The Far Away Brothers: Chapters 10–14

“Seriously? Look at all this!” said Wilber, pointing around the disheveled boy den, with soda cans and crumpled clothes everywhere.

They didn’t tell their parents or Maricela about the new debt they were about to incur.

Wilber Sr. had beaten them growing up, and the family had been unable to protect them from the danger of their uncle, both of which could be deemed qualifying factors for an SIJS visa.

They’d also have to get paperwork, signed by their parents in El Salvador and sent back to Oakland, in which they agreed to relinquish their guardianship.

We reviewed the conundrum: the twins had a trusted, low-fee lawyer now, but getting SIJ status was a long shot. On the other hand, they could apply for asylum, but we hadn’t found any lawyer willing to take their case for free.

The judge would have full discretion on whether to grant the motion.

This was great news—but there’d be no time to appeal their case with a higher court to reverse the decision if they were turned down.

As a resident, to deviate from routine was to put yourself at potential risk.

And in truth, she always relished the opportunity to leave La Colonia.

Lupita was almost two and becoming serious, like Ernesto, with brows that were perpetually furrowed.

Maricela held her close, trying to lull her to quiet.

Raúl could sense when an attack was coming. They were something between a seizure, a trance, and a fit of rage. Suddenly his brother would seem possessed by a demon.

Raúl feigned indifference to his brother’s activities.

Back at school, still in shock, they ambled across the courtyard, returning to class.

Life for an undocumented person was better in Oakland than in lots of other places; in Arizona, for instance, he’d once heard the police stopped Latinos just to check their papers, not even with another pretense, and that their politicians wanted to deport all immigrants.

But by the end of the second month, they still only had about $150 to send home—which didn’t even pay off the interest accrued that month.

We spent the afternoon milking goats and turning compost, walking across the tidal zones in search of starfish and sea cucumbers, watching the sea collide against the craggy edge of the continent.

A beetle ambled slowly across our paths. Its black armor had an iridescent green sheen, and we bent to inspect it.

They turned out their lights and walked across the moonlit field to an outcropping out of sight of camp.

The first hike was an eight-mile trek that culminated in a steep ascent up a cliff alongside a waterfall.

The second day’s hike was far less strenuous, but we were all sore from the day before.

When we got to camp, the students collapsed, barely able to muster the energy to put up their tents and cook dinner.

During the first unaccompanied minor spike in 2012, authorities had been unprepared; now in 2014 they too raced to catch up, shacking children up in former nursing homes and military bases and releasing families from overcrowded, austere detention facilities with a court summons.

Their suggestions for potentially workable locations included “office space, warehouse, big box store, shopping mall with interior concourse, event venues, hotel or dorms, aircraft hangers [sic]”—provided that they were vacant and able to be leased.

Their suggestions for potentially workable locations included “office space, warehouse, big box store, shopping mall with interior concourse, event venues, hotel or dorms, aircraft hangers [sic]”—provided that they were vacant and able to be leased.

The original $494 million that the president had allocated for housing in 2013 didn’t even come close to footing the year’s bill.

In July 2014, during the thick of the crisis, the Obama administration authorized $3.7 billion in emergency supplemental funding, $1.8 billion of which was earmarked for nonprofit housing contractors and medical providers.

Contractors often cost less per inmate than government facilities—which means there is little federal oversight, and inmates are mistreated, sometimes even abused, without consequences.

In a way seeing all these other kids in his same shoes fortified Ernesto, as when Ibrahim had told him about fleeing Iraq.

The paper looked like any intimidating piece of bureaucracy. They hadn’t been able to read it.

Crime happened at all times of day, but the twins were really wary only at night.

Money was tight, and Wilber, Gabby, and Raúl did not pay their rent on time. After four months living there, they thought they’d get some leeway, but the landlord ordered them evicted: they had two weeks to move.

They didn’t talk much about the eviction for the next couple of days, but for Raúl, it was the subtext of every conversation.

When push came to shove, a few days before eviction day, Ernesto relented.

The parking lot was filled with families corralling little children with lunch boxes into their cars and toward the bus.