Lourdes’s house, a tiny shelter made of plastic tarp, pallets, and blankets, stands alone at the edge of a windswept field. She and her husband Ivan, along with their seven children and young grandbaby, are isolated from the surrounding community, not only geographically but socially.
“Watch out for the Hondurans,” I am told by a distant neighbor. “The kids will steal anything they can get their hands on.”
Another neighbor intones, “These people just come here to cause problems. They don’t fit in our community.”
Lourdes knows what her neighbors think. She sees it in the way they roll their eyes or turn away, in the way that other children don’t play with hers. Still, she is happy to be in Ensenada, Mexico.
When Lourdes and Ivan embarked on the long walk from Honduras to the US border, they didn’t know what to expect or how their children, ranging in age from three to 17, would fare. They only knew that they were tired of being poor and hungry, tired of scrambling to provide for their children. Although Ivan had experience working with livestock, there weren’t enough jobs to keep his family from the brink of starvation. The hope of a better life in the U.S. was sufficient motivation for them to begin the journey that would take them a month and a half.
They crossed the border into Mexico without incident. Like many immigrants from Central America, they hoped to accelerate their progress by climbing aboard “La Bestia,” a freight train heading north. Scrambling, Lourdes and Ivan climbed aboard a tiny balcony on the back of the caboose, and helped their children up safely. They clung to each other and the metal railing for an hour, but got off at the first stop because the children were afraid. “La Bestia really is horrible,” Lourdes remembers.
Walking, they joined a caravan of approximately 185 people. Far from frightening, it was exciting and companionable. “I would do it again,” Lourdes says. “It was interesting to see everything in Mexico.” When asked how the children fared on the walk, she laughed. “They had great stamina. I think they enjoyed it, because just the other day, they asked us, ‘Mami, Papi, when can we go on a long walk again?’ We spent so much time working in Honduras; the walk was the most time we’d spent together as a family.”
When they arrived at the US-Mexico border in Tijuana, they planned to ask for political asylum. Lourdes admits they faced extreme poverty rather than danger in Honduras, and believes they wouldn’t have been granted asylum. Her family didn’t get a chance to find out. At the first contact with American officials, Lourdes says she was told that if they requested asylum, they’d be separated from their children. She and Ivan were unwilling to pay such a high price. They found their way to a migrant shelter in Tijuana, trying to decide their next steps. “We knew we weren’t going back to Honduras,” Lourdes says. “We’d come too far.”
At the shelter an aide worker, noting their rural background, told them there were many jobs in fields or ranches in Ensenada, just 90 miles south.
They started walking once more.
After two days and two nights, they reached the southern end of Ensenada, a rural area called Maneadero. Ivan found a job on a ranch, working with horses. Lourdes began cleaning houses. Their eldest daughter Leidi sold clothing at the local swap meet. It looked as though they’d settled into a life that, if not luxurious, showed promise.
That changed when Leidi’s pregnancy began to show.
When asked about the baby’s father, Leidi answers quickly, “She doesn’t have one.” Her face goes blank and the light in her eyes dulls.
Lourdes whispers to me, “She had a bad experience.” It is the first time she indicates that the trip north was not without trauma. “But I told her if she threw away or gave away this baby, God would punish her. She’s learned to love the baby.”
Leidi shrugs. “It’s her baby,” she says pointing to her mom. Lourdes nods, hugging the infant happily. The baby responds with a wide toothless grin.
Despite the difficulties they’ve encountered, Lourdes and Ivan decided to make Ensenada their home. They are making payments on a tiny plot of land, hoping that one of the charitable organizations that frequent the area will build them a house. They haven’t established good relationships with their neighbors, who talk about “los Hondureños” with light disdain. Lourdes has permanent damage to her foot and leg from so many days of sustained walking. Leidi has a baby she struggles to love, and unaddressed trauma. Still, when asked if the arduous journey was worth it, Lourdes smiles broadly. “We live so much better here.”
