Jardín de las Mariposas, LGBTQ+ Migrant Shelter

Tijuana, Mexico

I had an ordinary childhood in Guatemala. I come from a very humble family. Now that I have a conscience, I value all the sacrifices my parents made for me. My life was pretty normal until I started discovering my identity. I have never talked openly about my sexual preference and questions around my gender identity with my family, especially not with my parents, because they are somewhat old-fashioned. I don't know if someday they will understand me. I hope someday it won't be too late to let them know. At school, I always suffered from bullying but I never talked about it at home. I felt like I had to keep this part of me private and didn't tell anyone what I was experiencing. As I grew older, I continued to experience repression and acts of fear and violence because of my identity, ultimately, forcing me to leave Guatemala. I was no longer safe there. It's very hard to leave your country, your home, your friends, your family then. But you know, sometimes you are locked in a circle where there's no way out, you have to decide to leave or not leave and stay in a bad situation. I was sad but I knew I had it in me to manage once I was there. 

I journeyed northward toward the Mexican–Guatemala Border. I didn't have the necessary documentation to cross legally so I knew crossing the river was my best chance. I crossed the river at night but I had to do something I didn't want to do in order to be crossed to Mexico You could say it was sexual abuse–it was something that I didn't enjoy but had no other choice. It was the condition to be crossed at night without the military or immigration agents catching me and the other migrants I was with.  

Once I crossed the river into Mexico, I quickly realized that I wouldn’t be able to leave Chiapas. I found work at a quesadilla stand in Hidalgo while I waited for my next move to travel North. It was strange being in Chiapas. I was too close to my country, literally at the border, and I didn’t feel safe. I knew I had to get as far away as possible. 

Migrant checkpoints throughout Chiapas force many migrants to find other ways to continue their journey or stay trapped in border towns like Tapachula and Hidalgo, with very little options for employment and for shelter. I heard that if I applied for asylum or refugee status in Mexico, I would be able to travel freely to the United States Border. After a year or so, I was given residency through The Mexican Commission for Refugee Assistance (COMAR). 

I made my way North. A migrant friend who was staying in Monterey told me about a route to cross the Mexico–US border. We planned to cross the Rio Grande in Acuña. When we got there, it was nighttime. It had been raining, and the riverbanks were muddy. The river was strong that night. We thought about swimming across, but we could see migration patrol cars on the US side, so instead, we slept on the muddy ground in between some long grass and waited for the sun to rise. In the morning, we went into town to see if we could investigate some shelters we could stay in but they were very full. I felt very unsafe in Acuña, it is infamous for being dangerous. We had no other choice but to cross that night. We made our way to a bridge to see if the water level had subsided. Then suddenly a white vehicle approached us. They had what appeared to be a government logo on their vehicle, I didn’t know if they were immigration agents or local authorities. A group of men came out of the vehicle wearing bulletproof vests and started interrogating us aggressively, asking us: where are you going? Who are you with? Who is your guide? Are you going to cross? We responded that we weren’t going to cross, we were just looking at the river. We were very afraid. They grabbed my friend and forced him to unlock his phone and show them his text messages to see if we were lying. They found the messages we had been sending each other describing our plan to cross in Acuña. I quickly pulled out my phone and before they would notice, deleted WhatsApp. They were aggressive with us but ultimately told us we had five minutes to disappear so we ran to a nearby park where other migrants were staying. We decided to buy bus tickets and leave Acuña and make our way to Monterey.

As we were traveling, in the middle of the night, the bus was detained and there were some men that got on. They were wearing a vest like the authorities in Acuña, but with a T-shirt, jeans, and sneakers. That is when we knew something bad was going to happen. They asked to see everyone’s identification. We used our identifications we received through COMAR so they instantly knew we were migrants. They forced five of us off the bus and took us to a strange structure across the street. The structure was windowless, dark, and had no visible doors. They began interrogating us and asked us where we were going. My friend and I told them we were on our way to Monterey but they continued to interrogate us. “Who brought you here, who is your guide?” they asked. We told them we had intended to cross by ourselves but couldn’t so we were returning. That is when they struck me across the face with their fists. They physically assaulted everyone there. They asked to see our phones again and they found my friend’s messages and punched him in the stomach and started to berate him. They rummaged through our bags and found the bit of money we had left and took it for themselves. I was afraid, I didn't know what was going to happen to us. After taking everyone’s money, they told all of us to get back on the bus and we went on our way. Authorities put fear in us and extort money from us whenever they get the chance. No one helped us. My adrenaline was still coursing through my body. I could not sleep, I was so afraid. I felt helpless…We have our residency, Mexico adopted us, gave us refuge, gave us permission to travel, but we still suffer discrimination. 

 I still had the motivation in me to make it to the United States. I found out about the Jardín de las Mariposas in Tijuana, that helped many LGBTQ+ community members cross successfully into the US, and knew that I should come here. I was fearful of Tijuana, because when you hear people mention the northern border you hear about the dangers and violence towards us, the migrant and LGBTQ+ community. So you feel more vulnerable here. Before being allowed into the shelter, I had to be put on the waiting list. I had a friend in Tijuana who took me in for a few days, but I couldn’t overstay my welcome. On December 31st, while I was walking back to her place, a guy from the neighborhood tried to flirt with me and convince me to have sex with him, when I said no, he physically assaulted me, leaving me with injuries. 

Since entering the Jardín I feel much safer. I am afraid to go outside so I spend all my day here in the shelter with the friends I have made. I am always praying for the day when they say: you are going to leave for the United States. I don't know what to expect, but I have two friends who are also part of the LGBTQ+ community, so I know that I will feel free and safe to be myself with them. When I cross, I know I must adapt myself to the laws. I see myself studying, preparing myself for life, exploring my gender, and being more free. I have always wanted to be more extravagant, grow my hair out, wear make up, and live as a trans woman in the future. Here in the Jardín I am able to do these things. I can paint my nails. For so long, I have been deprived of expressing myself. My biggest wish is to have the opportunity to feel at home, to feel free. Maybe one day fall in love, although I have never had any luck in that respect. But there is still hope.