Thursday, July 14, 2011

Need I say more, I was denied legal entry back into the U.S., although I knew it would happen I have to say there was a little hope in me that they would suddenly realize what an asset I was to the U.S. and let me back immediately. Naïve, I know but it’s something I could cling to. My day started at 5 am, although I never really got to sleep, I got up, showered and got dressed in a nice pair of slacks, a gorgeous Calvin Klein silk blouse and a navy blue cardigan, the only thing missing were the pearls. Got in the hotel van to be dropped off at the consulate along with the other 45 people waiting that morning and began another line for my 7:15 am interview. Another line, another waiting room and finally we’re lead outside to a separate building. The building says it’s the “U.S. Consulate in Mexico” but the only workers inside are Mexican. The guards are all Mexican military and no one so far speaks English, on the contrary, they become irate if you try to speak to them in English. Another line and our paper work are checked three times before we are allowed to go through the metal detectors. We are not supposed to have anything with us except our paperwork and our wallets (lord forbid we forget the money they need). The day before yesterday the video inside the medical building instructed us to make sure we were prepared to spend a long day at the consulate. I figured we could at least take water inside while we waited but even that was prohibited. I get grouchy when I don’t eat, just ask Efrain and I was not sure when I would get a bite to eat that day. After going through the metal detector, one more person checks our paper work and hands us a paper with a number. I will never forget my number 5403, they instruct us to follow the path and take a seat where instructed. As I pass the metal detector room I am outside in what ominously looks like a prison, I can see the sky but the fence is as tall as my eyes can see. I am not sure how to describe it but the only thing that came to mind at that time was the holocaust and Shindler’s List. There are hundreds of people in outside make shift waiting rooms, there is a roof to protect people from the rain which was looming but no doors and certainly no air conditioning. There are giant fans on the ceiling (which are not on) but there is a horrible electric humming sound coming from who knows where. I imagine it’s the incinerator where immigrants go to die. They have us sit and watch a TV monitor where your number will flash when someone inside the building is ready to review your paperwork once again. We all sit and wait; we only look up so as to make sure we don’t miss the flashing of our numbers. People sit in silence and when they attempt to talk there is a military official (Mexican) there, ready to “shush” you. The guard comes back around to make an announcement, “some of you will be here for a very long time and for those of you who wish we have a snack bar ready to serve you”. No wonder they won’t let you bring anything in, if you bring your own food and water they can’t make more money off of us. I over hear a lady tell someone that the bottle of water is $4. Shit, is this Disneyland or a government office? At least at Disney when you get screwed for a $4 bottle of water they do it with a smile, here everyone looks angry and bitter.

I am sure there are people, like anywhere and with anything else, that abuse the system but must they treat us all criminals and animals? I sit and I stare, I have to go to the restroom but I don’t, for fear that my number will flash, I will miss it and my chance to go home to my family. I sit and I wait and I stare, I watch people see their numbers and get nervous and not know what to do next. I sit and I wait and I watch, my number flashes and my heart stops. Do I breathe? Do I walk? Where do I go? What do I do? I watch other people see their numbers and I walk inside the building, do I do the same? The electric humming sound gets louder and now I am sure that they’re firing up the oven for me. I walk up to the door and the guard explains that there is a two digit number next to the number I was assigned and that it tells me what window to walk up to. I walk back to the make shift waiting room to look up at the screen again and see what number it says. Window number 34 is where my fate will be decided. I walk up to the window and nice young man greats me. I feel better that he is not barking instructions at me or looking down at me for once. He asks me a series of simple questions asks for all the original documents my appointment letter requested and begins to organize them in a file with my name on it. He staples documents on one side and then the other. He asks me for my passport photos and my heart sinks. Passport photos? My letter specifically reads that I do not need any passport photos because I have already sent everything electronically. I looked panicked and he repeats, “you do have passport photos, right?” I swallow deeply and scramble through my paperwork, I want to tell him that my letter said I didn’t need photos but I am afraid if I say anything he might deny me on the spot. He reads my mind and tells me that if I don’t have passport photos I will have to leave the consulate and get pictures taken somewhere outside, get back in line and wait all over again. I’ve already been there over two hours I can’t go back out now. I scramble some more and notice a white Costco envelope buried in my paper work. Keeping my fingers crossed I open it, reach in and find my old pass port photos from a million years ago still in them. I am so glad dad convinced me to take all this paperwork inside with me. I hand him the photos and he continues to file my documents. He tells me I am done with him and to go back out to the hell-hole of a waiting room outside (hell-hole added by me) and wait for my number to flash once again with a new window number. I go back outside, wait for what seems like another eternity for my number to flash. I feel a little better about the situation since the young man was kind and not a drill sergeant. My number flashes and I am in window 67 now. A young blond woman about my age is at this window and begins to speak to me in broken Spanish. I let her know that if it’s more comfortable for her she can speak to me in English since I understand English better than I do Spanish. She seems relieved and tells me “that’s great”, I feel immediately better. The woman says that she will asking me a series of questions and that I have to answer them to the best of my ability and with the truth, she has me raise my right hand, swear to tell the truth and then she scans my finger prints again as a sign that I have agreed to tell the truth. With her I am not scared, a little nervous yes but no fear, she has a kind face and her voice is gently and genuine. She asks me similar questions to the ones the Boarder Patrol officer asked me a few days earlier, only without all the judgment and disdain.

