On the Road to Victory: Our Struggle as Immigrants in America

By Dulcelina Moore, Tasha Thomas and Cecilia Brown

On the Road to Victory: Our Struggle as Immigrants in America is a compelling journey of a family who overcomes enormous obstacles in search of the American dream. Dulcelina Moore, a black Hispanic (Afro-Caribbean) woman native to Costa Rica, transports you through the many facets of her personal life including education, personal relationships,

• Language: English
• Publisher: Four Eyes Publishing
• Release date: Nov 18, 2016
• ISBN: 9780997602517

Book preview

PREFACE

Dulcelina Moore always knew her family history was a fascinating one. Originally from Jamaica, her family migrated to Costa Rica in the mid-to-late 1800s to help build the railroads. Upon completion, many Jamaicans were unable to return home and settled in Costa Rica to start a new life. They were forced to learn a new language and adapt to unfamiliar surroundings and customs. The ability to adapt later emerged in Dulcelina’s fighting nature. Fast forward to the mid-20th century Costa Rica. Work had become scarce and the cost of living was rapidly rising. The need to escape and make a better living prompted many Costa Ricans to leave paradise in search of the land of milk and honey.

During the writing of this book, Dulcelina’s most surprising discovery was that even after four decades of living in the U.S. as a legal citizen, her mother Cecilia still suffers from what she calls post-traumatic stress of her immigration journey. Just as surprising was to discover that Dulcelina’s daughter Tasha had a limited understanding of the complexities of obtaining legal status, despite being born to immigrant parents.

On the Road to Victory provides the points of view of three generations and an immigrant’s family journey to the United States. It provides an intimate true story of the hardships of a black Hispanic woman and emphasizes the importance of faith, focus, and family in day-to-day life. The stories also allow nonimmigrants the opportunity to reflect on and empathize with the plight of immigrants, as this is a shared story that may represent your own family, coworkers, neighbors, and friends. Finally, it is an education for first generation citizens who have been told bits and pieces of the journey but are unaware of the true hardships of finding and making a new life.

CHAPTER 1

DREAMING OF CHANGE

This story unfolds with a young lady falling in love for the very first time and, in doing so, losing sight of everything. The first time I met my husband, I thought he was so handsome. We had an immediate attraction to each other, and the rest was history. I was only 17 years old and he was 20 when we got married. It was a small church ceremony in San Jose, Costa Rica, followed by a reception immediately afterwards in the home of a friend. There were many guests in attendance, and the festivities lasted through the night and toward the break of day. It was springtime, the weather was beautiful, and the music attracted neighbors and the uninvited alike. The crowd swelled, and the overflow of people filled the corridors and sidewalks of the residence. It was a wonderful gathering filled with laughter, joy, and happiness from relatives, friends, and all who were in attendance.

As newlyweds, we started out living with our families while looking for a place of our own in the same neighborhood. In my mind, having the love and support of relatives and friends was an easy way to transition into my new life. As it turned out, the house where we had our wedding reception was up for rent. It was a two-story, four-bedroom, two-and-one-half bathroom home. Best of all, it was just a few houses away from the one in which I grew up. Although it was an extremely large house for just the two of us, I managed to convince my husband to rent it. We moved in with only our bedroom set and a few pots and pans. It was several months before we were able to purchase any other furniture.

Once we settled in, we began to make plans for the new life ahead of us. When I became pregnant, my husband was deliriously happy. There was so much to be done. We began to pick up baby items in anticipation of the birth, and because I did not work outside the home, I took a knitting class and made a beautiful white blanket in which to bring our baby home from the hospital. I also decorated a beautiful wicker basket with yellow tulle, where I would store the baby’s clothes.

The big day arrived on a Saturday morning, and after a day-long labor, I gave birth to a boy. We named him Oscar in honor of his father. After we were discharged from the hospital, our new family was received at home by relatives, neighbors, and friends. During those first happy days, the biggest surprise of all was seeing my mother, who traveled from Miami, Florida, to be with me. She arrived when Oscar Jr. was only two days old, and she stayed for an entire month. This was the first time she had met my husband, and she loved him dearly from the beginning. My husband and I were both sad to see her leave because we truly enjoyed having her. I had fully recuperated by the time she left and was ready to take on my new role of mother to care for my son.

We had been married less than a year, but now that we had started a family, we began to think about buying a house. After some searching, we came across a development for newly constructed homes. When we found a model we liked, I discussed the matter with my father, and he agreed to gift us the down payment to begin construction. My husband and I were very excited that my father was going to help us fulfill our dreams of homeownership. While waiting for our house to be finished, and because we were still living near my family, I wanted to take advantage of the fact that my sister Xinia would be able to babysit Oscar Jr. while my husband and I went back to school. We began to attend night classes to complete our high school educations. However, my husband began having problems keeping up with the studies. It was difficult for him to handle both working all day and going to school at night, and he eventually dropped out. I, on the other hand, successfully completed all the requirements and obtained my high school equivalency diploma from Bachillerato por Madurez in December 1978.

