A story of an immigrant:
A 22 month old child left in a box with holes and delivered to her grandparents house by her mother. The child’s father was rarely around. She was one of 11 children left at her grandparents home.
Raised by them until the age of 13 - she ran away to her godparents home due to physical abuse from grandparents; from getting beat down for not washing clothes by hand properly to getting her arm burned across a stove for not cooking right.
In the meantime her family would try to marry her off to older men who “could take care of her” but she refused. At 16 she met the man she married. He was a bit older than her, in his early 20′s. She did not care he was handsome, nice, hardworking and persistent. After 6 months of him visiting her and trying to convince her, she said yes to being his girlfriend. A year later, she married him.
At 18, she gave birth to her first child, a girl. Her husband worked hard. She made sure he had food ready after a long day of work, that her daughter was taken care of. She was expecting again at the age of 20. At 21 she gave birth to a boy.
Although, she finally felt she had all she needed to survive in life, her family continuously found themselves running from the current civil war in her country. Things got a bit rough, they all had to pack their belongings and move. A group of military men and guerilla men were walking through villages asking “who’s side are you on”. People had no way of know who each men were (whether they were the guerilla men or the military). If you said you were on the wrong side, you were killed, no hesitation.
They ran and found a new place to live. A year goes by, the war has not stopped, but they were in a safe place for now. One afternoon rainy afternoon, she gets a visitor, someone she wishes would have never stepped a foot in her home. He tells her, “your husband was fishing in the river, the river rose, and took him we cannot find him” he was later, found dead. This day was the beginning of the rest of her life.
She had two children a 4 year old and a 1 year old. She had no family to rely on and no money. She recalls leaving her kids tide up to a bed so that they would not run off while she went into town to buy food and resale it for money. Once she had the money, she would buy large bags of corn and beans to survive on. She did this for a while.
Not too long after her husband passed away, the military and guerilla found this village. It had been rumor that many were getting kidnapped, raped, and killed. She had to flee, but where. For now she had to stay.
She remembers leaving the house for an errand with both children and getting caught in between a shoot out between both opposing groups. She and her kids had to throw themselves to the ground. Suddenly they realized they were next to dead bodies. She fought both kids to stay still and quiet. They miraculously did. The shooting stopped. Someone came around poking the bodies to assure they were dead. Thankfully they did not come near them.
Memories of many other horrifying moments exist.
A couple years went by and she met a new men. A lot older than she. Possibly 15 years older. She had no one, she sought support. So she moved in with him. She had two more kids, both boys, with the man she thought would now support her family. That is not how things turned out. He was an alcoholic, he made her work long hours in the field growing beans, corn, raising chickens and cows. He then took all her days worth of wages and used it for more drinks. Meanwhile, the children are starving, she’s starving. She let this go on for about 5 years. She was done suffering. She didn’t want the civil war to kill her children, she didn’t want them to die from starvation, she didn’t want to die.
She fled her country, leaving her children behind so that they would not risk dying, because she didn’t know if she would survive. She had heard an older brother had made it a few years ago. She asked him for money. 500$ is what he sent her. That’s all she had.
She got on a bus with a group of people going her same route. She went through forest, dumps, and even hidden in the back of a trunk. SHE made it.
Working for a sewing factory, for long hours, making 10 cents per item that she sewed and at about 3-5$ an hour. She was able to send money home so that her children could have food, clothes, and an education.
She was able to seek asylum and work legally. She continued to work until she could bring all her children with her.
Her daughter went to college and now has her masters degree. She works with children who have autism.
Her son is a generous, kind, and most honest man she has known just like her late husband. He married and now has three beautiful kids.
Her two other sons are distant, hurt that she left them at such a young age. She lives with regret for not being there but she is most happy to know they are with her, alive and well. They both have great jobs making good money in a place of better opportunities.
She had one more child with a new men. She met him after a few years of being in this new country. They have been together for over 20 years now. He had also fled physical abuse, war, and death. They both have and continue to work hard. Little education and with a lot of will they are not citizens of the place that gave them a second chance.
Her youngest daughter is me.
God blessed me with immensely strong parents. Couldn’t be more proud.
