The Illegal American

I am an American who came to Spain to teach English. Somewhere along the line I found myself living illegally in paradise.

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Asiaticos

A few weeks back when I first got here I was searching up and down for ways to meet people. Those first weekends, I was the guy sitting alone at the bar. So  I searched online and found a language exchange. I used to go to one in Madrid occasionally. You end up speaking with people that you probably never would’ve crossed paths if it weren’t for that place.

The language exchange here is attended mostly by middle aged Spaniards that like to practice English. There are a few younger people but we’re outnumbered. The first time I went, a Spanish woman around my age caught my eye. She came later than I did and she sat far from me at the other end of the table. I continued talking to the guy opposite to me. I felt her eyes on me. She tuned into the conversation when she heard me speak Spanish. I gave her a warm smile. Some time later a chair next to me opened up. She came and sat next to me. I wasn’t going to come onto her. I don't know any of these people. Her boyfriend could be at this table.

We end up continuing the night just the two of us at a dive. I kept it clean and walked her home at the end like a gentleman. A few weeks later, there I was walking her home after a night out with some of the people from the language exchange. She opened up to me about some personal demons. She said I was a good listener and we agreed to meet for coffee the next afternoon.

We ordered asiaticos. This is a local drink that you can find everywhere in Cartagena. It is a beautiful little drink. It contains coffee, cognac, condensed milk, a small lemon peel, a couple coffee beans, and ground cinnamon. We agreed to meet for coffee and stayed up until the early morning talking, drinking alhambras, and smoking hookah. We’ve spent the last six days together more or less.

Life is funny. I just got out of a relationship. A girlfriend is the last thing I’m looking for right now. And here is this woman before me. She has a lot of what I like. Things I didn't think I’d find in the same woman, interestingly. I tell myself I will take this slow and see where it goes. Deep down I get the feeling that things aren’t going to go exactly how I’d plan them.

This is already at the point where it can only end one of two ways. It either ends up in hurt or it ends up in happily ever after.

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Derrick & Shamar

In the past 30 days two guys I went to high school have died. I wasn’t close to either of them. Nor would I consider either to have been friends. One was gunned down on a quiet Sunday morning trying to buy some weed. I don’t know all of the circumstances but they caught two guys for it. I hear one of the killers even went to our high school though I don’t recognize his face. As for the one killed, I remember seeing this kid in the hallways and he knew many of the same people that I did. He was a year below me so we never had class together and never were officially introduced. Still it hits close to home for me.

The other died just today. This one I knew. They say he was playing basketball and collapsed. From what I could piece together from the Facebook posts, he fell into a coma and it appears his family decided to pull the plug. He was a year ahead of me. He was a class clown. He always had a quick joke at your expense that had everyone else in tears laughing. He had a joke for everyone. I don’t remember him ever picking on me specifically but I had my turn as the butt of his jokes just like everyone else. After high school, I’d put a like on some of his funny posts but we never really talked.

What is fucking me up with both of these deaths are that both died young with no wives and no children. Dying without having left my mark on the world is something I fear greatly. Neither found success financially nor professionally. There are no babies that carry their last names and their blood. I can’t go out like that. Life is short. Live it up.

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Pero Eres Muy Guapo

The other night I was outside of a bar speaking to a short, middle aged Spanish woman. Her drunk friend hopped out of a car and made her way towards us. The woman I was speaking to introduced me to her friend. Her friend said we’d already met. She said last week I had tried sell some things to her and another friend when they were sitting at a cafe. She thought I was an African that sells things on the street. I quickly corrected her. She said, “pero eres muy guapo.” 

I need to dress better.

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Dominic

The other day I went to a little cafe to have a cold tinto de verano (red wine with lemon soda and a splash of vermouth). I noticed a man walking alone down the street past the cafe keeping an eye on me. He was a white guy with salt and pepper hair. Apparently in his mid-fifties. He walks past the cafe then double backs and takes a seat at the next table over. He positions himself for conversation. He orders his drink, the same as mine, and begins a conversation with me.

Dominic is a Belgian here in Cartagena receiving medical treatment for some sort of issue having to do with his nerves and/or muscles. Dominic is gay and his intentions in speaking to me were clear. He never said anything out of line and we had a normal conversation. He had a lot of good advice on how to prepare myself now for retirement. His biggest advice was that I should have a lawyer on retainer. Especially because I am black. I hope that advice never turns out to be good advice. Though I think I’ll live pretty well here, I’m not going to throw away money on a lawyer unless something pops off.