In January 1979, we were notified that our new home was ready. How exciting it was to unpack our belongings together, arrange what little furniture we owned, and make plans for our future. Becoming homeowners at such a young age was a huge undertaking and a big responsibility for us, and my husband worked hard for us to stay in our home. Somehow we managed to keep up with the mortgage payments and household expenses, but it took some time before we were able to afford to furnish the place. We had to prioritize because we had a one-year-old son, and I was a stay-at-home mom. In spite of that, everything was coming along fine until the money started to get tight. It became extremely difficult to live on one salary, which placed a huge burden on my husband. He was under great pressure and began to work overtime to make ends meet. After a while, however, the long hours began to take a toll on him and he became very irritable and confrontational. Because of this, marital problems began to seep into our relationship and we started to quarrel, fuss, and fight over every little thing.

I loved my husband and would have done anything to help resolve our financial problems, but he wouldn’t let me. He had lots of insecurities and unresolved issues from his childhood, which he carried into his adult life. These issues began to emerge in our marriage and ultimately destroyed it. He was convinced that neither of his parents loved him, and from what I could see he had very poor relationships with both of them. Perhaps that was one of the reasons he was always accusing me of hating him. He had trust issues and, without any reason, was extremely jealous and possessive.

His irrational behavior continued even though he knew how it made me feel. I was so unhappy that he lived in fear of me walking out on him.

Looking back, I realize that although we lived in our new house for less than a year, it seemed like an eternity because I was living in such misery. My husband’s overbearing and controlling ways increased with time, and I remember looking for comfort in so many other places. Once I begged him to allow me to go back to school to continue my education; he wouldn’t allow it. Another time, I had an opportunity to work for an upscale hotel in San Jose, and I begged him to allow me to take advantage of the opportunity. After several conversations and bargaining, he gave in and I accepted the job. However, on my first day at work, in the middle of my shift, he came to pick me up and forbade me to go back. I began to lose sight of the purpose in my life. My husband believed that material things would pacify our problems. He bought me the most beautiful furniture and showered me with all sorts of gifts. He could not see that the things he gave me could never fill the empty void I felt in my life and our marriage.

The only thing I truly wanted was to be independent and do things on my own. I had lost my identity and I needed it back. While I strove to achieve my own accomplishments, his insecurities did not allow me to grow. I saw myself trapped and fell into a deep depression. That is the worst feeling for any human being to have. The burning desire I once had for my husband began to grow dim. He saw it and felt it through our daily interactions. My new attitude raised a rage in him that was frightening. Eventually, I felt nothing for him, and his mere presence was repulsive to me. I could not hide my feelings, which only created more friction in our marriage. I resented him having any physical contact with me. When I thought nothing else could go wrong, I discovered I was pregnant with our second child. I was devastated and in disbelief. Now I was sure I would never be able to leave this marriage, and I felt great despair.

Not knowing what to do or where to turn, I went to see my next-door neighbor, who was an elementary schoolteacher and a close friend. I was crying hysterically, but she calmed me down as I shared my recent discovery. She listened attentively and then suggested I have an abortion. In spite of all my problems, I could not conceive taking the life of an unborn child. I cried out to God for help and comfort; I knew I had no choice but to have this baby. Unbeknown to me, God had already performed a miracle through this pregnancy: This child would be my pass to freedom, not only from my bad marriage, but from other adversities that I would face later in my life.

The months went by slowly, but I never suffered from morning sickness. During the early stages of my pregnancy, my husband was given a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to go to the United States. He was an artist and worked mostly for large billboard companies. At the time, the cost of living in Costa Rica was climbing at a very rapid pace, and the locals began to suffer the impact. It was almost impossible to stretch his salary to cover all our household expenses. Even when we could pay all our bills, there was very little left to live on. We examined our living conditions closely, seriously weighing our options, and decided it would be wise for him to accept the offer, which he did. However, it meant that he would have to make the sacrifice of being away from his family. He figured that if it meant having a decent income that would improve the quality of life for our family, it would all be worth it. His opportunity to travel to California was just God’s way of facilitating my way out.

My husband had been gone for a little more than two months when I received an unexpected visit from my favorite uncle, Churchill, who was in town on business. He is very smart, full of wisdom, and people never get tired of listening to him talk. Uncle Churchill spent a few days at my house before returning to his home in Miami, Florida, where my mother also lived. After our visit, he discussed my living conditions with Mom. He told her, Just by looking at her I could see all the stress and the misery she is in. I could see that she doesn’t know what to do. He concluded, We have to get her out of there; her condition is too bad. He and my mother then began to formulate a plan for me to join her in Miami.

