The Other Side: Jose’s Story

The names in this article have been changed to protect the identities of those involved. All quotes were pulled from an interview conducted via phone call. 

To cross the border between the US and Mexico is no small feat. Thousands of people cross the US/Mexico border each year in search of a better life. “A better life”. We hear this explanation so much that it has become cliche. Yet, the phrase is the very essence of hope for countless immigrants every year. Groups of hopeful people traverse the dangerous landscape. Unbearable heat. Hidden snakes. Cartel. Killings. Severe hunger and unimaginable thirst. It’s not for the faint of heart. For some, there is no other choice but to try and cross.

This is Jose’s story. It is no secret for those that attempt to cross that their lives may well be taken. Jose’s story is not an abnormality or outlier. Sadly, his story echoes the stories of his friends, family, neighbors, and countrymen. 

Our phone call lasted two hours. In that time, Jose spoke for a total of 100 minutes. 

“I arrived in the US in 1992,” Jose said.  

“Llegue en Los Estados Unidos en 1992.” 

Jose started school in the US in fifth grade at the age of 11. He lived an adult life in Arizona. At the age of 30, Jose received a DUI. He was sent to jail for two days, paying $250 for each night spent. He wasn’t released following the two days. Instead, immigration services took him because he didn’t have his green card. He was offered two options: be taken back to Mexico or appeal to stay in the US with a worker’s permit. Jose considered the US his home by this time. Most of his life was spent in Arizona. He felt as though the years spent living in the country were enough to warrant an excuse to stay in the states. Up to this point, Jose didn’t have a spot on his record. 

“It was a mistake. Anyone makes a mistake I imagine.” 

“Fue un error. Cual quien hace un error me imagino.” 

Jose decided to appeal his case.  

“I have my wife and two kids. I find it unjust that I get deported and that my family is left on their own. They’ll be without a home or father.” 

“Tengo una esposa y dos niños. No lo encuentre justo que me deporten y que mi familia está sola. Van a estar sin casa o papa. 

Immigration warned him the process could take up to six months to a year to get a final verdict on his case. This meant an unknown amount of time spent in jail. Jose had no choice but to wait it out. 

Once several months of incarceration passed, Jose’s immigration officer contacted him. His officer mentioned he had good and bad news. 

“Give me the bad news first,” Jose said. 

“Dame la mala noticia primero.” 

The officer said that it was raining mighty hard. 

“What does that have to do with anything?” Jose asked. 

“Con que tiene que hacer eso?” 

The good news was that he could finally go home. With a newly granted worker’s permit no less. Jose couldn’t believe it. His case had been successfully appealed. The only catch was that he’d have to report back to immigration every six months to renew his worker’s permit. 

Jose left that rainy day in a hurry. He thought he’d better leave quickly in case it was a joke or they had been mistaken. He took the bus home. He hadn’t called his wife yet because he wanted it to be a surprise. It was St. Mary’s day when we left jail. 

Jose lived his life as he normally would. Every six months, he would stop by immigration, report to them and pay $350 to renew his worker’s permit. Then, he’d go back home. This went on for seven years.  

“[Paying for the permit] was not a problem. I’d pay $500, $1000, or even $2000 for the permit just as long as I could live in peace without anyone bothering me.” 

“No era problema para me. Yo pagaba $500, $1009, o hasta $2000 para el permiso nomas que pudiera vivir en paz y sin nadie decirme nada.” 

Seven years were spent at peace. Once the administration change occurred after the 2016 election, Jose’s permit was not renewed. 

“But why? I haven’t done anything wrong,” Jose told me, “I pay my taxes and my insurance. I don’t ask for anything from the government. Thank God I’ve worked well and earned well without a problem.” 

“¿Pero porque? Yo no hice nada malo. Yo pago mis taxes y aseguranza. No pido nada del gobierno. Gracias a Dios que trabajó bien y ganó bien sin problemas.”

Jose was led out of the lobby by an officer. He was stripped of his belongings. The officer asked if he knew the process. Jose knew it all too well. In fact, most of the people he knew had experienced the process and shared with him the details. 

“Well yeah, but why are you taking all my belongings? I don’t understand. I think you’re going to deport me,” Jose said.  

“Pues si, pero porque me estás quitando todo, le digo. No entiendo. Pienso que me vas a deportar.” 

