“Hi Latisha, can you tell Shelly we’re here?”
“Sure, Zita. She won’t be long. Take a seat.”
The waiting room had seats around its perimeter with only a few occupants at this time of the morning. In the middle was a coffee table with old magazines spread over it. Zita walked over to David and sat down. “David, this is Teresa. You’ll be following her case over the next few months.”
“Nice to meet you, Teresa.” He held out his hand to the girl.
Teresa glanced at Zita, and at her encouragement, she shook it. “Hello.” She quickly let go and sat on the other side of Zita.
It was no surprise the girl was skittish. Her trust in men had been lost when her father had handed her over to the local gang.
Worried Teresa might not open up with David there, Zita said, “You should just listen today. Save any questions you have until after the session.”
“Sure. I don’t want to cause any problems.”
“Zita, Teresa, won’t you come in?” Shelly was a short, red-haired woman who had been working in immigration for a decade. As always, she wore jeans and a shirt so as not to appear too imposing to her clients.
Zita stood and gestured for Teresa and David to follow. When they reached the meeting room, Zita made the introductions and they all sat.
“As we discussed after your master calendar hearing, this next hearing is where you get to give the full details of your case.”
Shelly explained the whole process. Zita had heard it all before, but she watched for signs that Teresa didn’t understand, and translated for her when needed.
“Do you have any questions?” Shelly asked.
“If I am accepted, can my mother and sister come too?” Her voice was soft, but hopeful.
Zita exchanged a glance with the lawyer. They’d discussed this already.
“As soon as you’ve been approved, we’ll put in a refugee/asylee relative petition,” Shelly said. “If we can contact your mother in the meantime, we’ll get her to apply for refugee status at the US consulate in San Salvador.”
They’d tried contacting Teresa’s mother Johanna several times over the past few months, but each time, Teresa’s father had answered the phone and wouldn’t allow Zita to speak with her.
“We’ll keep trying,” Zita said.
“There are no guarantees, Teresa,” Shelly said. “But we are doing everything we can to get your family out of El Salvador.”
David frowned. Quietly Zita said, “I’ll explain later.”
He nodded.
“Tell me your story, Teresa,” Shelly continued and Teresa began to speak in Spanish with Zita translating.
“I lived in a poor suburb in San Salvador.Mara Principalis influential there, but they never showed much interest in my family. Mama works in a laundry and Papa does construction. As long as they paid their dues to the gang, we were left alone. Until I turned fifteen.” She took a breath. “I was at the laundry waiting for my sister to come back from her friend’s house and one of the gang members came in to take the weekly payment. He wanted me to go outside with him and meet his friends. I knew what would happen if I did, so I refused.”
“What would happen?” Shelly asked.
“They would rape me. There was a group who would often stop a girl who was by herself and have their way with her.” She said it with no emotion at all. As if it was of no consequence.
David cleared his throat and Zita shot him a warning look to be quiet.
“Then what happened?” Shelly asked.
“The man got angry. Said I would be sorry for refusing him, and left.” Teresa took a small sip of water, her hand shaking. “Two days later, Papa was fired. The foreman said the gang had made him do it. Then they put up the rent on our house. We couldn’t afford to live there anymore.” Her voice was full of sorrow. “Mama wasn’t earning enough from the laundry and we had nowhere to live and very little food. No one would help us for fear of what the gang would do to them.”
“Go on,” Shelly encouraged.
“One day, one of the gang members came to my father. He said if Papa gave me to the gang, he would get his job and house back. Mama begged Papa to move, to find somewhere safe to live, but he was too scared. Papa agreed to hand me over.”
