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By Anonymous*

Two years have passed and still no one has seen Rosalba Andrade. She was kidnapped soon after her 46th birthday, and has not reappeared. Her houses, cars, clothes, and other property have been divided among those who envied her and befriended her. Even her family has stripped away at all she owned.

Rosa and my mother attended the same elementary school together.  They grew up in the small town of Dr. Belisario Dominguez, in the state of Chihuahua, Mexico. My mother admired Rosa’s dedication and willpower.

Rosa was tall, with honey-brown eyes, long eyelashes, and a button nose. Her hair was black, layered down half her back. Young and beautiful, she was also filled with pride. She didn’t always have enough money to bring food to eat for school, but never would she allow others to offer her help. She refused to go with her classmates at lunch because she hated the humiliation of having others feel pity for her. She dreamed of becoming a doctor, but would be content as a secretary.

Her family could not provide her with more than a high school education. Instead, at 17, she was forced to marry Dagoberto Estrada, who was 24 years old. Dagoberto worked for a government agriculture program, buying crops from farmers – so he had money.

The program ended soon after the marriage, and Rosa and Dagoberto went illegally to Dallas, Texas. They had a son and worked as butchers. Rosa, however, was ambitious, and would take on the tougher and higher paying jobs. She began to make more money than her husband. People said she had a masculine nature. The job required a lot of physical exertion, and she worked more than many of the men. They said she was a lesbian because she took a man’s role.

Rosa dreamed of owning a huge, beautiful house because as a kid she was very poor and her father was lazy. She was not allowed to work in Mexico because it wasn’t the norm. Even in Texas, as a woman, she had to begin with the easy jobs and work herself up.  She had two other daughters whom she attempted to shelter. Rosa wanted her daughters to live a proper life, away from the hardships she had to overcome.

As she continued to work beside the strongest men, including her cousin, who was very close to the boss of the Juarez Drug Cartel, she began to deal marijuana, cocaine, and other drugs. The cartel boss was sought by the D. E. A. and he decided on plastic surgery to change his appearance. He died on the operating table. The doctors and bodyguards were later found dead in cement barrels. The death of the boss led to the opportunity for Rosa.

First, Rosa’s cousin took charge of, but he didn’t have the support of, the cartel and he soon was arrested, along with his wife. Nolberto, another one of Rosa’s cousins, came into power, leaving Rosa third in line. Nolberto’s reign lasted five years, and in that time he helped Belisario prosper. He offered people jobs in drug packaging, assassination, in the construction of his mansions and car theft. He also opened a dance hall that was more like a prostitution bar. He provided the people of Belisario more work, but he poisoned their hearts with drugs, ambition, and violence.

Finally, the struggle for the dominion of the cartel killed Nolberto. Froylan, another of her cousins, gained power, but Rosa sent her son to murder him. In the attack, Froylan lost a leg, a kidney, his liver was damaged. He was partially paralyzed. He went into hiding and hasn’t been heard from since.

Rosa now took control and moved back to Mexico. She admitted she was a lesbian and divorced her husband. Those who could not work efficiently Rosa disposed of as if they were old rags. She took some of the independent drug connections of her cousins, who had introduced her to the trade, and murdered many of these dealers as well. Consequently, she began to destroy her family. Rosa’s son became an assassin despite her numerous attempts to make him live a decent life.

Meanwhile, Rosa renovated the town’s chapel. She had ceramic tiles placed inside the chapel and on the stairs at the entrance of the chapel. She renovated the walls of the building and placed new wine-colored wooden doors with beautiful engraving. She had granite placed around the altar, and furnished the chorus area with a wooden balcony. She also helped many people who were sick and gave many women jobs in cleaning. She was frequently criticized for being a lesbian, but as in most towns in Mexico, help from anyone is accepted.

About the time of her 46th birthday, Rosa organized the annual fiesta in Belisario. At that festival, her son noticed he was being followed. He left town because he didn’t want to disturb his mother. Some say that he was attacked because he was being pressured to kill his own mother and had refused. In his car he carried a 50-caliber gun, a .308, an R-15 rifle, grenades, and enough ammunition to take down a helicopter. But outside the town that night, he was killed. Authorities found four bodies, but his was the only one claimed by his family. His family lied about his hometown and said he was from San Buenaventura because they didn’t want to bring shame and attention to Dr. Belisario Dominguez.  People involved in the drug business often lie about names, residency, and much more.

With the death of her son, Rosa began to lose power over her drug business. One day when she was selling her bean crops at the central market, she noticed she was being followed. She had already received a threat by phone. She called her daughters and told them that if anything happened to her, she didn’t want them to look for her. She asked them to live their lives honorably and move forward no matter what.

She was never heard from again. Some say Rosa was placed alive in a container full of acid. After her disappearance, authorities, rivals, and her cousins took her property and left her daughters with only their education. Others say, however, that Rosa had planned her own kidnapping. They believe that she knew she would lose everything and die, so she decided to escape. Some say she was seen in Manhattan.

Whichever story is true, Rosa is gone. Her house sits empty in the town of Dr. Belisario Dominguez.

Drug trafficking has destroyed Belisario, as it destroyed Rosa. Young people can no longer be outside after the sun goes down. Only a few people are seen walking the streets. People talk only with those whom they trust. They fear social gatherings; weddings and quinceaneras are forced to hire armed security, and the town is being abandoned little by little.