The agent confirmed his suspicion. Jose was stunned. He knew people that were caught with illegal firearms and drugs. A lot of them sold drugs and were in many regards, bad apples. Yet, he was the one facing deportation. He didn’t put up much of a fight. Jose knew there was no use. 

Jose’s appointment with immigration services was at 1 pm. Less than 24 hours later, Jose was in Nogales, Mexico. All strange land. 

“I arrived in Mexico without knowing anyone. I knew nobody in the country. It was an easy decision for me on what I should do next. I was going to come back to my family the quickest way possible. 

“Llegue a México sin conocer a nadie. Yo no tengo nadie en México. Se me hizo fácil la decisión. Voy a regresar a mi familia lo más pronto posible.”

Jose quickly found a coyote. A coyote is someone that sneaks people into the US illegally for a fee. This person knows the land and the routes that should be taken in order to complete a successful crossing to the US. At first, this line of work was a profitable business for anyone that had the means to do so. Over time, this position became closely tied to the Mexican drug cartel. Coyotes could be reporting to the cartel as a toll to get across. Other coyotes are the cartel themselves. Anyone crossing the border illegally is doing business with the drug cartel to some degree.  

You pay the coyote and the coyote pays the cartel. It’s common that if a person could not pay the coyote for the guidance and protection along the way, then they would have to carry backpacks full of drugs as payment.  

“You find a coyote through recommendations. Or, you get to Mexico and people see you’re looking for someone. They ask you if you want to cross to the other side and you say yes. You can be talking to a coyote for up to a week until you know them, or you know of them, rather. They tell you where they live so that you’ll put trust in them and start paying. There really isn’t any other option. You have to believe them. 

“Encuentras un coyote por recomendación. O nomas llegas usted en México. Te ven que andas buscando alguien. Te preguntan si te quieres ir al otro lado. Dices que si y tardes hasta una semana hablando con él hasta que lo conoces o lo haces conocido. Te dice donde vive para que saques el dinero. No tiene uno otra opción. Tiene que creerle.”

Jose paid $1500 to stay in the cartel’s territory. This payment is known as pagando piso which translates literally to paying the floor. Jose had to pay the piso for protection. Once paid, he was transported to a series of small towns, ranches and hotels where he would then be protected from other cartel members, thieves, and other unruly characters that might want to hurt him. Often, those protecting those that paid would extort them out of more money. Coyotes would purposefully make their clients wait longer to collect more money. Other times, people would pose as coyotes and promise the freshly-deported a chance to cross the border only to never have the intention or means to do so. These cartel members are often referred to as sicario. This is Spanish for hitman. The traditional view of the hired gun is sleek and oddly professional. There’s a certain class to assassination when we think of the hitman as a profession. In Jose’s context and in the context of many in Latin America, the hitman is dirty. The killings are brutal. There is no room for mercy. In many ways, the sicario in Mexico is more about sending messages than fulfilling the contract. 

Once in the town, the coyote charged him another $5000. He paid the money under the promise that they would start their journey to the US the next day. To Jose, the money wasn’t an issue. There was no price high enough to keep him from going home to his family. 

Early the next day, the coyote was ready to leave. It’s commonplace that the coyote guides a group of people. Rarely does the coyote escort a single person. This practice helps the group survive and allows more drugs to be carried at one time. Jose’s group consisted of him, two Brazilians, and the coyote. 

The group walked through the hot desert for six hours until the coyote abandoned the group. There was no warning or reason as to why. There was no regard for the lives of those that paid good money to cross. This isn’t an uncommon occurrence. Jose and many others that attempt the journey know abandonment is a possibility. Jose’s group thought that they were already too far to turn back now so they decided to keep walking. They had no food or water. Yet, they walked for more than two days.  

What is there to talk about on the way to the US? At first, they’d exchange hometowns and talk about who was waiting for them on the other side. They wouldn’t ask any other questions. As days pass, groups become stressed and agitated. Fights break out and knives come out. If there was an altercation one morning, it wasn’t uncommon that one person would attempt to kill the other that night as the group slept. People sing songs. Some talk about what they’re going to do when they get to the other side. Which beer they’re going to drink. What burger they’ll have first. In a place where survival is of the utmost importance, pretending it isn’t is a good way to cope with the reality of the situation. 

“We drank water from the tanks the cows would use. It was all dirty and green, but we drank it.” 

“Tomamos agua de las vacas que estaban allí. Toda cochina y verde pero lo tomamos.” 