It was obvious I was doing a poor job at hiding my unhappiness. This was not surprising, given that I was pregnant with my second child, my husband was in another country, and I had a toddler to tend as well. I do not even want to begin to imagine the horrifying sight that prompted my Uncle Churchill to conclude that I needed to leave my husband and move to the United States. Being the intelligent problem-solver that he is, Uncle Churchill began to contact me regularly with instructions on what to do. He knew that the Permiso de Patronato—a document to ensure that children are not taken out of the country without the consent of both parents—was going to be the single most difficult part of the plan because that was exactly what I was planning to do.

As I prepared for my trip, all sorts of crazy thoughts rushed through my mind. I began to wonder about my future. Would it mean that I would no longer have to endure any more abuse? Would I like my new home? How long would it take me to make new friends? The thoughts were shooting at me like darts, and I could not process them fast enough. Before I could finish processing one, another one would appear. They were popping up faster than my mind could address them. The anticipation of the unknown was intriguing, exciting, and scary all at the same time.

I gathered all the necessary documents and prayed not to have missed anything. The lines at the Costa Rican Immigration Offices always seemed endless, and with a toddler at my side, it was even more daunting. One of the challenges was that all businesses, including the immigration offices, closed two hours for lunch. If you missed taking care of business in the morning, it was a waste of an entire day. It meant going back in the afternoon for whatever unfinished business that was left from the morning. One of the most frustrating feelings was getting to the front of the line, presenting the paperwork to the attendant, only to learn that something else was missing. The mere fact of having to go back to the same place, after spending most of the morning in a long line, was disheartening. It took several tries, but eventually I managed to obtain passports for my son and me.

Then it was time to deal with the most essential document, the Permiso de Patronato. Because my husband was unavailable to sign it, Uncle Churchill sent me money to find an attorney to handle the matter. Just days before our departure date, the Permiso de Patronato was approved and I stopped by the attorney’s office to pick it up. It was essential because my son would not be able to leave the country without it. It was his pass out of Costa Rica. So far, everything was working out in my favor.

My father, who lived in another part of the country, came to San Jose to help me obtain a visa. This required us to visit the United States Embassy, not exactly the place for an average citizen. Americans are very proud people, and Costa Rica is a poor country. Whenever Costa Ricans go to the United States Embassy, they go with a humble attitude and the intent of throwing themselves upon the mercy of the Americans, who are in a position to grant or deny visas. Officials want petitioners to fit a certain profile before they deem you worthy of entering their country. For this reason, I had to play it safe and band my stomach to conceal my pregnancy. I did not want them to suspect my condition; I could not allow them to interfere with my plan. As it is, they are not normally inclined to issue visas for anyone, let alone someone who is pregnant. I was young so they had to make sure they were not helping someone who planned to stay in the United States, which was my exact intent. My father was a well-established businessman, and to persuade officials to grant me a visa, he brought deeds showing the real estate, stores, and farms he owned. This showed credibility that he could afford to travel with his family and had no need to leave Costa Rica because he was well off in his own country. Perhaps playing the most essential role of all, my father advised the officials that he was taking his daughter and his first grandson to visit Disney World. He was able to impress them, for they issued 10-year visas for all three of us to leave the country. Now I was officially ready to travel, and I could begin looking into purchasing airline tickets. But I still had one more item on my agenda.

My last stop was to see the doctor. Because I was seven months pregnant, I wanted to find out how dangerous it would be for me to travel. Luckily, the doctor did not foresee any problems. Regardless, I felt I had to do my best to continue hiding my pregnancy. I did not want the airline to stop me from getting on my flight, which was perhaps ignorant of me to believe. Granted, this was my first time traveling abroad, and I did not know the rules and regulations of the airlines. I was operating purely out of fear because staying in Costa Rica was not an option. Besides, I had nothing left; my marriage was basically over. I knew this opportunity to go to the United States was a once-in-a-lifetime chance, and I wasn’t about to let it slip away. It was my pass to freedom.

Because I lived in a small town, there were no secrets. And so mine was out. The word spread like wildfire, and just about everyone knew I was preparing to leave for the United States. I began to get offers from neighbors who were looking to buy my belongings, and within a few days of my trip, I had completely emptied out the house. I had big plans for my future, and returning to my country was definitely not one of them.

Looking back, I realize it was very bold of me to have sold off all my belonging without my husband’s consent, but when a woman reaches her limits, she is done and there is no turning back. We become dangerous and capable of doing just about anything to free ourselves from any binding situation. We do not rationalize, and when we begin to move, it is not wise to get in our way. We are focused, determined, and willing to tear down anything or anyone who blocks our path. Our safety and that of our family comes first.

Because of my pregnancy, I had been staying with my siblings. On the night before my trip, I felt as if I were acting a part in a suspense movie when I saw my husband walk into my family’s home. His unexpected appearance was frightening. I wondered if he had been at the empty house to see all our furniture gone. He saw all the suitcases lying around; I had