Central American mother, children from migrant caravan seeking refuge in Chicago
They were strangers just 24 hours before, but here they were, along with their parents, living under the same roof on
Their worlds collided in late May, when the Flores family got the green light to move from an immigration detention center in
With plenty of unknowns ahead, including this week's decision by Attorney General
"It truly means a miracle from God," Flores said in Spanish, hours after arriving in
Gres, 47, and her husband DeMay, 46, don't see throwing out the welcome mat as extraordinary. Gres' parents were Polish immigrants and DeMay said he thinks opening their home to the Flores family is part of a larger
"We feel this is a very American thing to do," DeMay said. "
Joining the caravan
Flores, 39, thought
While in
It wasn't long before another worry bubbled up. Members of the caravan began talking about riding "La Bestia" -- atop freight trains -- through
Flores remembers sitting on her suitcase crying, thinking about the what-ifs: her children falling off the train or being trapped on top of a moving train car with nowhere to go as someone threatened her family.
Ultimately, Flores and her daughters were among about 20 families who pooled their money, including some donations, to take buses to the
On
"Welcome to hell," Flores remembers one woman calling out as a joke about their detention.
She found out soon enough that the living conditions could be tough.
Two families wait
Even as the caravan moved north through
"The Administration should also pursue safe third country agreements with countries in
In response to the administration's remarks, the activist network Showing Up for Racial Justice did a call-out to its members, including Gres, seeking families willing to house those in the caravan, said
In
In
"I think it's really disgusting and awful the way that the administration has been sort of taking this as if it's some huge affront to the country that these folks are seeking asylum," Gres said.
And, Gres said, she, DeMay and their two children -- ages 4 and 6 -- were only occupying the second floor of the family's two-flat in the
But even the best-laid plans can falter. A gut rehab on one flat is still in progress, so for now the Flores family is living in the same unit as the Gres-DeMay clan. And Flores' family began fragmenting. Flores' oldest daughter, 19, opted to stay in
"I received the threats," Flores said in Spanish. "If I don't do what (the gang members) want, the ones who are going to pay are my daughters."
Flores says she and her three youngest daughters, ages 3, 6, and 16, were moved from
Flores says she wants her family together in
Flores, who earned
"They would give (us food) while wearing gloves," she said in Spanish. "They made us appear like we were not only criminals but animals that were going to infect them."
At one point, she enlisted the help of a therapist on staff to get through the days there.
New home in
While the detention days are behind her, aspects of Flores' pending asylum case have the familiar ring of a criminal trial. She's on "parole," meaning she's free pending the outcome of her immigration case, and has been outfitted with an electronic ankle monitor by
The most difficult part of this journey will likely be in court. An analysis from
This week Sessions handed down a decision that could tighten the screws even more. Immigration judges generally don't have to consider domestic and gang violence as grounds for asylum, according to his Monday ruling. Sessions said that violence committed by "non-government actors" should not qualify for asylum. But
In addition to opening up their home, Gres and DeMay plan to use their community connections to help the Flores family find legal help. Their family members and neighbors have donated items ranging from furniture to gift cards to help the Flores family start over. Gres plans to start an online fundraising campaign to help the Flores family through the next couple of months.
Together a few weeks now, the families are settling in to a new routine. The children have been picking up English and Spanish words from each other including commands such as Vamonos or "Let's go," Gres said. They watch English and Spanish episodes of their favorite show -- "Peppa Pig."
Gres wants to enroll her 6-year-old son in a dual-language program in the fall, and the family was trying to get Flores' 16-year-old daughter into a summer program to learn English.
Flores says she's looking even further ahead to job hunting. She wants to kick in for household expenses initially and be on the road to fully supporting her family financially. But to get a job she must obtain a work permit, something she can't do until 150 days after she's filed her asylum claim. And even after that, the permitting process could be lengthy.
"We aren't looking to live in luxury," Flores said. "We want to live with dignity, among peace and to be certain our children will grow up well without delinquency."
For their part, Gres and DeMay say they aren't in any hurry to collect a rent check.
Flores says she is grateful for the family's generosity, but she can't get out of her mind her 18-year-old daughter languishing in a detention center. That's who she was praying for when she, her girls and Gres attended a recent Spanish-language Mass at
"It was necessary for me to look for God," Flores said. "To go and thank God because I'm here and ask him to take care of my daughter and bring her here safely."
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