Personal Narrative Immigration

My grandparents at the time were living in mexico, they had 5 kids when they decided to cross the border to come into the United States. Back then crossing the guards wasn’t as bad as it is today. My grandpa sent his family with a coyote on a truck which took them to fresno, they got across the border by using someone else's birth certificate, because back then that was enough proof to get by. My grandpa stayed in mexico, he didn't fit in the truck so he had to cross the old fashion way by going through the desert. He told me how hard it was trying to survive out there for 3 days. He explained how there was no water and he had to drink his pee. For food he killed snakes and whatever he found out there. He was so close to giving up out there but luckily a

I was always a precocious child, yet argumentative and rebellious. I did not want to accomplish anything following a pattern set for me. I wanted to forge my own way. This determination set me at odds with my mother, and has defined our relationship all these years. It has surely led me down my own irregular path in life, and placed me in position to be the family’s black sheep.

I interviewed a beautiful and courageous woman, of African descent. Born and raised in Monrovia, Liberia on May 20, 1969. In addition, she has one biological brother and three step siblings. Currently she resides in Loganville, Georgia, where she lives with her two children. By the same token, she and her husband been married for twenty-one years to her loving high school sweetheart husband. Due to unfortunate circumstances, she lost her husband in the line of duty. Causing her to become a widow, continuing to survive life without her husband. When I conducted this interview, had one topic in mind that I wanted to learn more about her life as an immigrant and how did influence her life.

December 2008 marks the initial start to the devastating and gruesome cartel drug war in Mexico that has led to the deaths of over 80,000 people. In the midst of this war, violence has surged dramatically in Ciudad Juarez, Mexico, an area seen by many as a point of contention in the lucrative drug smuggling business that stems from Mexico and flows into the United States. As a result of the recent outbreak of violence, it has been difficult to accept the fact that my mother and sister cross the border every weekend from El Paso to Ciudad Juarez to go visit family knowing they are at risk of being taken hostage or even worse, getting killed by the cartel. My father has also experienced these life-threatening occurrences

Being born in the large west African nation of Nigeria, I was aware of the economic, social, and health hardships faced by many people in my country. This reality did not escape my life and the hardships my family and I faced while in Nigeria had a profound impact in the person I am today. Fortunately for us we were able to win the Visa Lottery and immigrate to America where my passion for learning and science began.

This letter is to detail when I crossed the border into the United States. In 1999 I arrived to Tijuana, Mexico I do not remember the day or the month exactly. A lady came up wondering that if I was going to cross the United States, and I said yes, then she took me to a men. The man said to me that it could help me to cross into the United States, and I accepted. He took me to Tecate, Mexico where he had 10 more people, when we arrived to tecate, Mexico at 6 in the afternoon, We went up to the first 8 in a truck and we were driving us as 1 1/2 approximately. From there we went walking in the mountains, we walked about 5 hours, until we came to a river or canal of water there they already had a chamber of water used as a lifeguard. They told us that this water was a dirty water or black waters.

As I walked into the house, my parents were waiting for me in the living room. I did not know what was happening, but from the look in their eyes, I knew that was something wrong. My mother sat me down to tell me that my father had lost his business. The situation seemed so hectic; yet, the conversation felt like it lasted a lifetime. Finding out this news was detrimental to my family because my father had worked hard in America to build this business. I learned that my father had to give up his business and, as result my family had to start over, and find a new way to make a living.

My alarm blasted its sound in my ear, waking me up. I desperately wanted to go back to sleep, but it was another dreaded school day. Fighting my desire to continue sleeping, I walked over to the bathroom and splashed cold water from the sink on my face to wake myself up. Unfortunately, even that couldn’t completely shake my tiredness. “Oh well…” I sighed as I began stroking my hairbrush through the length of my chestnut-colored hair.

A man’s heart anxiously pounds within his chest, his fists closed, and teeth clenched. Droplets of sweat splash as they seemingly fall from his forehead. He tightens the grip of his baggage as he fixes in on the swift horizon, emerald eyes feverously searching for hope. Full to bursting with tears, he spots his copper lady from a distance. Her torch brilliantly alit in welcoming embrace.

Home is where your heart is. For my mother and I our hearts were left with my beloved sister in Shiraz, Iran. We were departing our country and culture for my dad in America, who we had not seen for two years. However, this came with a miserable price. The U.S. immigration system is not so permissive in whom they allow to enter, with one of their determining factors being age. My sister, Azadeh, had become too “old” for her to be dependent on our parents. At that age, I was four and she was twenty-one with a caring heart like my mom’s. I loved her. I had not only fled my homeland but had left a piece of my heart in its soil. I had lost my big sister, and my mother had lost her

The other day, I was sitting in my room doing my homework when I overheard my parents talking to my older sister. They were discussing about ICE, which stands for Immigration and Customs Enforcement. My sister was telling my parents what to do if the ICE ever came to our house. She told them that they did not have to answer the door unless the police show proof of a warrant signed by a judge. She informed them of their right to remain silent and their right to an attorney.

“It will be fun,” is what my mother said to me as the whole family began to pile into a big minivan leaving my grandparents house in Mexico to go to a pizza place. It was July 9th, my 13th birthday and without really asking me. My family decided I would want pizza. So around ten of my family members packed into a minivan meant for seven. On the way there everyone was speaking Spanish all at once and I didn’t fully understand what they were saying. The restaurant was in a weird little cul de sac, but instead of houses they were clothing shops and restaurants but none of them actually sold Mexican food.

We started off with a bang. We started with me thinking of what to do how to do it and what were my ideas. Then, a little later we actually started it and not gonna lie, it was scary. I didn’t know that much about my family, yeah i've heard stories but they're stories. Later on we went home i didn’t tell my family anything just unsuspiciously getting all the information and I learned a lot yes. I learned about my names and why they're my names, I learned about my dad getting lost a lot, I learned about my mom moving here to america when she was 14 and how her life was before she moved and why she moved. I learned about my uncle going to jail for crossing the border illegally which is kinda funny. All those I learned but i couldn’t find anything

I’m an immigrant. I was born in Mexico and it was only until my parents decided to come to the United States that I am where I am. My mother tried to cross the border to come to the United States for the first time when I was still in her womb all by herself as my father was already in the Unites States working in order to provide for her in the way that he wasn’t able to do so by staying in Mexico. My mother was caught by immigration and was sent back. My mother was very disappointed because she knew that if she didn’t get me to the United States some way or another I wouldn’t get very far in life by staying in Mexico. My father returned back to Mexico when I was born and it wasn’t until I was 4 years old that they decided to try to cross the border once again. Although I was only 4 years old I remember the whole experience as if it was yesterday. The amount of fear of getting caught by immigration and having done everything for nothing was always in the back of my mind while going through the whole experience. Up to this day nothing has ever been as terrifying and nerve-wrecking as having to go through that whole experience especially for a 4 year old child but I will forever be grateful for the bravery and strength that my parents had to gather in

The type of service learning that I am participating in is direct service, the model for my service is the placement model, and the term for my service learning is short term. The issue of society that is being addressed is the problem with deportation. Deportation is just separating families and changing a person’s whole life around. Many immigrants in the United States are being impacted by this service. Many immigrants don’t like the idea of the new president deporting many of them because that means that their life will change horribly. These people came to the United States in search for a better life, but they are being deported so their better life is over.