We drove across the country in two days and two nights. From Homestead, Florida to Oakland, California. I remember taking in California’s mountain range from the passenger seat. I was amazed; they reminded me of the mountains I left in Guatemala. Although California looked more like home, I felt like the mountains would eventually crush me. My gut told me I wouldn’t last out here. That I’d be back in Florida soon.
In January of 2020, my coworkers at the farm mocked and dismissed COVID’s spread across mainland China. They said it would never reach us in the Florida fields and there was nothing to worry about. I held my tongue since deep down I had an ominous feeling that COVID wasn’t far away.
Months later, when the spread started being reported in the United States, our boss hurriedly called a meeting with all of the farm workers. He said some of us would stay on and continue harvesting crops, and others would have to find work elsewhere. That afternoon I found out that I was one of the others. I was devastated. Like blood flow withdrawing from the fingertips to preserve vital organs in a blizzard, I was being dismissed from the farm I gave two years of my early adolescence to. It felt like all of the plans I was making, the foundation I was setting for my future, were disappearing. I was 15 years old with $500 dollars to my name.
Just the year before I made one of the toughest decisions I’ve ever had to make, I did it because I wanted a future for myself that my father would never allow. When I first got to the States, the only thing I wanted to do was to go back to school, but my father said that was no place for me. He told me I had to work and contribute to our new life in the States, and that I should be grateful since he’s the sole reason why I made it here to begin with. He verbally abused me until I couldn’t take it anymore and I decided to move out on my own. I found a little apartment two hours from the farm but that was OK since it meant I could work on the weekends and go to school during the week. Because of COVID, my dreams of going back to school had to be put on hold again.
For two months I limited what living essentials I could afford to have. Looking back, I don’t know what I would have done without the help of the other farm workers who gave me rice and beans, paid my rent and raised $300 for me. An old neighbor told their friend about my situation and that woman, who I had never met before, dedicated so much of her time to help me. She took me to the food banks, taught me how to budget and be savvy with money. My phone was about to be cut-off, and I was fine with it; it’s not an essential, But she told me, “I’m going to pay it and don’t worry, you don’t owe me anything, because I understand the situation you’re in and maybe one day that will be me, so I prefer to help you today.”
I found another farm job sorting vegetables but sadly that didn’t last either. A test they administered turned up positive for COVID so I had to take a break from work. Since I didn’t know how to navigate the public health system in Florida, I wasn’t able to prove a negative test result when they wanted one. My manager told me, “since you weren’t able to give us a result, we have no other option but to let you go.” I was stuck with no inkling of how I was going to survive in the States.
On a regular check-in with family back in Guatemala, I noticed my mom sounded ill but she insisted I shouldn’t worry about her and that I had enough to worry about as it is. I had to hear it from my sister a few days later, our mom had COVID too. The only thing I wanted to do was cry. I thought, there’s nothing I can do for her right now. I don’t have any money and I’m going through hell. What if she dies and I couldn’t do anything for her?
When I recovered, the first thing I did was look for work anywhere that would take me. I was desperate and bad actors could tell. A man I’ve never seen before approached me on the street and asked, “Hey girl are you looking for work?” I asked him to tell me more about what the job entailed but he couldn’t. He tried being clever with me, but I could see his true intentions peering through. I felt an overwhelming impotence take over me. All I was trying to do was find work, and people like him saw an opportunity to enter my life and cause me harm.
Outside of my family back in Guatemala, I was confiding my strife with an online friend I had made a couple of months into the pandemic. Generally, I was staying away from social media at that time, but I hopped on Facebook, saw a random friend request, and thought there was no harm in accepting. It didn’t take long before he sent the first “hi.” With each passing month we grew closer and closer.
I’d told him that I was thinking of leaving Florida and going back home, since just surviving in the States seemed painfully untenable. Then, he suggested I should consider moving to California where he and his family lived. I was pretty taken aback and the suggestion gave me a major pause but we kept talking about it. Eventually, I asked my family what they thought about a fresh start in California. My mom thought I was crazy at first, but he told us he was from the same municipality, which gave my family more confidence once they started asking around about him.
He organized everything. A man he struck a deal with showed up at my front door at 9:00 am in September 2, 2020 and then he drove over 3,000 miles in two days and two nights to Oakland, California.
It was awkward at first. Meeting in person for the first time after months of bonding through strife.It was important to me that the first thing his family heard me say was that I would find work. That I would not become a burden to them.
The tension I felt abruptly faded when they took me out to meet the Guatemalan community and their allies. Everyone I met was so helpful and giving, they disarmed my misapprehension with calm kindness. When I first moved to California, everything felt so new and overwhelming. I wasn’t used to this kind of life, and it was a big change for me. But it was a beautiful one. Coming here opened up opportunities I never had before. I’ve learned things I didn’t even know I was missing. I’m sure that if I had stayed in Florida, I wouldn’t have the opportunities I have today.
I’m in a different stage of life now. The man from Facebook is now my partner and we’re raising two children together. Today, people still ask me, “why don’t you go back to school?” and it’s a painful reminder of all the frustration I endured due to my father and COVID. I haven’t given up, it’s just a different road. My kids are almost school-aged and I’m thinking that I should start preparing to return to school while I look around at schools for them. Some schools said no because of my age, but recently I was told there is a green light.
My plan is to finish high school and improve my English. Maybe in the future I can pursue a career. I recently volunteered to help recently arrived Guatemalan’s with taxes and I loved it. Maybe I’ll start studying to learn more about tax preparation and accounting like that woman who helped me when I was struggling to make ends meet in Florida.
Mi Historia is El Tímpano’s first-person narrative series that amplifies community voices.
This story was produced in collaboration with Voice of Witness, an oral history nonprofit that amplifies the stories of people impacted by—and fighting against—injustice.