Today as I was heading to the supermarket, I saw Dominic walking on the other side of the street in the direction I needed to go in. I paused to let him gain some distance before I continued. I just wasn’t in the mood for entertaining conversation with him. Eventually I cut over to a parallel street only to find him calmly sitting in the park at the end of the street with his back towards me. I passed and did not look in his direction. As I was on my way back home from the grocery store who is it I see with his pink polo shirt, cargo shorts, and visor?It was if he entered a clothing store and said, “Hello! How can I look like a tourist?” He was a few yards in front of me, so I cut down the parallel street again. I continue, nearly home. I approach a corner and there he is. I was forced to chat with him for a bit. It wasn’t so bad. But I learned something about this neighborhood. It is small. If I were to have an argument or have some bad blood between myself and someone else around here, I’m sure I’d see them almost everyday. Maintaining relationships here will be important.

Overall I feel happy here. In Spain, part of me has always felt like I was on some sort of vacation. Here in Murcia, people wear flip-flops, the sun always shines, the weather is hot, the palm trees grow high, the shorts are short, and green parrots fly overhead. I feel like I am truly on vacation now. I am free to make my own schedule and work as much as I want. This job will not make me rich but this is a lifestyle few can afford. I am really looking forward to what else God has in store for me here.

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Cartagena, Morocco

The real estate office that offered me this apartment is right around the corner. So I figured the agent would know what kind of neighborhood this is. She said there are no problems here. There are many immigrants but it is fine. That bitch lied. I haven’t seen anything violent but the police are here regularly. The other day they were here to disperse Africans and Arabs selling wares on a little side street. Today they came to resolve a domestic dispute between African roommates. Nothing violent but it appeared that one was kicking the other two out of the apartment. Four officers in total appeared. While they were trying to resolve the dispute a ruckus started in the park down the street. Three cops went scurrying off to see what was going on as a squad car going in the same direction zoomed down the street as they approached. One stayed back with the domestic dispute.

I don’t know what happened in the park but the officers soon returned calmly. They told the African kicking the others out that he should give them a few days to prepare themselves to vacate the apartment. They finished their cigarettes, put their sunglasses on, and left. The Africans bickered a bit more before parting ways too.

What I’ve learned is that they are not quick to deport illegal immigrants. I find it very unlikely that most of the faces on the street in this neighborhood are here legally. But I did not see the police request ID from any of the Africans. Not one. That is standard procedure when the police stop anyone or respond to a call in America. “ID, please.”

I don’t think I will have to worry about the police seeing me and suddenly asking to see my NIE (Spanish ID card). At least if I’m just minding my business.

This neighborhood is mostly Moroccan as I’ve stated previously. What is striking is the contrast between pious Muslims and the apparent apostates. They seem to mix and mingle with little issue. I’ve been to Morocco twice and never have I seen a bar there. There are restaurants that serve alcohol in the tourist areas but you’ll be hard pressed to find alcohol outside of those areas. In Tangier there are convenience stores that sell alcohol at a markup. But here on this street there is a bar that seems to be Spanish owned and operated but the clientele is Moroccan. You pass by and you hear Moroccan music. Arabic lyrics with lots of synth and auto-tune. It’s like Morocco never left 2009 when everyone was wearing those Kanye West shutter shades. In the same bar, you see Spanish waitresses/bartenders serving beers to clean-shaved Moroccans right next to the man drinking coffee with his beard and dark spot on his forehead. It’s curious.

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Respect

A few days ago I broke up with my girlfriend and moved to Cartagena, Murcia. When I had decided that I was leaving her, I wasn’t sure where I’d go. I didn’t want to go back to America but I did not have the money to go directly to another country. A good idea came from an unusual source.

In Palma, I used to buy weed off this Nigerian guy called Respect. One day I met him at a little bar to buy some weed. We typically would have a beer or two and chat before parting ways. I decided to tell him that I was thinking about leaving my girlfriend but I wasn’t sure where to go next. He suggested I go to Malaga or Almeria. Until that moment, the idea of just staying in Spain illegally had never crossed my mind. I had heard stories of the police stopping brown and black people on the street and asking to see their ID’s. If you get caught illegally here they take you to a detention center for illegal immigrants. You wait it out there until they decide to release you or to deport you. I’ve heard of people stuck there for months. To me it sounded terrifying.

