Radio Rookies: New York Native Recalls Life After Parents Were Deported

ARI SHAPIRO, HOST:

The last time Congress passed major immigration reform was 20 years ago. Since then, the government has increasingly turned to deportation as a tool. Here's a very personal story about what happened after one of those deportations. It's told by 18-year-old Wayner Jimbo. He was born in New York City, a U.S. citizen. His parents had moved there from Ecuador.

WAYNER JIMBO: When I was little, my family ate together every night. One day it was rice, and one day it was soup. On weekends, we would go out fishing together, and we would go to church every single Sunday. I remember helping my dad. He did upholstery. I found it boring then. I just wanted to play or watch TV. But now it seems really interesting. My mom worked in a factory, making clothing.

One morning, when I was 9 years old, I woke up and my mom said, someone came looking for your dad. She didn't know it was immigration. She assumed they were police officers, so she gave them his work address. I was watching "Pokemon" and my baby sister was at day care.

I heard the phone ring, and my mom started crying. I came into the kitchen, and my aunt, who I call Tia Sandra (ph), said just tell him. You have to tell him. My mom said, Wayner, they arrested your dad. He's going to be deported to Ecuador. I knew what arrested meant, but I didn't know what deported meant until she explained. My mom was really upset because she felt like she turned him in. Later, I found out she was planning to go to Ecuador, too, to be with my dad. I didn't know it back then, but my mom and my tia were having conversations about what should happen to me.

SANDRA: (Through interpreter) I took a risk and told my sister that the best thing she could do was to leave Wayner here to live with us so he'd be able to do more for his parents in the future in case they're able to come back.

JIMBO: My mom asked me, mijo, do you want to go to Ecuador with me or do you want to stay with your tia? I like to visit Ecuador for vacation, not to live. I was born here and used to the life in New York. And my cousin told me if I stayed, there'd be a chance for my parents to come back.

My mom wanted me to leave with them, but I didn't know that then because she didn't show it. I think she wanted me to make the decision on my own. She and my little sister left four months after my dad was arrested. I remember that day. She said, behave good. Do not forget I love you.

After that, everything was weird. I didn't have a bedroom anymore. I started sleeping in the living room. It took a while to adapt. I'd come home and expect to see my mom or dad, but it was just my aunt and her daughter. And there were times when I felt really lonely and I would think, what if I could just go be with them?

But then something would happen in school, a teacher would say something that would inspire me, and I wouldn't want to give up. And it helped, too, that every single summer I got to go see my parents and younger sister in Ecuador. I would be happy with them. We'd take road trips every weekend, but it was temporary. Coming back to the U.S. was the hardest part. My mom would sometimes think I didn't want to leave.

UNIDENTIFIED WOMAN: (Through interpreter) He would cry a lot when he would leave. So I told him if you don't want to go, don't go. Stay. I'm not forcing you to be there. If you want to be with us, then stay with us. He told me no, mommy, over there it's better. I'm crying because I feel sad for both of you. But over there, it's better.

JIMBO: My main goal has always been to bring my parents back. They told me if I wanted to do that, I had to do well in school. So I was forced to be more responsible. I'd wake myself up, clean my room. My mom wasn't there to tell me to do my homework anymore, so I did it myself.

Sometimes my parents don't understand the decisions I have to make, like when I told them I was going away to Skidmore for college. At first, my mom didn't really want me going away to school, but she realized since I was young, I've had to make my own decisions. So she decided to support me, like she always does. Now I mostly communicate with my parents through Facebook Messenger almost every day.

UNIDENTIFIED WOMAN: Hello.

JIMBO: Hello.

We talk on the phone about once a week. Sometimes you need that mother love or that father love. During holidays and celebrations, I'd always see my cousins give a hug to their mother or father and it would really get to me that I couldn't do that.

UNIDENTIFIED WOMAN: (Through interpreter) When we would eat or when we would go out to eat, I would think about you. I would say we are eating, but I don't know if you're eating. Sometimes we would be out somewhere enjoying ourselves, but then I would wonder, what is Wayner doing?

JIMBO: As I get older, I cry less during our phone calls. Maybe it's a form of maturing, or maybe I'm just used to it. When I turn 21, I can petition for my parents to return to the country legally. They've told me that I'm their only hope to come back, and that puts a lot of pressure on me. But the way I take it is motivation, any reason not to give up. For NPR News, this is radio rookie Wayner Jimbo.

SHAPIRO: Wayner Jimbo is now a freshman at Skidmore College in New York. His story was produced by Courtney Stein and edited by Kaari Pitkin for Radio Rookies, WNYC's youth media program. The story is also available in Spanish at radiorookies.org.

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