“How Do I Start Over?”

Fernando lived in the United States for more than 35 years. His parents brought him to live in Houston when he was just two years old. His father passed away when Fernando was ten, and from then on, it was just him and his mother.

“I don’t know anything about Mexico. This is my first time on Mexican soil,” Fernando explained to us as he shared part of his story. “There are two things that make me extremely anxious and worried: my family and how to start over,” he emphasized.

“Being in Mexico doesn’t just mean I was deported or taken out of the country where I lived almost my whole life—it means leaving behind my family, my job, my friends, and even my neighbors,” Fernando expressed.

A couple of weeks ago, during one of our visits to the government-run shelter (Unidad Deportiva) in Nogales, which receives deported individuals, we met Fernando. Like most people going through such a drastic life change, he was seeking to be heard and understood.

He told us about his wife, his children, and his mother. “It’s really hard to leave everything behind. Now, how is my wife supposed to explain to our kids that she doesn’t know when they’ll see me again?” Fernando shared.

“Like every other morning, I was heading to work when I got pulled over by a traffic officer who claimed I committed a violation—which wasn’t true because I didn’t run any lights or speed. I know that road like the back of my hand; I’ve driven it every morning for over 15 years. After that, ICE showed up, and that’s when my deportation process started,” Fernando recounted.

Fernando wasn’t allowed to contact his family or inform them of his detention, nor was he allowed to call his lawyer. “It was so frustrating because I felt like none of my rights were being respected—as if I had no rights at all.”

“The days and nights were endless in those detention centers. First, I was held in one in Houston, then another in Las Vegas, and finally, they transferred me to Florence and then Eloy in Arizona to deport me through Nogales. But they never explained why we were moved from place to place, and in the three months I was detained, I only managed to speak to my wife once. I still remember the anguish in her voice on the other end of the line.”

While Fernando shared his story, he asked the same question twice: “How do I start over?” He also asked us about the city of Nogales. Amid his worry, he was still determined to stay standing and expressed that he wanted help making a plan to manage this new reality. It made us think about all the families that have been separated, about the mothers who’ve had to leave their young children on the other side of the border, about the elderly who arrive completely uprooted.

As we were wrapping up our conversation, Fernando seemed a bit more at ease, as if sharing his story helped ease some of his uncertainty. We invited him to our center and explained our services. And yes, we saw a flicker of relief in his eyes. “Thank you for listening, and thank you for what you do,” he told us.

Fernando is just one of many people who reveal the human cost of these cruel policies that separate families without hesitation. “This whole time, I just kept praying that God wouldn’t abandon me, and I believe He heard me—because at least I made it to Nogales alive. I trust in Him to help me find the strength to start again.”