Transcript for the Piece Audio version of Cuando la Fuerza Abandona para Uno (When strength abandons you)

Cuando la Fuerza Abandona a Uno – Translation

Irineo: My name is Irineo Sánchez Herenández, from here in the Mixteca, from San Agustín Tlacotepec. I am 52 years old. And this is my sad story, because it was sad…

Music fades in

I: My story is a sad one because I left my village with illusion to head to the United States to better my life, and the life of my family. In the journey from here to the border, there were no problems. The problems start once you cross over the border into the United States.

We arrived in Ciudad Juárez, and from there went on to Palomas. And from Palomas they took us in an old truck to a place, a really solitary place. Walking—well, we got there in another truck—we arrived there in the middle of the night in the desert. We started off there because Immigration, Immigration was watching the border really tightly. So, we waited a day, and on the second night we started walking. It’s not like in our village where you know all the paths. No. For me it was the first time. We walked. We climbed a series of rocks in the desert. And in the darkness I fell. That night I fractured my hand. I twisted my ankle. Twelve of us were all together. We were all helping each other out.

Music up and down

I: Throughout that night, that first night, Immigration started bear down. And the guy who was helping us to cross told us, “Everyone, heads down. Hold your backpacks to your chests. And no one look up. Everyone heads down.” You use dark clothes, dark hat, dark pants, dark shoes, dark packs—so that no one would see us. And they didn’t see us. We crossed. Immigration passed over us, and didn’t find us.

We continued. Our water ran out. We had to drink from those troughs where cattle drink from, or cows—the ones Americans keep. We drank from there, and filled up our water bottles. And we continued walking. Another night. We hid during the day because helicopters would pass over. We hid. We ate the little food that we brought with us. And we continued walking the following night. That night was the hardest for me. It’s just sad; there are cactuses with thorns that are dangerous. I am a farmer; I’m familiar with cactus—but not so spikey. Imagine planting your knees, pfrsssss! When it happens you can’t help but cry out from the pain.

We kept walking, and the moment arrived in which I just couldn’t walk any more. I just couldn’t. But, my friends said, “Come on. Rally yourself. We’re almost there. We’re almost there. We’re almost there!” And we kept walking. And at 3 in the morning we arrive at this place, and I say, “Look, friends. This is it. I can’t any more. I want to, but I can’t.” I rallied myself for a small stretch longer. “That’s it, friends.” So I stopped. I sat there in the dirt, in a place where lots of immigrants who are crossing illegally—there’s a zone where they change their clothes and shoes in order to jump the highway, what they call the freeway. So I remained there crumpled on the ground. And my friends asked, “If Immigration picks you up, you’re not going to tell them where we’re off to, are you?” “No, I couldn’t,” I said. “I’m staying of my own choice. You aren’t leaving me.”

Music up and under…

I: From the border of Mexico to where I sat there are a lot kilometers, paths to take. From the night before, a part of one day, and another night—we’d walked a ton of kilometers. Imagine a new pair of shoes, ones that now look like you’ve been wearing them for 6 or 7 months—ripped up, broken at the soles. You wear them down. Imagine how spent they are from the sand. This is what tired me out—in the sand you don’t advance. So you tire out. And you have to be careful to follow the group. Because if you don’t, you will lose them. I got to a point where I couldn’t find the group; I had gotten behind. I could see them—but from a distance.

So I remained there crumpled there, sleeping. I woke up at like 9 in the morning. And waking up, I was shocked to find I couldn’t see. I waited like 2 hours, seated, throwing water on my head, on my face. And from there I climbed down to a gas station. Arriving to the gas station my problem was that I couldn’t speak English. I arrived, and I tried to mimick to the attendant that I needed water. And he told me, with signs to go into the station. Inside I bought myself a hamburger and a soda. Leaving, I saw an Immigration truck passing by. I didn’t get up because they didn’t really pay any mind to me. So I went out towards the freeway to find myself a ride to get back to the border, because I couldn’t walk any more. I could only get myself to this point. So getting to the freeway, the Immigration passed again. And the official who was driving asked, “What are you doing?” “I’m just waiting here.” “Would you like a ride to the border?” “You’ll take me to the border? You’ll give me a ride? Sure.” Getting in I was surprised to find others from other states. And they asked, “And you? Why did you turn yourself in?” “I couldn’t walk any more. No more. I just got too exhausted.” “It’s that ravine. If you’d just gotten to the other side of the highway you couldn’ve hitched a ride.” But I said, “Brothers, I didn’t know. This is my first time crossing, the first attempt. I wanted to cross to make myself some money for myself and my family. But it wasn’t possible. I failed.”

Music
I: Imagine to get to the United States you have to have $2,000. The Coyote charges us a certain amount to get us to a point—we were going to North Carolina. But we never made it, not even my other friends. Because they too were detained. So they brought me, they brought us to a building where they bring all of the illegals. I cannot complain, they treated me very well. I never saw aggression, verbal or physical. The only thing they asked of us was for our names, our pictures, our information, digital fingerprints of the 10 digits. Nothing else. They never reviewed what was in our bags, or anything, nor did they try to take our money. No, no. They treated my group with respect.

So, I got into the truck. They take us to this building where those who didn’t manage to cross successfully end up, like me, me who failed in my attempt. You know, you borrow the money to go, with an illusion that you can. Or better, a dream that your family can have a better life, a better home. That you can return from the United States and put up your own business with the money. But for me it wasn’t possible because I failed. I couldn’t take the walk. For that reason, the trip requires athletic people, young people who want to cross.

Music

I: To feel death so close—it’s something so sad, ugly, beautiful. Because you start to think of your family—where am I’m about to die, they will never find me. If you go over the desert, there, only those who cross will find you. And they won’t report it for fear of being picked up themselves. So, there one ends in the desert as food for the coyotes. And you just feel so horrible, horrible horrible at night in this vast terrain. You’re walking in an unknown place.

Well, this is my sad story. I hope that in some way this can help prepare those that will cross to the U.S., those that suppose it will be simple—it is difficult. When I went, Immigration didn’t find us. But I was drained. This is my story.