In the Shadow of Uncertainty: My Experience Behind Bars at the Border

How I longed to wake up from this nightmare. I was utterly confused, not knowing what would happen next. No one said anything, we were kept in complete ignorance. To me, it felt like nothing more than psychological pressure.

Lying on the thin mat on the cold floor, with my head wrapped in foil for warmth, I cried and prayed for this nightmare to end as soon as possible. The ignorance, the uncertainty—it was simply unbearable. That was the moment when, for the first time since childhood, I began praying to God. I recited the Lord’s Prayer repeatedly, asking for His help each time.

As a child, I had lost faith in religion, perhaps due to the way my grandmother had presented it. Every summer, when my sister and I would visit her for the holidays, she forced us to go to the Orthodox church: standing through long services (there were no benches like in Catholic churches), partaking in communion, and confessing our sins. I always felt ill there, and I developed a deep resentment toward the Orthodox Church. It was only later, when I grew older, that I began visiting a Catholic church—not to pray to God, but to reach out to the universe, because I believe that such places are hubs of energy, and the universe listens to you much more attentively there.

I lay there, praying, calling on God and the angels for help, trying to fall asleep, hoping that time would pass faster and this nightmare would finally come to an end.

A girl who had been there for four days did frighten us, but at the same time, she brought a small measure of comfort. In the dining hall, she conversed with girls from other cells, and we noticed a pattern: most of those who hadn't had an interview about the fear of returning home were released after two days. The interview usually took place on the second night, which was exactly what happened to her. So, we knew that the second night would be the turning point.

We were fed three times a day, and eating had to be done very quickly. Nothing could be taken back to the cell. In the morning and afternoon, we could sneak something in, but in the evening, they searched us thoroughly. They even confiscated a small piece of plastic that I had used to tie my shoes. The tongue of the shoes was too long and inconvenient to walk in. But as soon as we entered the cell, a girl gave me another piece of plastic so I could make new laces. Then, when we went to eat, we had to take them off so they wouldn't be taken away again.

Time dragged on terribly. The only thing we could do to pass it was to talk. We even joked and laughed after crying.

The next day, a few more people were placed in our cell, including two pregnant women—one of them was already eight months along. By the second day, there were about 18 people in the cell, and the floor was completely occupied.

That second night, I couldn’t sleep at all. I was so anxious, worried that I’d be called for an interview. That day, we were taken to eat very early, out of schedule, before dawn. It was because someone was about to be sent to an immigration detention center early in the morning, before breakfast, and they probably didn’t want us to know who exactly. This was another example of psychological pressure. After some time, the Spanish-speaking girls were taken away, along with the Russian girl who had been there for five days.

After we ate and returned to the cell, I realized that I wouldn't be called for an interview, and I was finally able to relax and fall asleep. I woke up a few hours later when we were called for breakfast, which was on schedule. After returning to the cell, I lay down, covered myself completely, and fell into a deep sleep. I was so exhausted from the stress that I slept so soundly I didn’t even hear the officer call my name. It wasn’t until the third call that I was finally woken up by a girl who was sleeping next to me. When she woke up, she couldn’t immediately figure out where I  was because I was completely covered in foil. The others in the cell seemed not to remember my name, they didn’t try to wake me up.

I jumped up in confusion, not knowing what was going on or what to do. The officer called me and another girl. We left the cell to sign some papers. There were only two signatures required, but my hand trembled with anxiety as I signed. Then the officer told us that we were leaving that day. I could barely utter a few words to ask if we would be free. She confirmed that yes, we were being released, but she didn’t know exact time.

The relief I felt in that moment was indescribable. Finally, it was over. Just a few more hours, and we would be free.

Many were released that day, and some were luckier than me, having spent only one night there while I spent two. It was the day before Christmas, December 23rd. I had read that many are released before Christmas to make room for fewer people during the holidays. I had arrived at a fortunate time.

Those who were being released were taken out of the cells and led to collect their belongings. They gave us our things, papers with a notice for court, and sent us on our way. It was around 11 a.m. The feeling of happiness I felt when I stepped outside was beyond words.

I immediately called Alex, but he didn’t answer. I informed my mom and sister that everything was okay and called the guys from Mexico, who were still waiting to cross the border, to tell them how it all went.

Only when we were released did I realize that we had been in the very same building at the border where we had been processed. They had simply taken us to a different entrance back then.

The girl who had been detained with me was also released. She was also heading to Los Angeles. We planned to travel together. However, since showers were only available after three days at the border, and we had been there for only two, I told her that I couldn’t go to LA in that condition. Can you imagine? Two days without showering, no brushing teeth... I smelled awful and couldn’t travel like that. So, we decided to book a hotel room for both of us to shower, have a decent meal, and then continue our journey.

I found a hotel nearby and called a taxi. Alex called me back only after we had settled into the room. We got ourselves together and went to a nearby restaurant—Denny’s. It was so surreal to be in a typical American diner, something I had only seen in movies. I was overwhelmed with emotions. The food was divine after the miserable meals we had in the cell. My stomach had been hurting non-stop for the past two days.

We returned to the room, bought train tickets, and headed to the station. On the way to LA, I cried from happiness. Tears of joy are rare; we usually cry from sadness, sometimes from laughter, but rarely from happiness. At that moment, I was just overwhelmed with a sense of joy and happiness. I had fulfilled the dream of my life—I had moved to the United States. Though there was still much to be done, it didn’t matter. I was here, where I had always wanted to be. Everything would be fine. I could handle whatever came next.