday will live in the land of free and riches.” Her words echoed in my head, but now in my heart as I write, what if we never get there? What is there though? Where in the world is a place without starving or hardships?

August 18, 1998:
Papa came home today very tired.

“Papa!” I had cried. I ran up to him as he walked through the doorway.

“Hello, Carmelita, dear, “ he said in a low monotone voice. He had not kissed me on the head or even hugged me. He was hunched over and his head hung low. My mind was befuddled on why he was acting so. I found out later that night when my parents thought I was sleeping.

As Isabella and I lay beneath the quilt, I listened carefully and closely. They spoke in hushed tones in the kitchen. “How was your day at work?” mama asked. “Oh Theresa, the company owners are cutting my pay for the same amount of work,” he replied sadly.

“Oh Seferino.”
“We won’t be able to keep the children in school.”
“You mean we won’t be able to buy passports.”
“No they’ll have to be illegal.”
“But, Sef.”
“That’s the only way, Theresa.”

My heart went cold. Illegal! How would we do that? It would not be easy. I am scared. I can’t quite comprehend leaving our home to go to a new place behind the law.

August 22, 1998:
The past few days papa had still been quiet. I told Isabella what I had heard. I think she is just as shocked as I am but will not show it. Mama and Papa seemed to have a plan for our escape. They had woken us up as we slept on the ground in the middle of the night.

“We have to talk to you about something that will remain a secret within our family. Speak softly, Isabella and Carmelita,” my parents said. We looked at each other and then nodded. “We are going to America. But, we are doing it illegally. We will need to do it at night without any noise. Our feet will have to be as soft as feathers.” My father paused, looked around, and then continued. “There is a bridge that goes to San Diego. It is a two hour walk to get there. Then, we need to sneak past a guard. At the end of the bridge there will be a family waiting fur us. They have been helping Mexican immigrants to come to the United States like us. They will allow us to sleep in their basement until we can live on our own. Your mama and I will work migrant jobs.” There was silence. Then, my mother spoke.

“We will change your names, also. Carmelita your new name will be Eliza. Isabella, yours will be Sarah. Do you both understand what we are going to do?”

August 25, 1998:
It is the day that we will leave. My stomach is churning. In five hours, we will start our walk to the land of new hope. What if we are caught? What would the guard do? If Mama and Papa were arrested there, how could we survive? We all were scared. None of us discussed it not even when the time came. In one hour, we packed what little things we owned. We had plates, quilts, and food. Then, it came. The fateful time that would change our lives so much, even our identity would be changed. We put our bags on our backs.

“Are we all ready?” asked Mama.
“Yes,” I said in unison with Isabella.
“Let’s go,” my father said in a hushed tone.

It was dark. The moon was only a slender sliver that glowed vibrantly. We started to walk, tiptoe was a more accurate description. We held our breaths in such fear of this journey. A little tear fell down my cheek. I was leaving my home. The walk felt endless. Until we finally arrived at the bridge. Here was a steel bridge that would change our lives forever. In silence, we all walked the sidewalk of the bridge. I looked around. I could not make out any figures in the dark. But, then again, I couldn’t make out the lines of my cold bare feet. Isabella hit something. She let out a cry and my father’s hand immediately flew to cover her mouth. We kept on walking, alert as a detective entering a haunted house. This bridge kept on going. But then I saw the lights. The lights of San Diego. These lights meant hope, prosperity, and opportunities. We started to quicken our pace. It came closer and closer. Getting bigger with each step. Then, we were at the far end of the bridge. We looked around. I could see two people coming toward us.

“We’re here,” I said quietly.

My mother and father conversed with those two people. We got into an automobile and were driven through San Diego. The city was lit up with so many lights, big tall buildings, cars everywhere. It was amazing. They drove us up to a small house where we would stay in the basement. This would be our home for awhile.
Three months later, we have our own apartment. Sarah and I each have our own bedrooms with beds and desks. We have five rooms in all. We bought furniture at the Salvation Army but it was all ours. In the city around us, it is full of life and excitement with millions of people and buildings. Even better, in our kitchen, the refrigerator is always full of food. I now know that there is indeed a place free of hunger and hardships.