When Children of Immigrants Are Left Behind
My Story Must Be ToldBy Barbara Deotisis Luna De AcostaiUniverse, Inc.
Copyright © 2011 Barbara Deotisis Luna De Acosta
All right reserved.ISBN: 978-1-4620-6481-6Contents
Introduction.....................................................ixChapter 1 Migration in the 1960s.................................1Chapter 2 Plan with a Twist......................................7Chapter 3 Missing My Parents.....................................10Chapter 4 The Day I Started Going Blind..........................13Chapter 5 The Witch Doctor and His Spells........................19Chapter 6 The Incredible Lack of Supervision.....................21Chapter 7 When Nightmares Become Reality.........................26Chapter 8 Coming to North America................................34Some Final Thoughts..............................................37
Chapter One
Migration in the 1960s
In the 1960s, a great deal of people migrated to the United States of America seeking financial gain and for other reasons too many to list. The situation at those times in the Dominican Republic was not the best for my parents financially. According to my parents, although the country itself was not doing badly financially, my parents were not personally doing that well. They were living in a rented room with no space for us, and they had three children at this time—my two brothers and myself. My sister would be born later.
My father was a barber; a musician; and, of course, a jack of all trades. You see, my father had an eighth-grade education level, but he was one smart man when it came to bringing home what the family needed. He was always an excellent provider. He was very good with math and other school subjects. However, he never pursued any other level of education. His best trade was the knowledge that he had from the streets. He was well oriented there. No one could beat him on that front. He used street knowledge to make a living and pay for the little room in which we lived.
Those qualities were what brought my mother into his life. He had enthusiasm toward doing things and making things happen. He was never scared of anything. He faced life like a champ or like a tiguere (tiger). (This word is used in our country, and it refers to a man who is a wise or tricky person.)
My parents were very much in love, and they were both the envy of the town. The women were always after my father. My mother was a beautiful woman, size three, who resembled a Hollywood star, but she didn't know it at the time. Her self-esteem was low, and she was not aware of her looks or how much she had to offer.
She had no knowledge of evil or what the world would be like in this little town of Janico. On the other hand, she also didn't know what this town could offer her as a person who came from the countryside, or we can call it "the hills," where people came with total innocence and a naive sense of the world. People from the hills knew nothing but the fact that everyone around them was good and willing to help.
My mother was innocent, and she trusted everyone around her. She was unable to see behind the devious minds of those around her, who had much more experience and worldly sense of knowledge than she had ever known. The fact that, in her eyes, no one could do wrong and everyone was there to help and guide her was her downfall.
My father, on the other hand, had another sense of the world and also had his ways with the ladies. The rule in the Dominican Republic at that time was the following: If you were a serious woman and a homemaker, you would stay put at home and take care of your children. Meanwhile, the man of the house went out and partied, and in addition, was unfaithful to his wife. This was "okay" with the women in my grandmother's generation, and so it was with my mother.
My mother suffered so much, but she never let those filthy, dirty women with whom my father cheated know that his unfaithfulness was bothering her. As a child growing up, I never saw that she was suffering any type of emotional disturbance in her life. She was always a very calm and happy person. You see, in those times, people, especially wives, played a game of appearance and made believe that everything in the home was fine. The machismo was so strong in that type of social environment that there was no space for expressing feelings or complaining of a lack of time or talking about one's needs. We women had to take whatever came to us, just because.
God forbid that my father ever carried us and we soiled his clothing at any given time. We were clean, and my father did not participate in the caring for or cleaning of his children. That was the job of the woman and not of the man. If another man saw a father carrying out this type of work, the latter was looked upon as a maricon, or a weakling. The caretakers were the nannies and the mothers; the men had no part in their children's lives up to a point.
My mother did just as was expected of women at the time. She was always home with the children, and although she sensed that my father was being unfaithful, she was unable to do anything about what was happening in her marriage. She had no facts, but the rumors from the people of the town of Janico were killing her slowly. She had only a third-grade level of education. What was she to do with three mouths to feed? She had never worked before, but she had the wonderful skill of sewing. She often saw herself as someone who was worthless when it came to providing for her children financially. Although in those times it didn't take much money to feed a family, she had no means of obtaining money outside the home. My mother started to sew and made a little money here and there. However, no matter what she did to occupy her time, taking care of the three kids in the home required a little too much.
