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��very day I risked my life
in order to go to school,”
Ariel remembers. “My
school was in a very unfortunate
location. It was right in the
middle of two gang zones.”
Growing up in El Salvador,
Ariel wasn’t wealthy enough to
avoid the gang violence by going
to private school, like some
other families.
“Gang members would try
to recruit the children in the
school. That normally starts
when the boys turn twelve. Both
MS-13 and 18th Street would
try to trick us into working for
them, and both gangs wanted
control over the school.”
Eventually Ariel got robbed
into working as a “lookout” for
the 18th Street gang, alerting
them whenever any MS-13 members
were in the area — and he
was struggling to get out.
His mother, now worried
about the path her son was
walking, started calling members
of the family, seeking a
way to send her son somewhere
safer.
“My sister had already
moved to the U.S., and had been
sending a little money to us for
the last seven years to help us
along,” Ariel remembers.
Eventually, they scraped
together $7,500 for Ariel and
$8,000 for his mother (Ariel was
cheaper because of his young
age), and they paid a Coyote to
take them across the border.
“The coyote got together
a group of twenty-fi ve people
from El Salvador including my
mother and me. We then traveled
into Guatemala, which is
the neighboring country to our
north.”
The journey north became
increasingly diffi cult with
each country they traversed.
The group would stay in unlit
houses at night to avoid attracting
attention from the police,
and take other measures during
the day.
“I felt responsible for my
mother. She is petite and not
used to all that exertion. She
started to struggle, so I carried
all our bags and helped her
along. I felt protective of her,”
Ariel remembers.
Logistically, traveling became
a “nightmare” for the
group, leaving them temporarily
stranded in Guatemala
while trying to cross into Mexico.
“We ran out of food and only
had water. The coyotes had
disappeared to try to organize
things. We were uncomfortable,
hungry and getting worried
that we might have been
abandoned.”
After three days of anxious
waiting, the group fi nally embarked
on their treacherous
crossing into Mexico — running
through farmland and
across rivers to an awaiting bus
arranged by the coyotes.
“If we get stopped by a police
or immigration control, you
must pretend you are sleeping,”
the coyotes told Ariel. “If they
wake you and ask you questions,
do not say you are from
El Salvador. Don’t say you are
going to the U.S. Say you are
Mexican and traveling to visit
friends.”
BRONX TIMES REPORTER, N 14 OV. 12-18, 2021 BTR
“We fi nally got to Mexico
City, and this time we were accommodated
in a very pleasant
house. We were told that there
was a bathroom if we wanted to
take a shower, there was a sink
to wash our clothes, and plenty
of food and water,” Ariel remembers.
“That was the good part.
The bad part was that the people
running the house wanted
to take any valuables away from
us. We all knew to hide money,
but they found mine hidden in
my shoes. I also had two cell
phones, which they found and
took from me. I knew I would
not get these things back.”
At one point, the group got
stopped by a police offi cer, who
spoke to Ariel’s intimidated
mother. Frozen scared, Ariel’s
mother failed to answer the policeman’s
questions — leading
him to attempt to arrest her.
“Can I pay you something
instead?” Ariel asked.
After pocketing Ariel’s $20,
the cops left the duo alone.
The real trouble came,
though, when they crossed the
Mexican-American border.
Like many would-be immigrants,
Ariel and his mother
encountered immigrantion enforcement
offi cers, who temporarily
detained them in a private
prison used by ICE.
“I was very frightened in
the prison. I was only fourteen,
but I was asked if I had a knife,
and they took away our shoelaces
and belts. My mother was
sent one way to the women’s
area, and I was taken to the
area for men and boys,” Ariel
remembers.
“The private prisons benefi t
from the anti-immigrant laws
and make a huge profi t out of
locking up immigrants. There
are about 200 such facilities in
the U.S. They charge ICE (Immigration
and Customs Enforcement)
around $200 per inmate
per day, which brings in
a profi t of around $5 billion per
year for the private prisons.”
“Many of the prison guards
were originally from Mexico
but are now American citizens,”
Ariel says. “They spoke
and cursed at us in English and
Spanish. I think they had forgotten
their roots and now felt
that they were better than us.
I also think the system must
have brainwashed them.”
“I remember that a fi ght
broke out once. The guards
separated the two culprits and
made them strip down to their
boxer shorts, and then they put
them in a cell by themselves
overnight with the AC on full.
The guys were unbearably
cold, and it was a punishment
that the guards used to show
what would happen if people
fi ght.”
Eventually they came before
a judge, and provided details
about their aunt, who
lives in New York City.
“My aunt is under the TPS
(Temporary Protected Status),
so she can currently live and
work legally in the U.S.” Ariel
says. “We gave my aunt’s contact
details, and soon we were
able to leave the prison to go to
her house. My mother was so
happy to see her sister. We were
ecstatic to be out of the prison
and have the opportunity to
have a new life. It was diffi cult
at fi rst because my mother and
I didn’t speak English.”
Ariel took up work in a restaurant,
paying rent for himself
and his mother to live at
his aunt’s house.
“It is now four years later.
My English is fl uent, and I will
graduate high school this year.
My passion is history, and I
want more than anything to
become a history teacher. My
ambition is to go to college and
study for this, but because I am
not a citizen it is diffi cult to
apply for fi nancial assistance
from the government. Instead,
I am doing a course to study to
be a mechanic. I hope to earn
and save money so that, one
day, I can go to college. I hope
that I can continue to be allowed
to live and work in this
beautiful country.”
This story is part of
a bi-weekly series containing
edited chapters
of Sharon Hollins’ 2021
book “Crossings: Untold
Stories of Undocumented
Migrants.”
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