Respect had been through that. He went to jail here for a bit. He never said what for and I never asked but if I had to guess, it was drug related. He said he served his time and they let him out. He says because he was able to prove that he has a Spanish son they didn’t deport him. They just let him back out on the street, undocumented. I don’t have any kids here and I don’t see that happening any time soon. He said I shouldn’t worry because they typically don’t deport illegal immigrants because they simply don’t have the money to deport everyone. If this is true, I imagine they prioritize the violent/serious offenders for deportation. 

Last Fall, I started a side job teaching English to Chinese kids through online video chat. Whenever I was not teaching in the school, I was teaching online. I made a lot of money doing this. More money than the school paid me and I didn’t have to go anywhere. I don’t even have to brush my teeth.

To do this job, all I need is a quiet, well lit space and internet access. So I thought I could take Respect’s advice and go to another region and do this job full-time. I’d never received life advice from a drug dealer. It sounded risky but extremely rewarding. 

I began to look at apartments online in the  cities hugging the southern coast of Spain. The cost of living in these places is drastically cheaper than both Madrid and Palma de Mallorca. With what I earn from teaching the Chinese kids I knew I could live comfortably in any one of these cities.

After about two weeks of reading up on various cities that caught my eye, I decided on Cartagena, Murcia in the Southeast corner of Spain. From what I saw online, it is very affordable, there are beautiful beaches nearby, and a university in the city. I wanted to live somewhere with a little nightlife so I figured anywhere with a university will have bars and clubs.

I was worried maybe my work contract would not be accepted in order to lease an apartment. It is a Chinese company, the contract is in English, the pay is in dollars…Too much uncertainty and maybe a landlord doubts I’ll actually be able to pay up.

My second day in Cartagena I found an apartment. I live in a part of the city called Casco Antiguo. It is a colorful neighborhood. Lots of Moroccans, West Africans, Latinos, and Gypsies. I didn’t intend to live here for that reason but I find myself attracted to these little pockets of immigrants wherever they are. Usera and Lavapies in Madrid. Son Gotleu and Pere Garau in Palma. And now Casco Antiguo in Cartagena.

I’m really unsure of what awaits me here. But I have a good feeling that this might be one of the best moments in my life. I work from home, I live cheap, and every day there is beautiful weather. 

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Introduction

I came to Spain in 2016 to teach English in Madrid. I ended up staying in Madrid for two academic years because I loved it so much. There I met a girl and together we moved to Palma de Mallorca. Mallorca is absolutely beautiful, but our relationship was not.

She is a genuinely good person. But she had problems controlling both her jealousy and her temper. Through living with her I also came to the realization that I did not believe she was my media naranja.

Leaving the relationship was tough. Financially, I wasn’t prepared to leave at the exact moment I wanted to go. Palma is quite an expensive city and finding a decent apartment for anything less than 600 euros a month is next to impossible. I did not want to live with others because I work from home often. I just did not see that working out well.

Complicating things further is my legal status in Spain. I’ve been living illegally in Spain since September 2018. I chose to stay in Spain for summer 2018. Had I went back to America and returned to Spain in the Fall, I would not be in this situation. I didn’t want to go back to America and my girlfriend basically said three months apart would end the relationship. So I stayed.

Every 10 months I needed to renew my Spanish ID. To do that you must be empadronado in the city where you live. I suppose this is a census tool for the Spanish government but I’m not sure what purpose it serves exactly. You have to go to a government office and submit documents (apartment lease, empadronamiento application, etc.) basically showing you live in this place now. 

I needed to have at least begun this process by the end of September 2018 in Palma de Mallorca. Because I was no longer going to live in Madrid I could not renew my ID there anymore. I had to do it in Palma. No problem right? Moving to Palma was very difficult. We needed to save a lot of money and when we got there we had a hard time finding anything affordable.  Finally we found a small apartment in the center of the city for 600 euros. We took it immediately. Now I could go get my empadronamiento to begin renewing the ID! 

But I made a big mistake. I did not think about how slow Spanish bureaucracy is. I was able to book an empadronamiento appointment at a government office just a few days before I’d officially be an illegal alien. Oh but wait. The next available appointments to renew the ID itself were in October. I was screwed. When I finally got around to getting in all my documents, I received a letter soon after saying my application to renew the ID was denied because I passed the deadline for renewal. I’d have to go back to America and restart the entire visa process over again. It is not difficult but it is very lengthy. I don’t hate America but I find that I live a much better life here in Spain. There are aspects of my life in America that I miss but overall I do not miss living there.

My girlfriend suggested that we apply for a domestic partnership which would allow me legal status to live and work in Spain. We decided to do it but we underestimated how lengthy and laborious this is. My patience had grown too thin with her before the process was completed.