Official: Where were you born?

Me: Zacatecas, Mexico

Official: Where did you cross through to get to the U.S.

Me: I am not sure

Official: You’re not sure? How old where you when you entered the U.S?

Me: I was 7 about to turn 8, we came in the spring and that summer was my 8th birthday

Official: Didn’t your parents ever tell you how you crossed?

Me: I remember we were walking with other kids and that we walked through a school with a play ground. Other than that it was an experience that my parents didn’t really want to talk to us about. (I was afraid to tell her that at one point people made my mom drug us so my brother and I would sleep while they piled debris on top of us and place us in a truck to cross us over)

Official: So you didn’t cross through one of the entry points?

Me: No, not that I can remember

Official: How long have you been married?

Me: A year in August

Official: Tell me, how did you meet your husband?

Me: Funny thing, I met him on a dating website called match.com we exchanged emails, eventually we spoke on the phone and a few months later we met in person and have been inseparable since.

Official: That’s great, when did you meet?

Me: February 7, 2009

Official: So how long have you been together?

Me: A little over two years

Official: Have you and your husband talked about having children?

Me: Yes ma’am

Official: How many children do you plan on having?

Me: If it were up to me none, if it were up to him a dozen but we have agreed to compromise at one or two, god willing. (I don’t know why I said god willing but I felt like I had to, like I needed her to know I wasn’t what I am, a non believer)

Officer: Did you know that once you turned 18 you had to leave the U.S.?

Me: No ma’am. I mean, how could I leave my family and my home?

Officer: Well unfortunately you do not qualify for a visa today because you have been in the U.S. illegally for longer than a year. However, the good news is that you qualify for a waiver or a pardon. I am not sure if your lawyer has told you what that is.

Me: I’ve heard of it but I my husband and I don’t have a lawyer, we’re going at this with the help of our family.

Officer: Then you’ll have to read the sheets I give you very carefully and follow all the instructions that are on the sheet. When you leave here, later today or tomorrow you will have to call the number on these sheets to schedule a second appointment for you to submit your pardon packet. The appointment can take several weeks or several months depending on how fast they are processing the paperwork. Do you understand?

Me: Yes ma’am I do.

Officer: Well, that will be all you have to do for today. Good luck.

Me: Thanks ma’am I am going to need it

Officer: If you follow all the instructions on the sheet you will be fine

Me: Thank you

For some reason, her words are reassuring to me as if some how through some secret code she is letting me know that if I do everything on that magical sheet I will get to go be with my husband, family and friends in the U.S. once again. I need to believe that, I need to believe that I am not just #5403 but a human being, a valuable asset to my community and to the United States. I have to believe that, otherwise everything I’ve learned and believed in was bull shit and I don’t want to believe that.

I leave the consulate building and go outside to find a sea of people waiting for others just like me to come out. I walk through the crowds and notice my dad. He asks me what happened and I let him know that everything went as we expected. I was denied and told I could appeal through a waiver or pardon packet. We walk some more to meet up with E waiting in another building, he asks me the same and I repeat myself. There is a slight look of disappointment; I know he hoped like me that through some miracle they would approve me on the spot, but they didn’t. We hustle back to our hotel room to try to make it to the complementary breakfast and check out of our room. It’s close to 11 am and we are all starving. I can’t eat, my stomach is still in knots but I know if I don’t eat now who knows when I will be able to. We gather our things and begin our 18 hour journey to our home state of Zacatecas.