One day, my mother noticed that she was getting very sick and that, for no reason, her arm was getting thinner. My father's lover made fun of her and would shout out things like, "Here comes the tuberculosa" (the lady with tuberculosis). People who didn't know her would move away from her, crossing to the other side of the street, in town. The pain was unbearable, and her arm became so thin that she was at a loss as to what to do. The doctors had no idea what was wrong.
Someone told her that, due to envy, someone who wanted my father had placed a spell on her so that my father would not look at her as his wife any more. She was forced to enter some type of spiritual witchcraft center. The people at the center confirmed that it was, indeed, a spell; they needed to do some type of work to remove what had been done to her. My mother didn't believe in those things and wanted to run away from that dark and dreary place, but the person who brought her there insisted that she had the work done. Apparently, it worked, and my mother's arm became normal and healthy shortly after that visit to the witch doctor. She was happy, and many other things began to fall into place. Her marriage was working out. Things were looking good, and my father's attitude started to change.
My parents were in more harmony than ever, and they had a little money to spend here and there. It took about twenty-five cents for her to make a meal in those times, and they could eat like kings according to her and my dad. However, they were going nowhere very fast.
One day, my mother obtained facts concerning the woman who was sleeping with my father. She was ready to leave him and go back home to the hills. When confronted with the facts, she didn't even think about her lack of skills or a job or the rent or food she would need to provide for her small children. She was determined to leave my father and start all over again. She confronted my father and gave him a warning concerning this matter.
My father took this threat from my mother very seriously and promised her that he was going to change. However, the most important thing that my father offered my mother was that he would take her out of Janico, which at that time was better known as "little town, big hell." This was the nickname at the time for a town whose inhabitants were always gossiping, committing adultery, and fornicating. All this was just a big joke to the people who lived there. My parents both promised to start fresh, so that they could rebuild trust and become a family in New York, the land of the gringos where everyone was equal, according to them.
It took no time for my father to obtain a visa and enter the United States. He arrived there with fifty dollars in his pocket and nothing else.
He was able to stay in some relatives' home for a couple of days. He then obtained his own little room downtown at Lafayette and Delancy Street, where all the Dominicans used to migrate to and become independent when they first came into the good ol' USA. My father was very thankful for the support that these relatives gave him and for all the Janiquero, who never left him until he was able to support himself. Among such people were the comadre (godmother), Mrs. Telma and her husband, Mr. Andre. Life might have been a little harder without their support.
My father now had a job as a barber and made a little money here and there. He started to save up and worked on my mother's visa, as he had promised.
It was not easy to save money with the salary of a barber in those times. In order to save, he ate a bowl of soup, which at the time cost about twenty-five cents; this was, for him, a big splurge, as my mother could cook a full meal for the same amount back home. My father never learned to boil water much less put a meal together, so in order to eat, he had to buy already prepared food. He had never cooked and did not know where to start.
Chapter Two
Plan with a Twist
My parents' plans continued, but with a twist: my mother was to join my father in the United States, but only to work, in order for her to help my father. They both wanted to save money and buy a little house back home and own something in our country. They thought that, if they did this, they would probably live a more uplifting lifestyle.
My father thought that, if we children came to New York, we were all going to be "lost," using drugs and having sex before we were old enough; he imagined that terrible things were going to happen. At the time, working to save and buying a little house back home didn't sound like a hard thing to do. My parents' most important goal now was to settle down and obtain some property back home.
My siblings and I had no idea of their plans because my parents thought that children had no need to know what their parents were planning. Their saying was, "The children talk when the chicken urinates." The chicken never urinates, as chickens defecate and urinate at the same time. In other words, we were never to speak. When it came to communication or making decisions that had to do with grown-ups, children were not that important. The opinion of a child was not that important, and asking a child's opinion was not part of the way people brought up children in those times. Your parents did all of the thinking and talking for you; children had no rights.
A couple of months passed, and my father was able to bring my mother to the United States to accomplish the goals that they had established. They worked very hard and were able to save up some money, but not real money that they could survive on. As soon as they saved some money, they were able to buy a tiny house back in the town of Janico. They were content with this accomplishment. But wasn't going back to the same hole that had gotten them in trouble in the first place a big mistake? They also bought other important items, such as a refrigerator and other electrical items that no one in town had ever seen, much less owned. Of course, we are talking about the '60s!
