Family labors in shadows to make a living, help back home
By Aliana Ramos - aramos@thesunnews.com
Mar. 23, 2008Family

Oil heats, sizzles and sparks off the stove. Clouds of steam puff around the pots.

Christina Baquedano turns around and smiles at the 10 men around her kitchen table.

"Este es su casa," Baquedano says. "This is your house."

She tries to usher them into the living room to distract them. Worry lines stretch across her forehead. It is critical to feed these hungry men before they get annoyed and leave.

Each plate of white rice, beans, pork chops or beef jerky, tortillas and cabbage salad represents $7, income Baquedano sorely needs.

Tomas Barona, Baquedano's marido - the Spanish word for common law husband - usually supports the family with his painting jobs, often employing her eldest daughter, Gisela Baquedano, 23, and her marido.

The money also supports Baquedano's 13-year-old daughter, Angie, their son Daniel, 2, and Barona's cousin Edwin Barona.

The lagging housing market has hit Barona's company hard. Work has been sparse.

It is the latest in a series of struggles the family has faced in recent months. Family members, who have mixed legal status, have dealt with nonpaying employers, health care issues and the police as they learn new laws and cope with the restrictions of living undercover.

They are among thousands of illegal immigrants estimated to be in South Carolina.

And while legislators at the state and federal levels decide how best to deal with the illegal population in the United States, families like Baquedano's must find ways to survive within the current system.

No right way in

For Barona there is some frustration with the United States' immigration laws.

"El unico delito que yo se que es cometendo es que yo entre aqui illegalmente," said Barona, who is from the Distrito Federal, Mexico's capital city. "The only crime that I have committed is that I entered this country illegally."

Barona crossed into the United States seven years ago after hearing that there was good money - $500 to $700 a week - to be made in America. His plan was to come here, work, earn some money and then return to Mexico.

But under the current visa program in Mexico, this kind of travel is not legal.

There are short-term visas for tourists, professionals, students, business people, athletes, journalists, emergency health procedures and other special categories.

There are 66,000 visas annually for temporary workers for seasonal employment, but they are only for workers who have already secured employment in the United States.

There are "green cards" - or permanent resident cards - and asylum. In order to obtain a green card, applicants need to have a family member who is a U.S. citizen or employer who is willing to be a sponsor. In order to get asylum, an applicant must prove he or she cannot return home because of persecution. A hearing before a judge would decide the matter.

But there is no visa for someone like Barona who only wants come to United States to seek work.

"Dicen 'porque no vienen con papeles?' Que mas quisero uno venir en avion, en autobus, no estar crusando ese desgraciado deserto que es la muerte," Barona said. "They say, 'Why don't you come with papers?' What more would I want than to be able to come in a plane, or bus and not cross through the miserable desert, which is death," he said.

Barona said he wishes the U.S. instead would charge people who want to come into the country to work a permit fee, even if the fee was $2,000.

"Lo pagamos nostoros, se lo juero," Barona said. "We would pay [the fee], I promise you."

Barona said it cost him about $2,000 to pay a "coyote," or smuggler, to help guide him through the desert and across the border. Paying coyotes can be a gamble, he said. They can take immigrants' money, shoot them and leave the body in the desert. There also is no guarantee travelers won't be caught by border patrol or Immigration and Customs Enforcement agents, he said.

At least with a permit, immigrants could travel back and forth to Mexico to visit family, said Barona, who has not been back to Mexico since he crossed the border seven years ago.

Learning the hard way

A rap at the door. It is Barona's landlord demanding the rent.

"La renta, la renta," Barona recalls his landlord saying.

This is how Barona learns his rent check bounced and that an employer gave him a check with insufficient funds.

It is four days before Christmas.

Calls to the employer fail to resolve the issue.

Barona has few options to get the man to pay, a consequence of trying to remain undetected and protect his family.

He does not know that it is against federal law for an employer to withhold wages for hours he has worked. He does not report it to police.

Barona recalls the heartbreak one night of having to lie to his 2-year-old son, Daniel. His son was crying for milk. But there was no milk or money.

Barona desperately put sugar water in a bottle and handed it to his son. But the child refused the bottle, crying for milk.

Barona heated the water

"Es leche," Barona told Daniel handing him the bottle. "It's milk."

In the darkness, the warm liquid soothed the child. He believed it.

Life interrupted

Baquedano is familiar with the struggle to make ends meet.

Ten years ago she had a good job at a shoe factory in Honduras. But in 1998, Hurricane Mitch, one of the second deadliest hurricanes on record hit Honduras, and other parts of Central and South America. The hurricane destroyed the factory and devastated Baquedano's country.

In Honduras up to 1.5 million people - 20 percent of the country's population - were displaced and homeless. There were food shortages and epidemics of malaria, dengue and cholera.

Unable to find work and care for her five children, Baquedano crossed into the U.S. But she had to leave her children behind.

Because of the damage and level of poverty in her country, Baquedano was able to apply for temporary protected status. The U.S. TPS program allows designees from countries that have suffered an environmental disaster to live and work in the U.S. while their countries recover.

But Baquedano's children were not eligible for TPS.

Through several illegal border crossings, Baquedano was able to bring four of her by then six children to live with her in the U.S.

Making ends meet

Baquedano has already spent most of this day chaperoning a friend's uncle around town, loading and folding laundry and cooking - all to earn some money to support her family.

"When I get up every day, I have to move. I have to get going. I have to make money. If it's $5 or $10, it's $5 or $10 I didn't have before," she said in Spanish.

Barona, too, is obsessed by the need to work.

"The children need diapers, they need their milk, the cars need gas," says Barona in Spanish.

Each morning he calls his business partner to see if there is any work. He can choose to wait for a call or he drive somewhere - such as Florence or Charleston - looking for painting jobs.

Baquedano also waits by the phone for people calling to purchase her home-cooked meals. This day, Baquedano gets a call from a group of Hispanic laborers who heard about her cooking from their friends. She will need to cook for five men.

Because Baquedano helped chaperone her friends' uncle around town, she now has $35 to buy groceries for the meals.

She hurries to the store and puts meat, seasoning and fresh vegetables in a basket. She has 15 minutes before the men will arrive. She grabs cans of soda on sale, and then she's in line.

With the clock ticking, Baquedano learns there will be 10 men, not five. But she reassures them that she can feed everyone.

She only has five pork chops in her grocery bag. She only has $2 of that $35 left. Baquedano used $10 earlier that day on a device to open her car door because she had locked her keys inside.

Baquedano gets home with only 10 minutes to spare. The stove is already hot, the dough is ready and the meat is seasoned quickly.

The next few minutes are organized chaos.

Barona bobs and weaves between Baquedano, Gisela and the men trying to help.

"Quieren refrescos?" Barona asks the men around the table. "Want drinks?"

Barona moves to the fridge, pulling out and distributing cans of soda, keeping the men occupied as they wait for their food.

"Who was here yesterday?" asks Baquedano.

She offers the repeat customers beef jerky instead of pork chops to make sure they are getting something different than the day before.

Once the men leave, Baquedano's family sits down to eat a meal of leftover tortillas.

It's past 10 p.m. Baquedano now has enough money to buy ingredients to make tamales to sell. But it comes too late for tomorrow.

By the time the Mexican grocery opens and the tamales - which take about five hours to make - are done, it will be about 2 p.m. and her customers will have found tamales elsewhere.

She will have to settle for the $72 she made that day.

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"The only crime that I have committed is that I entered this country illegally."
THAT WAS HER FIST BIG MISTAKE. SHE NEEDS TO BE DEPORTED ALONG WITH THE REST OF HER CLAN.