A Most Interesting Morning at the Nursing Home
Rosa shoved her mop pail closer. She smiled and hugged a resident. Rosa is a tiny woman; at 4 feet she might weigh 99. Her little face is grooved like a walnut; her features similar to our First Nation population. Her shiny black hair has no hint of gray. I’ve no idea of her age. She was here long ago when I visited with my other therapy dogs. I’ve known her a long time, maybe 15 years. She keeps the floors spotless and she’s beloved.
The current events discussion was beginning. Two men said something about the current immigration crisis. I didn’t hear what it was. Apparently, Rosa did.
“You don’t know how it is,” she said. “The TV guys don’t know, either.”
Then Harold said, “I know it’s a horrible place!”
Rosa said, “People who say it’s a horrible place, are people who have so much more. For the people being detained, it’s already a step up. For most of us in the detention center, having bars around us is a comfort, for now no one can touch us. For most of us in a camp, three meals a day is a first. Having a cot to sleep on when most of us sleep on a mat on a floor made of dirt, having a real floor, a cot for sleeping, food three times a day, bars to protect us, and even air conditioning, we are already living our dream.”
I was processing the “us” in her statement when the moderator asked, “Were you in an immigrant detention camp, Rosa?”
“I was,” she answered. The moderator apologized if we were being intrusive, but would she mind sharing her story; everyone would be interested. She brushed her face, a charming habit of hers, and leaned on her mop handle. She looked around at her audience, considering.
“Okay,” she said. “It’s okay. You probably won’t like it; not a very good story, you know?”
She’s from Guatemala. I didn’t know that. When she was 12 she and her teenaged brother slipped out the door one night and several days later slipped over the border. “We just wanted to go to North America; my brother said everyone there was safe and rich. So, we came.” She didn’t explain how two kids could do that, but we all know it happens.
“When we went to Mississippi we got caught. We went to a big detention center on the bus with many others. I didn’t know what would happen next. My brother said to ‘act stupid and they will let you go.’ We were there I think four days, or weeks, I don’t remember. I remember looking through my bars and being happy because I was safe. No one can touch me now! I had breakfast every day. Most of us didn’t eat all the food three times. We all saved some for tomorrow in case it wouldn’t come three times again. We each had a cot all by ourselves. The building was cool. Then a Red Cross worker came and said the place was…um…really bad…and we were all embarrassed because we thought she meant us, that we made the place stink. Because we didn’t smell good. That was true. I think most of us would have been glad to stay more days, we thought it was nice, like we thought North America would be, you know? But we were processed out. We were back on the street with only one meal saved in my pocket. It was tough. But we did okay. I got a job at St. Rose of Lima Church to clean the Church. The priest and his secretary helped me learn English. I stayed in an efficiency apartment. I never knew who gave it to me, but I kept it, and myself, very clean.”
“What about your brother?” someone asked.
“I didn’t hear from him for a long while, maybe more than a year. I was just a kid, I didn’t keep good track of time, you know? But my brother went to New York City. He got picked up in an immigration raid at the restaurant where he worked. He was sent home. In Guatemala he didn’t want to work for the druggers anymore so they stabbed him. Later he died.”
Quiet murmurs. “How did you get here?”
“I turned myself in and asked to be processed and returned home. It took a long while for all that to happen, but then it did, and I went on a bus, several buses, and I went home. The priest at St. Rose of Lima continued to help me. He said if I did this he would. And he did. I got a job, I saved my money and kept hidden and safe. The man who hired me was a friend of the priest in Mississippi and he helped me do the paperwork. I kept learning more English. My family and friends thought I was a snob now and avoided me, so I just worked, prayed, and stayed safe, and waited. It took a long long time, but I finally was called for the first interview. I had to spend a lot of my money to get to the interview, it was a day away on the bus, and I bought a new blouse to wear. Then I waited another long time, maybe two years. Finally, I was called up again and this time we made a passport, with my picture on it. Now I waited again for my visa. I was so afraid now that someone would steal my passport and money. It was the first thing I ever had worth stealing! But, no one stole it and when I was eighteen, I was finally able to come as the sponsored minor of St Rose of Lima Church. It took a long time, but I could speak English and read and pass the test and become a Guatemala-
American. I am a U.S. Citizen now. And now I’m here.”
“Rosa, what should be done with the children?” someone asked.
“They should give them back,” she answered. (“To their parents?”) “To whoever brought them. There are many borrowed children there.” “Borrowed children?” “Yes. People have the idea that if you run with kids you have more privilege or advantage, more sympathy maybe, a better chance. So, they go to a relative or a friend, or someone else, and ask them, ‘can I borrow your boy, or your girl. They can come to the U.S. with me, have a good life, and I will pay for their college.’ So, they will loan their kids. There are always borrowed kids in detention centers.”
What about those seeking asylum? “Everyone everywhere needs asylum, needs to be safe, free from gangs and drugs and revolutions. In the U.S. people need asylum from school shootings and rapes and druggers. Even from bad spouses. But here there is so much country, so many places to go, to hide, to start again, you can just go. If you live in a little country if you want to move, you have to leave the country; then it gets complicated. I tell people if you want to really be free, don’t come in running. You will never be free. You will always be looking, hiding, ready to run. If you want to be free, you must get a passport. I have a passport, now I’m free!” She tossed her hand into the air, cute cheerleader-style.
One by one the applause began; Rosa blushed and waved us off pushing her yellow mop bucket. “But I still go to work!” she laughed. “Coming, Buddy?” He padded down the hall after her. Current Events Day. Hmm. A unique perspective.