Imprisonment, deportation, and family separation: my American nightmare.

• Author: Guzman, Esther Morales

IN 1989, AT THE AGE OF 30 I EMBARKED ON A JOURNEY THAT | HAD WITNESSED MANY others undertake, leaving my beautiful state of Oaxaca, Mexico, and heading toward the United States. For 18 years I worked and lived in Los Angeles. I became pregnant with my daughter Eliza, who was born in Los Angeles almost 17 years ago. For 10 years it was just the two of us and we had a beautiful relationship. However, I began experimenting with different drugs, leading to a five-year prison sentence. During my imprisonment, Eliza stayed with her godmother, Margarita. Toward the end of my sentence, my cellmates told me that I looked unhappy. I did not reply. At night, I thought about my future and became frightened. I asked myself where I would go. I did not know Tijuana. I remembered seeing how people who did not know anyone in Tijuana slept at the bus station. Would that happen to me? Without money or possessions, I signed a voluntary departure and left the Valley State Prison for Women on June 7, 2008.

My first experience after being deported was with the Mexican police. The Border Patrol threw me out at 4:30 A.M. On the Mexican side of the border I stood wondering which way to walk. A female police officer grabbed me for looking suspicious. At the police station, they asked several questions and released me around 11:00 A.M. after reviewing my deportation documents. I then asked someone where the bus station was located. I was very hungry. As I walked, I recalled seeing a television show years ago about migrant shelters. After a while, I tracked down one of these shelters, Instituto Madre Assunta.

I had a difficult time while at the shelter. The director offered me a job that included cooking and cleaning. She treated me well until she discovered my prison history and withdrew the job offer. I could have stayed at the shelter for a few more days, but was so uncomfortable that I spent most of my time walking the streets of Tijuana seeking a job. Lacking bus money, I walked down the hills from Colonia Postal, where the shelter is located, and eventually arrived at Avenida Insurgentes. There I found a job in a Chinese restaurant. I worked from 6:00 A.M. to 2:00 P.M. earning a thousand pesos a week--about $90. Finding a job did not solve my problems. Getting to work on time meant leaving the shelter at 4:30 A.M. The shelter's director told me that it was too early to open the door. A social worker helped me transfer to Casa Refugio Elvira, another shelter where...