Jose said it tasted like skunk.  

They found a cactus with its fruit. In their haste to get food and water, they didn’t bother to peel off the spines. Their tongues were fat and filled with barbs. 

Jose’s group only walked in the night. The cover of darkness helped them sneak through the open desert. 

“You see a lot of stuff in the night that you shouldn’t see. The devil appeared. We’d see terrible things that would move. Your skin would get goosebumps when you’d see the black figures.” 

“En la noche ves muchas cosas que no debes que ver. Se pareció el diablo. Mirábamos cosas feas que se movían. Hasta la piel se te ponía china cuando mirabas figuras negras.” 

Jose believes it’s bad energy or a demon. His father told him a story of when he crossed, he saw a black cow cross their path. It didn’t let them pass. When doing research, I found that a lot of people who made the journey have seen things they could only attribute to the devil. 

I believe that these demonic experiences are hallucinations from the lack of food and water. Since these people are constantly near death, I imagine that their trauma is taking form in front of them in their weakened state. Then again, I can only believe Jose and others when they speak to me of these things. They speak with conviction of the demonic apparitions. 

As the group walked, they developed diarrhea from the water they drank earlier. Eventually, they stumbled across a ranch. They approached the farmhouse and knocked on the door. They hoped that the person who lived on the property would call immigration to take them back to town. No one answered. The group took this opportunity to take a break. They’d find things to eat and water to drink outside the farmhouse. Jose and his group regained energy to keep going after four hours of rest. 

As they were preparing to continue the walk, immigration pulled into the ranch. The group ran into the rolling hills. Their attempt to escape was cut short after immigration caught up to them in their vehicles. Upon detainment, they were questioned about possible drugs being carried. Jose, who had paid the piso, wasn’t carrying any on him. The two Brazilians were clean. 

Immigration informed Jose that his group was walking circles. He and the two Brazilians were sent to jail for 22 days. Afterwards, Jose would never see them again. He would call home and let his family know he had been caught. He’d cry a little and then think about how he’d try again. In the following attempts at crossing, Jose would call his wife and tell her he was leaving soon. If she didn’t hear back from him in a couple of weeks, she would call the common immigration detention jails and find out he had been caught. His personal cell phone was confiscated after his first attempt due to suspicion that he had been working with the local sicario. 

The second time cost him $750 for the piso. This time, the coyote didn’t abandon the group. Instead, the coyote made the mistake of entering a small village on the way. Immigration found them there and Jose spent another 22 days in jail. An officer asked if Jose would like to notify his family that he had been caught and sent to jail. He agreed. Later, his wife called the jail in near hysteria. She was told that he had suffered from extreme dehydration and was dying at a local hospital. The officer had confused Jose for another detainee. 

Jose’s third time crossing found him talking to a group of coyotes. They asked him where he was from. Jose responded with Chihuahua. One of the coyotes warned Jose that if his boss was there, he would have killed him. 

“Why?” Josed asked. 

“¿Por que?”

The coyote explained that anyone that came from Chihuahua would be killed on sight because of competing cartel groups in the area. Jose misspoke. He was actually from Guerrero, Mexico but was staying in Chihuahua until he found a way to cross. He wanted to correct himself and the coyotes but he didn’t want to press the issue because he was afraid to be killed. 

“I was afraid that they’d kill me. They would have killed me without a second thought like an animal. They would have just thrown me to the side of the road. What do I know?” 

“Yo tenía miedo que me mataban. Me iban a matar como sin nada como un animal nadamas. Me iban a tirar a la calle yo que sé.”

The next day, the coyotes sent the group on their way. Each person was given a disposable phone. This time, they had to crawl most of the way. They had to keep an eye out for snakes as they crawled like babies across the hot dirt. This was all in efforts to keep from being spotted by border patrol. Eventually, immigration spotted Jose’s group and released dogs in case they tried to run away. Jose spent another 22 days in jail. He was also notified that if he was caught trying to cross again, he would be sent to a year in jail. An officer asked Jose if he’d like for the jail to contact his wife. This time, Jose declined and waited for his wife to call instead. 

When interviewing Jose, he had lost track of times he crossed while telling his story. He had to take a second to remind himself he was just getting to attempt four. 

