When I got deported this time, (after all I am a career criminal), on the plane down here (well handcuffed- I was just happy that I was going to be released), all I was thinking about was getting some taco,s and making it out of that plane alive. When the plane landed they unhandcuffed us and put us on busses; I forget if they said "Sherriff" on them or "DHS". Any who, I thought that I was going to just stay a week and be back in the US, so it did not bother me to come to TJ. When I touched down, I did not even know where to go. Everyone else was teaming up, and I was like,"F--- it. I am going to go on this myself." I did not know anything. It was getting late walking around by El Arco, so I decided that I had to find somewhere to go. All I heard on my trip in the Northwest Detention Center and on the plane was this 'Casa de Inmigrante' place. I told the taxi take me there.
It is funny when you don't know about anything. I mean, just hopping on the bus or that twenty bucks here is a lot. Basically I could have taken the bus for ten pesos instead of paying the taxi 200 pesos. I arrived at the Casa del Migrante and some dudes from the plane were there, asking where I took off to. Here I came from a jail cell where I can't stand to hear dudes joke around, to a place where it is just like a jail, or so it seemed to me
First of all, I am really thankful for this place. It is a church. They gave me a place when I had nowhere to go. They took all my info of where I was coming from. They asked me questions about my family and if I wanted to go back. They gave me a card with my info and told me I had a 2 week stay. I was like, Yes! I knew I wanted to go back to Oregon. They feed you, clothe you, and you get showers if you are fast enough to get the hot water, if not cold it is, Buddy. They give you razors to shave, baking soda to brush your teeth. In the front, there is a metal gate separating us from the world. My head was in the media that same night. I tossed in and out the bunk bed and they had like 8 bunk beds in a room. I mean, this place is stacked- like an 8 floor building that is filled up with deported people!
It's funny how when you are locked up and it's like, "Oh you are a paisa? Let us ride together!", but then when you are sleeping that same dude that said that you was stealing your stuff. Stay solo.
At 5am, you gotta be up to get your cup of coffee and your piece of bread and you can't come back til like 5. If you do go into the building, you are in for the night.If you are not back by a certain time, you cannot come in. If you are on drugs, of course you lose the privilge. So at 6, you have to grab all of your belongings and out the door you go. It's almost like a set up with the police sitting on the corner asking you for your ID. You have to try to make it all day without being harrassed by the police. They know who is deported; there is a way we look that they know. Casa del Migrante made us go to church each Sunday- part of the process of staying there.
I thought i could play it off, but soon this place was taking a toll on me. The fact was, I was realizing this
place sucked at that moment. They even give you a phone call a night to let your family know that you are OK. I ain't gonna lie; I ran for the hills. I had 2 days left to stay and I was like, "Damn! What the hell am i going to do? I ain't got no one in this place!" I took off, hiked eight hours and they (Border Patrol) caught me in the hot-ass sun. I came back to La Casa del Migrante for my last night. I do not know where I would have gone to. Yes, there are hotels and all, but with all of the media I was like, it dangerous up in Tijuana. I basically told my family that there was no way I could cross back and that I had to find a place to rent and to call Tijuana my new home.