I’m an engineer in informatics, I work in a business in the financial sector in the area of technology, and I’m a venezuelan migrant woman. I’m 51 years old, and five of them I’ve been living in Monterrey.
The last time I was assaulted was in the bus, I thought that I could not live like that any longer. That moment I decided that I had to escape from Venezuela. The security and economic stability weren’t helping. Jobs were scarce and the quality of a dignified life was nonexistent. We didn’t always count on basic services like water and electricity, I would spend various days in the dark, and without showering.
The economy became so unstable that we no longer knew how we were going to wake up the next day, I felt like I was living by the day. I noticed that the first to migrate were the youth, since the opportunities for them were more complicated because they were just starting out their life, and their salaries weren’t giving them enough to buy products of basic needs, much less to buy a home or a car. They were also migrating because some of them were threatened by the police that were tasked to kidnap them.
Venezuela is a wave of thefts, kidnappings and violence, it’s a wave where if you don’t march in favor of the government, you are considered a traitor and they would make your job a living hell. I told my mother that I couldn’t wait for that wave to drown me.
My son was the first one to move to Mexico, so he could continue his studies. Schools would not accept him because he was a migrant. After two long months, my son had arrived at my cousin’s house- who helped us a lot-; I also made it to their house, with the little money I was able to save up in my country. One year later my husband arrived.
“If she (my cousin) hadn’t lent me a hand, I don’t know where I would have gone. Because, as I tell you, I didn’t have the intention (to get out of Venezuela), because even through the bad time I had been going through, I would say: «It’s going to get better, it will get better», and it never got better, you end up feeling like it only gets worse”.
The migratory processes are sometimes a fraud, I feel like they want to get even with us south americans. There´ s plenty of people working in migration that want to rip us off, there’s a lot of corruption, many men bring young women from Venezuela with the promise of getting their migratory process done, and once they get to Mexico they take away their documents and enslave them.
I call the ones back there to tell them jokes or talk about something positive. I want to distract them a little from what they are living. I don’t want them to feel alone, because I genuinely feel alone. I know I have my kids, my parents and my husband, but at times I think, who would miss us here?
At times I say: “If I die, I don´ t know who would be able to come to see me”. I have hope of going back to my country one day to cry out of the emotion, and to be cried for when I leave.