The fourth attempt started in Juarez, Mexico. He was placed in a hotel in the city. He had never stepped foot in a fouler place. Drug addicts were getting high. Unregulated sex workers roamed. The rooms were unclean and smelled, as per Jose’s account, like death. He stayed for 20 days in the hotel. Some days, he’d wouldn’t eat so that he could keep paying this coyote. The coyote would leave for two or three days before returning and asking for more money to pay off the hotel. 

“In Juarez, it’s terrible. At night, you’d be in the hotel room and you’d hear guns go off. Out of nowhere, you’d hear explosions. For the people of Juarez, it’s normal that people would get into shootouts and kill each other. Every day there’s a new dead person and you’d find people hanged. Anyone from the US would find this impactful.” 

“En Juárez, está muy feo. En la noche, tú estabas en el hotel y escuchabas pistolas. De repente se escuchaban unos explosiones. Para la gente de Juárez, es normal que se agarran a balazos y que se maten. Todos días hay muertos y encuentras personas colgados. Uno que es de estados unidos se le hace impactante.”

As the days passed, Jose and his new group of hopefuls were hungry and nearly out of money. Some of his group had left back to their respective towns. Jose was losing hope as well but the coyote promised him they’d leave the day after. That day came and the coyote promised they’d leave the day after. Jose bought a bus ticket back to his temporary home that same day. 

Before the start of his fifth attempt, Jose was stationed in a ranch in rural Mexico as his coyote readied the expedition. He would bathe and use the restroom outside. There was only an older man at this ranch named Ignacio. The first thing Ignacio said to Jose was to watch himself because the land he was standing on was not his own. 

“I don’t care. If you give me respect, I’ll give your respect back. Respect is earned,” Jose replied.  

“A mí no me importa. Si tú me das respeto, yo te doy respeto también. El respeto se gana.”

Ignacio sat down by Jose. They began to chat. Ignacio would ask about Jose’s reason for crossing and complimented him on his perceived valor and lack of fear. 

“I’m not afraid. What would I be afraid of? I’m here alone. Whatever happens to me happens. You could kill me if you wanted to. No one would know.” 

“Yo no tengo miedo. A qué le voy a tener miedo. Aquí ando solo. Lo que será será. Usted me puede matar si quieres. Nadie va a saber.”

Ignacio let the issue go and left the ranch for a few hours. When he returned, he had a case of beer in hand. As they drank, Ignacio asked Jose to be his personal bodyguard. Jose tried to turn down the position, citing his family as the reason he couldn’t stay. Ignacio was relentless. He invited Jose to a carne asada at a car wash that Ignacio and his gang of sicarios owned. When they arrived, a few sicario approached Jose and asked if he was the new bodyguard that Ignacio was claiming to have. Ignacio was also greeted by all the other men in the group. Jose deduced that Ignacio was a big deal in those parts. The persuasion tactics continued, explaining how they were paid well and how they lived free. 

Jose kept his family at the forefront of his excuses. His family was first no matter what and he’d say no to a gang of killers to get back home. 

Everyone at the carwash sat down to eat their food. The conversation started off much like the ones in our own homes. Gracious and joyous. Slowly, it devolved to talking about the killing some of the members had done that day or the days prior. 

“They talked about how they killed many people. They talked about killing a boy that was 16 or 17. How they butchered him and played his hands afterward.” 

“Hablaron que mataron tantas personas. Que mataron un chavalo de 16 o 17. Lo masacraron. Que estaban jugando con las manos.”

Jose wanted to leave but had to endure the talks of brutality until Ignacio wanted to leave too. He didn’t want to cause any trouble by asking to leave. Unfortunately, Jose had to stay at the carwash in fear of being caught by the local militia that was out hunting sicario for the recent deaths of some locals. The next day came and Jose was brought back to Ignacio’s ranch. By this time Ignacio knew there was no convincing Jose to stay. Instead, in an odd act of kindness, Ignacio waived the piso for the following trip that would end in a capture. 

The fifth time Jose tried to cross; Jose was recommended to a coyote by a friend from Arizona. He soon got in contact with the coyote and he was scheduled to cross with another group of immigrants. When speaking to the coyote, Jose was asked if he wanted to carry 40 kilos of marijuana with him in exchange for a “free” trip. Jose declined and paid $6,000. They’d put in a home or ranch for a few days then move him to another. He would be moved around from house to house every so often as the coyote assembled his group and route. 

The coyote told Jose that when he went to rendezvous with the group of people trying to cross, he was to say he was the lunch man. This was code to let the other sicario in the group know that he didn’t have to pay to cross so that the coyote could pocket the full $6,000 for himself. 