For a couple of weeks my parents were content, but then it hit them. Was this it? Were they just going to stay there and accomplish no other dreams for themselves and their children? They both thought that, if my father would continue to do what he was doing before—saving money—they would be just fine.
The only problem was that they would spend most of their lives in separate countries—my father in the United States and my mother in the Dominican Republic with the children. I am sure that she would have had anything she needed or wanted, but how long would it be before they each drifted apart in different places?
With the finances as a goal, they both thought that it was not a good idea for them to separate. They decided that it was best for them to unite and work as hard as they could so that they could bring us all to the United States. As time went on, they both realized that they just couldn't live there anymore. They needed to leave Janico again, and this goal became their mission.
Chapter Three
Missing My Parents
My brothers had no idea of time or memory of what was going on, I think! They never talked about it, but then again, they were too small to talk and express verbal sentiments. Were they aware or not? Was it just me who remembered my parents and needed them so much? My thoughts for years were those of the left behind child, almost as if it was a syndrome or a defect. Was I someone's child or was I alone in this big world? The world was so big in my eyes.
One day, I lay down on the dirt and looked up to speak to God, since no one seemed to listen or care about me. It was so hot that day that I fainted and lay unconscious for a couple of seconds in the hot, brown dirt.
Our nana was never able to fill the empty space in my heart that felt like a big, bottomless hole. Memories of my parents were still vibrant, and at times, I hated them for leaving us alone with this nana person—this old, old woman. She was very old, but she was strong and very nice at times. Still, I needed my mother to hold and talk to. However, my mother only needed my father, or at least that is how I felt.
Sometimes, I would cry myself to sleep thinking and hoping that when I woke up, my mother would be there. Night after night, I went to bed with the same wish, though I had no real hope of seeing my mother or father.
When it came to my father, I had already forgotten him and the image of his facial features. He was a long gone memory. I simply remembered that he was a man. I soon only vaguely remembered my mother.
My siblings and I were left alone with no protection from predators, such as pedophiles, thieves, and others. We were three (and later four) children with no one who could defend us other than this old nana, who needed protection herself. Our nana trusted too much, and according to her, we children faced no real danger. She had no idea about what we did or where we were during the day. Meanwhile, we played in the different backyards in the neighborhood with people who had created nasty ideas in their minds toward us children. We went into homes with people who were not of good characters or pure hearts. They were evil and dangerous to the children around them.
However, no one was able to detect this danger during those times. Old men looked like honest, trustworthy people just because they were old and married. Well I have bad news for you; not everyone who is old and married can be trusted. Some have other things in mind when it comes to the children around them. They can be and are creative in order to entice children and destroy their innocence, the only thing that is left in a child. Children who are left behind are the perfect target for those types of crimes. Who was going to believe a child over a grown man in those times? Believe me, children were not safe; they were in danger of becoming the victims of such predators.
Chapter Four
The Day I Started Going Blind
We would spend days without eating and playing with all types of children and teenagers from the town. Overall, the children and teens had mutual agreements, and the older ones took good care of the younger children. Chicho and Sime were brothers and many years older than us, but they were pure of heart and protected the children like us. They were like the big brothers that we never had. They made us toys from garbage, like wood and wheels that were left over from some construction site. The saying, "It takes a village to bring up a child," was true with most of the children during those days. The people of the village truly did take care of the village children.
My favorite day of the week was Friday. On Fridays, my friend and I would collect all the teeth the dentist next door to us had extracted that week. There would be teeth from the townspeople, as well as from the people who had come from all over the hillsides and other different places to have extractions either because of infections or just because they wanted gold implants. I had more teeth than my friend, and we used to trade them for candies or petty things with other children.
As the years passed, more and more parents left looking for a better life and material gains. Our parents, in many ways, became a role model for those other parents. Many families were distraught and many destroyed because of this situation, but life went on. Their children also moved on.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from When Children of Immigrants Are Left Behindby Barbara Deotisis Luna De Acosta Copyright © 2011 by Barbara Deotisis Luna De Acosta. Excerpted by permission of iUniverse, Inc.. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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