Crossing the Border: The Emigrant

This is the first in a six part series on a Nicaraguan's journey to the United States.

Angel Manuel was a thin, dangly man with a large innocent grin that made him all the more mischievous.  A long protruding nose that arched downward had earned him the nickname Choco, short for Chocoyo or Parrot.  Choco was a gifted mooch.  At the local comedor that his group of friends used as a hang out, he’d arrive, sit down, and greet everyone with a fantastical story about a bar fight, a cheating spouse, or a local government conspiracy; as he told the story, he would reach out and grab pieces of chicken from a friend’s plate, then some tajadas (fried plantain chips) from another plate, then sip on the tropical fruit drink of another friend, not once taking his eyes off his captivated audience.  When the time came to buy alcohol, he was always the one who offered to go pick it up instead of putting money down.  Choco was the type of friend that you didn’t call but would show up; the one that you tried not to eat with; the one that you hid the booze from.

Choco lived with his parents in adobe house with a spacious back yard littered with the droppings of mango, avocado, and lemon trees.  He worked the occasional odd job, at times looked after his little brothers, but mostly spent his time watching television or playing pool at one of the pool halls.

Choco had a brother that worked as a taxi driver.  After many years of work, and through other income streams, he managed to collect five thousand dollars in savings.  Choco’s brother had long ago decided he wanted to go to the United States, and since he had been unable to get a visa, he used his savings to cross the border illegally.  He paid a coyote* the money, reached the Mexican-American border, and crossed over, only to be caught by the U.S. Immigration Authority.  He spent three months in a Houston detention center.  Before releasing him, the immigration officials at the detention center warned him that if he tried to cross the border again, they would consider him a terrorist and he would be arrested and tried in a U.S. court.

In Mexico again, he met up with his coyote, who regretted the failure of the border crossing operation.  He told Choco’s brother that he would be willing to help any family member of his that might be interested in entering the United States; but the coyote insisted that he not try to cross the border again, because if he was caught he would spend ten years in prison.

Choco was given the good news, and a week later he had packed up a few things, put on a new hoodie, and some stylish tennis shoes, and began his journey.

Coyote*: the name given to people whose job it is to traffic human beings into the United States from Mexico.