Good afternoon, I’m Beatriz. I am from Venezuela, and I’m 44 years old. I arrived here in Nogales on February 16, 2020. I have a seven-year-old daughter here with me, along with my 76-year-old aunt, both also from Venezuela. We arrived here in Nogales seeking political asylum because my life and those of my family members were at risk in my country, since we have suffered attacks in our own home committed by military groups and government sympathizers.
Our life here in Mexico has not been easy. We arrived without knowing anybody, without a home, with nobody to receive us. We’ve had to work and look for money to secure housing. The emotional shock has been extremely difficult for my family and for me. I’ve had health issues with blood pressure on account of everything we’ve experienced here. We’ve had to see a doctor to understand these illnesses. Four months ago, I discovered it was a blood pressure issue. I think that the nights I spend thinking, the psychological stress that one endures here, caused these problems.
When we were traveling here, I had to get off the truck, alone, to speak with federal officials, and they ordered me to give them all the money I had with me. Nobody else had to get off the truck—only me, because I had a passport from another country. They mocked me because I didn’t have much money. We stayed about 40 minutes with those police officers who extorted me. That event has stayed in my mind as something that can happen to me here in Mexico. For that reason, I don’t go out, and I always keep my daughter with me.
The separation has been the hardest thing I’ve had to live through, since my husband and two eldest daughters are in the U.S. They’ve had to work, even the 16-year-old girl, in order to help us. The separation has been very hard. My daughter cries every night. The separation has possibly been the worst thing that’s happened, since we’re very close as a family. But I trust in God that this nightmare will end. Every day that the border remains closed, that they don’t let us through, is another day that my family is separated.
I truly don’t know if we can suffer this long wait, and I’m afraid that the psychological effect that this lost time will have on my daughter will be irreversible. As adults, we can probably endure more. But how do you explain to a child that their father isn’t there? Did my dad abandon us? Does he prefer my sisters over me? My daughter tells me she doesn’t think she’ll see her father again. And my husband calls and speaks with her, but she still cries every night. She sleeps in the day and cries at night. We have spent five months without leaving our room because she doesn’t want to. She’s trapped in there, punishing herself.
I ask that the new administration speed up the process. COVID isn’t going to end from one day to another. Our families are waiting for us, and they need us. My husband has an apartment with our daughters, and all he’s doing is waiting for us. We will not be a public burden. We want to work and live with dignity. This is my particular case. The others, I imagine, are in a similar or worse position. Open the courts, resume the waiting list, let us through. We’ve had enough of waiting. We can’t wait any longer. Not one more day. It’s time.
Our life here in Mexico has not been easy. We arrived without knowing anybody, without a home, with nobody to receive us. We’ve had to work and look for money to secure housing. The emotional shock has been extremely difficult for my family and for me. I’ve had health issues with blood pressure on account of everything we’ve experienced here. We’ve had to see a doctor to understand these illnesses. Four months ago, I discovered it was a blood pressure issue. I think that the nights I spend thinking, the psychological stress that one endures here, caused these problems.
When we were traveling here, I had to get off the truck, alone, to speak with federal officials, and they ordered me to give them all the money I had with me. Nobody else had to get off the truck—only me, because I had a passport from another country. They mocked me because I didn’t have much money. We stayed about 40 minutes with those police officers who extorted me. That event has stayed in my mind as something that can happen to me here in Mexico. For that reason, I don’t go out, and I always keep my daughter with me.
The separation has been the hardest thing I’ve had to live through, since my husband and two eldest daughters are in the U.S. They’ve had to work, even the 16-year-old girl, in order to help us. The separation has been very hard. My daughter cries every night. The separation has possibly been the worst thing that’s happened, since we’re very close as a family. But I trust in God that this nightmare will end. Every day that the border remains closed, that they don’t let us through, is another day that my family is separated.
I truly don’t know if we can suffer this long wait, and I’m afraid that the psychological effect that this lost time will have on my daughter will be irreversible. As adults, we can probably endure more. But how do you explain to a child that their father isn’t there? Did my dad abandon us? Does he prefer my sisters over me? My daughter tells me she doesn’t think she’ll see her father again. And my husband calls and speaks with her, but she still cries every night. She sleeps in the day and cries at night. We have spent five months without leaving our room because she doesn’t want to. She’s trapped in there, punishing herself.
I ask that the new administration speed up the process. COVID isn’t going to end from one day to another. Our families are waiting for us, and they need us. My husband has an apartment with our daughters, and all he’s doing is waiting for us. We will not be a public burden. We want to work and live with dignity. This is my particular case. The others, I imagine, are in a similar or worse position. Open the courts, resume the waiting list, let us through. We’ve had enough of waiting. We can’t wait any longer. Not one more day. It’s time.