Jose agreed and was taken to another ranch. Everyone there was armed. They had a shootout with the militants in the area that morning. There were seven other people in Jose’s group. They were surrounded by sicario. He told the armed men he was in charge of the lunch. They didn’t ask another question. Instead, they handed Jose two gallons of water and had the guide start the journey.  

The town the group started in was near the US border. Most of the walking would take place through Arizona. Once crossed, the group’s main hurdle was navigating through the Arizona heat in the middle of summer. 

This expedition was planned to take seven days of walking. Right off the bat, the schedule was disrupted. Jose’s group would walk four hours and then stop. They’d take a break to let their trail cool off and start walking for another four hours. During these breaks, they’d nibble on their rations.  

Every so often, the coyote would tell the group to stop so that he could check with an outlook on nearby mountains to see if there was any border patrol around. On their first stop, the outlook spotted an immigration vehicle in the next town. There was no one inside. Jose’s group took refuge in a cave for three days until the vehicle finally was moved. Although no one was inside the vehicle, the cameras were rolling and there was no way they’d take the chance to try and sneak by. 

Jose and his group ate well while in the cave. They had canned beans, tuna in a bag and water. As the days passed, some in the group wondered if they would get to finish the walk. The coyote would give inspiration and promise they’d be walking again soon enough. 

After the three days, immigration had left the town. The coyote urged the group to run past the town. They made it past the first checkpoint without being detected. The group began to walk again once they felt it safe enough to do so. Spirits were high again until Jose fell and fractured his ankle. Everyone heard the crack. The coyote gave him painkillers to suppress the pain. Every step Jose took on his hurt ankle would make a clicking noise. 

“I would take one every hour or half-hour because I couldn’t take the pain. One man told me that I should stay back. He told me that I couldn’t cross now. I told him how would I do that? I had my family in Arizona. I can’t stay behind. I’d arrive with a broken foot as long as it was possible, but I was not going to stay behind.” 

“Me tomaba una cada hora o media hora porque no aguantaba el dolor. Un senior me dijo que me quedaba. Me dijo que yo ya no lo voy a hacer. ¿Le digo cómo ve voy a quedar aquí? Tengo mi familia allá. No me puedo quedarme aquí. Si es posible, llegó con la pata quebrada pero yo aquí no me quedo.”

Another man from his group who was carrying drugs as his piso had broken his foot. They would give him painkillers, but it wasn’t enough. He snorted cocaine and injected a drug unknown to Jose to keep the pain at bay. 

“In the end, he’d even laugh and show us how the broken leg could move. He would hit it against the ground and say that he’d no longer had pain in his body.” 

“Al último hasta se reía y los enseñaba cómo se mueve. Le pegaba en el piso y dijo que ya no tenía dolor en el cuerpo.” 

Jose and his group kept walking. Every so often, the outlook would tell them to stop. Not so long after, they would continue again. If a plane flew overhead, they would drop to the ground and try their hardest to not move. This was the routine. Start. Stop. Pray. Start. Stop. Don’t move. 

Jose’s group was running out of food after seven days. The rainwater and puddles alongside the roads would refill their gallons of water. At this point, they would each have one tortilla to eat a day. They were black and blue with the rot coating them. They’d vomit and get diarrhea from the tortilla. After a week and a half, they were fully out of food. Their outlook had been lost along the way. 

It was safer to walk at night. Only when they started to cross mountains was when Jose realized the perils of the journey.  

“If you fell, you’d go all the way down. No one would ask about you. The coyote wouldn’t care if you fell or died. They’d keep going. They’re about pushing their business forward. Simply put, if you died, you’d be left there.” 

“Si te resbalones hasta bajo ibas a dar. Nadie iba a preguntar por ti. El coyote no le importa si te murieras. Ellos siguen. Ellos son que saquen su negocio adelante. Te mueres y ay te quedas en pocas palabras.”

“The animals would eat them, and the bodies would rot. We would see the leftover clothes of those who died in the past. T-shirts and pants were what was left. We’d walk next to them like if it was nothing, like if they were animals.” 

“Se lo comen los animales y se pudren. Miramos a ropa entera de difunto. Camisas pantalones estaba allí. Caminamos junto de él como si nada como un animal.” 

