New Life Discovered in New Land

By Erika Alemán

I grew up in a town that I call the fruity town. There is everything that one would want to eat, like watermelons, mangos, pineapples, peaches and more. My family and I had three-bedroom mansion with a bathroom my father built for us, and we lived like royalty in my young eyes.

Then suddenly one early morning when I woke up, my dad said he was going to take me to school. My body started to shiver because my brain wanted to learn a new language like Spanish because all I could speak was Mixteco.

The other half of me was FEAR -- afraid of the mean teachers. My older sister who was in fourth grade told me the teachers treat you like their horses having the meter stick ruler ready for everything.

She also told me about this weird teacher she had when she was in third grade named Mr. Louis. He would sit down at his desk and relax once he was done explaining the homework.

Then he would always poke his ears with his fingers and then smell them. I didn't want to believe my sister because she would always lie to me when she was mad. I told her to stop because I knew I wouldn't have good dreams.

Then the next morning my dad grabbed my hand and said, "It's time, my son," in Mixteco. The principal first sent me to kindergarten. My dad sat on a chair outside the room, but whenever my dad left I started to cry.

Then somehow the teacher got my attention with all the different toys. Suddenly I looked out at the window once again and noticed my dad wasn't there anymore. Now I was left alone, and I was too afraid to cry.

One year later, my brain was like a computer chip, and it learned every new thing there was to learn. I passed through kindergarten, and my dad said, "If you fail, you won't have an unbroken bone in your body."

I just waved my head and said, "It's OK."

In México my education was good. I never flunked anything and always tried my best. My difficulties had not begun quite yet.

For my family, however, that wasn't true.

While I was in school, my older sisters and mother and father would go to prepare the soil for the harvest. After school, when I would finish with my homework, I would help my parents because I didn't like to see them outside in 90 degree weather, a stream of sweat running through the rows of seeds they had just planted.

Years later, in a nice morning with birds all over the trees singing their morning song, my dad suddenly said, "We are leaving to the United States." The birds disappeared like his voice had just detonated a bomb. I was just a little kid that day.

I didn't realize in that moment that what I heard would change my destiny. Besides, I didn't have an opinion or a choice. I felt lonely and sad because I didn't want to leave my friends, my family, the people I loved, and the ones who offered their help to me. I especially didn't want to leave my little burrito.

It would always carry me on its back, and when it got tired, it would always just lay on the ground, and no matter what I did to keep it going, it wouldn't move. I think the ancient people noticed its attitude, and that's why they called it "burro."

I didn't want to leave my town for many reasons. I was used to my food and the fruits that grow there.

As each day elapsed, the time to go away was getting closer and closer. My dad started selling all the things we owned. He sold all the cows and the goats, about 35 animals, and a big brown truck we had, which was the same color as the cows.

I didn't want the cows to be sold because I liked them a lot, but I couldn't do anything about it. I could only listen to their moans as our belongings were sold as fast as lightning.

Then the last day had come. I felt upset because it hurts going away -- far, far away.

We caught a bus at the bus station. I was waiting for a fancy bus, like those on my neighbor's TV. But when I hopped on our bus the seats were all messy, and it smelled a lot like gasoline.

My seat was all the way to the back, and when the bus driver started the engine my feet felt this lion roaring. That was when I noticed the motor was underneath my seat. A day later I couldn't feel my feet, like I was paralyzed, and my brain was a bowl of fire. Due to the strong gasoline smell and the loud roaring noise that the motor made, I wanted to vomit. My vision was all blurry and vibrating.

I asked the coyote, "How many more days do we have left to arrive to our destination?" The coyote is someone who leads us across the border to the United States through the desert. "Four more days," he answered.

Then I just closed my eyes again, and we were in Tijuana. I looked out the window and saw that people and cars were everywhere, like soldier ants. When I stepped off the bus, my steps were more like that of a drunken person because of the long trip.

Two days later I was in my worst nightmare. I was somewhere that the coyote called "la Frontera" (the border). Even though I went to school I didn't know what "la Frontera" was. There were people wearing green uniforms, very different from other people that I've have seen, speaking a different language. And they were after me. When everybody saw them, we started to run until we found a secret place and let them go by.

I truly didn't understand what was going on around me in this place called "la Frontera." This was a dry desert, full of big yellowish cactuses with very sharp thorns. Everybody was hoping to cross over safely.

I saw their lips moving, asking God for help and also to protect us from "los cholos" (half-breads) that were around us. But the green wolf and the desert thieves were not the only things hunting us. We were also being chased by hunger, cold and fatigue.

I spent many hours just walking only with a backpack, a gallon of water and a 5½-inch-thick stack of tortillas. I never felt so cold before; my lips were frozen.

Finally the coyote said that we had reached the land of the United States, but our journey was not over. We still had to walk many hours more before we finally reached a dry and very small town.

We were still in the desert. The coyote told us to wait while he was going to look for a ride for us to Santa Maria, Calif. Then he came back, and the two men that were giving us the ride were so nervous like they were doing something that was totally illegal.

Their faces were all red, and their fingers were trembling as the coyote handed them a large amount of money. They told us to get in the van. It was a small space inside, but everybody got into it.

Once we reached Santa Maria, they dropped us at a beautiful paradise of a house. I'd never seen such a beautiful house before, but I didn't get to stay there long. As soon as my dad found a place in Washington, we had to move again.

I felt so comfortable in the van that took us here because I didn't have the roaring noise on our way, and I enjoyed the ride because there was enough space.

The first school I went to was in La Conner. I was so lonely. The teacher treated me nice but sat me in the back corner of the room. I felt like a deaf and mute boy. The first bite of my pizza lunch at school got me sick for a period of hours.

Four years passed like wind. We were chasing work like snakes chasing a rat to live a day more. I moved houses and changed to many different schools.

It was hard for me to learn English as my third language. I didn't know what was going on around me each day. But with time, day by day and with patience, I learned many of my numbers and how to say the name of each day.

Mrs. Gomez in La Conner School found many ways to teach me how to learn them. Once she had me write the names down ten times each. Then another time she told me to close my eyes and write them down, and in a week I knew how to write all the names of the days.

When I moved from La Conner, I met Mr. Wood, another teacher. He was so nice in helping me make the right choices.

At first I didn't like him because I thought I was so Mexican and no other person could tell me what to do. But when I took off my blindfold, I realized all the teachers I had were only trying to get the best for me. I felt bad for not paying attention when they told me what to do.

At Elliott School my favorite teacher Mrs. Arnold, who handed me a certificate for doing well with my schoolwork and grades and for not hiding in the bathroom with my friends and skipping class anymore.

When Mrs. Arnold called my name to go up front for the certificate, my whole body was trembling. Before Mrs. Arnold handed it to me, she read this letter from the president. I didn't believe that I earned it. My vision was all blurry, and it really changed me a lot.

Now we have moved again, but I'm very proud of my parents and of myself too because I have learned English, which is indispensable for me. And I know what I know now because God gave the knowledge to all my teachers to teach me, which I am so thankful for.

I have had a difficult time coming to the United States. I've had to overcome many challenges, and I have many more to face. But I am here now, and I am ready to face any challenges that come in my way.

Three thousand years could pass, but I won't ever forget who I am, where I come from, or my race. I won't ever forget my dad's effort to put bread on the table and share it with his family. Using only the 10 fingers and two hands God gave him to survive in this world -- that is my father.