INTERNSHIP: ARACELI, 2

Wednesday, 22 July 2009

*

When I walk into the Guerra-Gonzalez family home, I look at a picture of a tubby baby on the wall.

Is that you? I ask Jasmin, the oldest.

No, no, she says, None of the stuff on the walls out here can be ours. We can’t have anything here, it all has to be in our room. But come on! See the picture of our whole family—us and our dad!

I follow Jasim, 8, and her squealing siblings down the little hallway and we enter a door plastered with kids drawings. I poke my head into the tiny room, crammed full with a dresser, a TV, clothes and toys. Inside is one giant bed. Four out of five members of the Guerra-Gonzalez family now sleep in this bed—the mother; Araceli and the three children; Jasmin, 8, Anai, 6 and Carlos, 3. The one member missing, their father, Moses sleeps at Christian Country Prison. He awaits deportation.

Moses was arrested in December of last year. He had supported the entire family by working two jobs. Since his arrest, life has been hard. Araceli never had to work before, but now, she spends her days cleaning. The work is hard and she is forbidden from speaking Spanish in the workplace—which makes even communication exhausting. She has applied for work at a million other places; but no one is hiring. There is also another complication—she is undocumented and places like factories now ask any worker for papers.

But the hardest thing is sharing their home. Before, the family lived in the spacious upstairs and rented their basement to a family with two children. But after Moses left, Araceli realized the rent would be impossible—her husband used to make $700 a week; now she makes about $100 to $150 a week. She moved in with the family downstairs so she could rent up the upstairs to new tenants. Now, she and her three children live confined to their tiny bedroom. But the bedroom is not even their own—a tiny cot in the corner sleeps the daughter of the couple downstairs. It is, after all, her room. The Guerra-Gonzalez family are essentially; unwanted visitors in their own home.

Araceli stays strong by thinking about her husband. They met in Mexico when they were ten years old. By the time they were thirteen, they were boyfriend and girlfriend. The year they turned fifteen their families moved to the United States; Araceli’s to California and Moses’ to Chicago. They kept in contact that whole time and when Moses visited, he would try to convince Araceli to marry him. Finally, when they were seventeen; she agreed and he whisked her away to Chicago. They were married there and soon after; their three children were born. The separation now is worse than their brief separation as teenagers.

“I love him even more now than I ever did,” Araceli said. “For the first time in my life, I am alone.”

*

The kids are having a great time showing me the apartment they share. Even under less than ideal conditions; they are proud to be tour guides.

“Come, come! To the kitchen,” shouts little Carlos, leading the way. He climbs on a stool and shows me the ingredients for his favorite drink—leche. Then, he points out the microwave. “For leche!” he announces.

As I drink a glass of water with them in the kitchen; the kids clamor to show me “the rest of their house.”

“Are you coming upstairs?” Anai asks.

When Araceli gently reminds them that upstairs isn’t really their house any more that the kids’ faces fall and they decide, instead, to show me their bikes, stacked outside.

*

As we drive back, Araceli is tired, a little sad. She doesn’t like going home, even for a short visit.

“It is very small,” she says—expressing a lot with that one, simple phrase.

Carlos chirps from the back asking for the radio and Araceli gladly turns it on