My mom thanks God every day for our distance from Belisario.

The only thing that couldn’t be destroyed was the education Rosa worked so hard to provide for her daughters. One is a lawyer and the youngest is 18 and aspires to be a doctor. The last anyone heard, they were still living in the state of Chihuahua, Mexico.

_________

*The author, a high school student, has requested anonymity.

 

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By Jacqueline Gonzalez Reyes

The summer of 2009 I spent in Houston working with janitors as they fought to renew a union contract. IMG_6637 - Version 3

That July 4th, local pastors held a press conference supporting the janitors. Several union janitors were asked to attend.

That’s when I met Carmen Sanchez. I picked her up and drove her to the event. Carmen was our shortest member, in her sixties, direct, well groomed. She was from Chihuahua, Mexico. She was always at union events. She’d been a janitor for 12 years.

That afternoon, driving her home, my car got a flat tire. I called AAA, but it was clear that due to the holiday help would be a long time coming.

So it was that I found myself with Carmen Sanchez in the middle of downtown Houston on July 4th.

I thought I’d just get Carmen a cab and have her on her way home. But she refused.

“I don’t have anyone waiting for me at home,” she said.

That day, Houston dripped with humidity. She took out a jug of ground-oatmeal water.

“This water saves lives.”

I smiled and drank.

“Whenever it gets this unbearable, I go to my nearest department store and cool off,” she said. “We’re just blocks away from JC Penney. You want to go?”

Sure, I said. AAA was going to call when their truck was on its way.

We walked to Carmen’s JC Penney. The air conditioning hit us like an arctic blast.

We walked every aisle of that store. Carmen slowed when we came to the makeup. This lipstick is the best, she said. Ruby red. She wore it every day for work.

“In the office where I work, I figure I have thirty minutes where the executives and I exchange eyes. They get dressed up, so why shouldn’t I? If they take time to look good on the job, so do I.”

We walked through the shoes.

“I prefer copper brown shoes when I work,” she said. “That color best matches my work uniform.”

She wore a uniform every day. Shoes and makeup were all that were hers at work.

We passed the Bath and Body Works store and tested the seasonal lotions. Then we talked lady stuff – my favorite lipstick, her favorite recipes, and men she recommended I date.

“Why do you do this type of work?” she asked. “Wouldn’t you prefer to date and be a bit mischievous while you can?”

Before I could speak, she said, “No need to answer now –that’s your homework.”

She began to talk about her life.

When she was young, she had a daughter, then a son. She separated from an abusive husband.

To offer her children a future, she left them with her husband’s sister and took a train to the border and crossed into the United States using a phony ID. That was in 1978. She went first to Washington D.C., but with no Latinos in the capital, she didn’t feel comfortable. She moved to Houston.

Living on minimum wage jobs made it hard to ever get back home. But she wired money to her children in Chihuahua every week.

“One week the money would go to my kids’ necessities; the next week to save for the `coyote,’” who would someday take her children across to join her.

Then one day she called home and no one answered.

She called from different phones. Still no answer. She kept calling. She waited six months and went to Mexico. In her town, her mother told her that her kids now ran away from her when they saw her.

Carmen went to the house and knocked. No answer. She waited outside her children’s school – they were teenagers by now. They saw her and ran away. Carmen broke down crying. She stayed for a month and her children refused to see her. A neighbor sent her a message, No quieren saber nada de ti. No one wants to know anything about you. The coyote fund you were sending money to we used for a family emergency.

Carmen returned to Houston. That was in 1988 and she hadn’t seen or talked to her kids since then – except once. She continued to call the number she had for her children’s aunt. Then one day her daughter answered.

“It’s your mother,” Carmen said. There was no response. Silence.

“Okay, don’t say anything. Just give me a minute and don’t hang up. I just want you to know I love you and never stop loving you.”

A minute later the phone went dead.

Later, they changed their number. She kept calling her mother. Go to the house, Carmen pleaded, bring them cookies.

Tightened security on the border and low wages in Houston kept Carmen from ever traveling back to Mexico. She couldn’t attend her mother’s funeral in 1995 and still wasn’t over that.

But for 20 years, she never stopped wiring money to the same account for her children that she’d always used. Every month the bank told her that the money had been picked up.

She still sends the money, she told me, even though the kids are now adults and they haven’t spoken since they were in elementary school. An older aunt is the only family she has left in Chihuahua who still talks to her.

Perdi todo,” she said. “I lost everything and I don’t know why. My mom, my kids. I even didn’t take the opportunity to getIMG_0280 amnesty.”

In her neighborhood when amnesty for illegal immigrants came around, so did a lot of fraud, and people pretending to be attorneys. Money was tight, too, and she no longer trusted anyone.

“If I can’t trust my own family …” she said, her voice trailing off. “I’m in a foreign land. If it’s meant to be, it’s meant to be.”

Night fell and by then we were sitting on a curb near the parking lot. The AAA guy had finally shown up. We spotted a hot dog vendor and treated ourselves to hot dogs and chips.

As the AAA guy worked, we ate and watched fireworks explode in the distance.

“Ahh, I liked that one, the three-colored firework!” Carmen said. “Now that was worth the wait.”

____

*Jacqueline Gonzalez Reyes was born and raised in Koreatown, Los Angeles. This story first appeared in Tell Your True Tale: East Los Angeles. Contact her at gonzalesreyesj@gmail.com.

 

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