Crossing the mountains was cutthroat because it was the route the cartel used to smuggle drugs. If you died in the mountains, no one would ever know because the moment the route is revealed, the trail is considered hot and the cartel can’t use it anymore. If anyone fell, the coyote would stop only to retrieve the drug from the body. They’d cover them with some rocks or throw them further down so that they couldn’t be found if people came looking. Countless people die every year crossing these mountains and their families are left wondering what happened. 

The entire trip took Jose 22 days. They were almost fully out of water. Each person would only get a sip of water a day. Despite the lack of resources, Jose and his group made it to their desired destination in Arizona. No one was there to pick them up. Jose called his brother from the phone he was given at the start of the journey. His brother knew of the location and told Jose to hide until he came by and honked as a signal that he arrived. 

Jose agreed. Two hours passed by. Jose said the two hours were the longest two hours he has ever waited. Eventually, the coyote became impatient and was going to leave back into the mountains.  

“Are you staying or are you leaving?” the coyote asked. 

“Te quedas o te vas?” 

The coyote warned Jose that if he were to get caught and then out the cartel, he would be killed. Jose tried to ease the coyote’s nerves by promising he’d wouldn’t say a word about who brought him to Arizona. As far as border patrol was concerned, Jose came on his own. Yet, Jose wasn’t fully comfortable leaving the group just yet. He worried that if the group was caught after Jose left, that they would blame him for their capture. He feared for his family and his own lives. He stayed with the group just off the road as they too waited for their ride home. Another 30 minutes passed, and a car stopped in the middle of the road in front of them. It had to be Jose’s brother. 

Jose ran from the group as fast as he could. He tripped in his excitement of finally having a ride back to his family. 

“I didn’t feel pain. I didn’t feel anything bad. My brother was finally here.” 

“No sentía el dolor. No sentía nada. Ya estaba mi hermano allí.”

When he arrived home, Jose couldn’t believe it. He had lost a disturbing amount of weight. They received him well and tried to fatten him up.  

“Simply put, I had a buffet at home. I ate everything. I didn’t leave anything on the plate from the sheer hunger I had. To see one’s family after all that, it’s priceless.” 

“Tenía un buffet en pocas palabras. Me comía todo. No dejaba nada por el hambre que tenía. Para ver la familia, imagínate. No tiene precio.”

Jose has remained in the US since. He had since moved with his family. 

“Now, I’m more cautious. I don’t go anywhere and stay at home. I’m really comfy. I go from work to home and in the end, I’m with my family thanks to God.” 

“Ahora me cuido más. No salgo y estoy en la casa. Bien agusto. De trabajo a la casa y ya estoy con mi familia gracias a dios.” 

Jose thinks about his crossings often. He lives with the grief of what happened to him and his group. From hearing his interview and writing down his account, I believe he has a form of PTSD. I asked him how many times he thought he was going to die. He couldn’t think of a number. He just knew it was a lot. 

“I remember and I get the feeling that I want to cry. So many things that I’ve seen. So many things that people told me. Things like that they wanted to kill me. One time I got in a fight with someone from El Salvador and we almost started stabbing each other just from the pure stress that one carries on the way.” 

“Me Acuerdo y me das ganas de llorar. Tantas cosas que mire y tantas cosas que me decían las gente. Que casi me matan. Casi me pelea con un salvadoreño y casi nos agarramos a cuchillazos con el estrés que lleva uno.”

In a culture of machismo and bravery, these words stick with me the most. For Jose to admit that he struggles with the mental toll of his journey is to transcend culture. It was then when I was talking to a human who was hurt in ways I couldn’t comprehend. 

A lot of his friends have made the journey, all with their own tragic story. Jose says he speaks of his experience openly. He warns that others have had it worse.  

“A lot of people don’t talk about it.” 

“Mucha gente no platica eso.” 

There are killings, butcherings, rapes, beheadings, suicides and other terrible things that happen on the trail to cross to the other side. Jose’s story is one of many. 

Jose warned that his storytelling ability could not fully encompass the monstrosities that occur on the path to the US. He could try his hardest and spend days thinking of words to describe what happened to him and others, but he could still not fully translate his horrors. He said that for anyone to truly understand what it’s like is to cross themselves. For people like me and you, the closest we can get to feeling Jose’s pain is to hear from him and others that have made the sacrifices needed to get to the US. 

 I tried my best to capture his experience and will continue to tell the stories of the sacrifices immigrants must make in search of a better life.