You may remember our waiter from a while back, Oly (as in Holy Moly). Back in February, he shared with my husband and me his plans for a return trip to Mexico. Well, the husband and I went to our favorite sit-outside-on-the-patio Mexican place tonight and Oly was there. It was the first time we had seen him since that visit a few months ago.
He did make it to Mexico and he did make it past through the first check point. He got his papers legalized (as he put it) and got the proper papers he thought was necessary for the truck he was taking to his family near Acapulco (remember, I never could figure out the exact name he was saying). His plan was to spend his birthday with his family before heading back to the states.
The first check point was no problem. It was the second one that got him. He said the authorities there said his papers were falsified and proceeded to put him in jail and impound the vehicles he was transporting. He spent a few days behind bars before he was able to come up with (through many phone calls back to the states) enough money to get himself out of jail; $3,500.00 to be exact. The amount to get his vehicles released? And these are two, very old trucks, by the way... $10,000.00 American dollars. As he put it to my husband and I, "For that kind of money, I could buy a very nice house for my mother. I would not waste it on those old trucks." Another interesting twist? Even if he could pay the fine, legally (by Mexican law) the trucks would not have to be released to him.
He doesn't know why they think his papers were false. He thinks the person that sold him the trucks here in the U.S. "was not very honest," as he simply stated. He never did get to see his family, and he was on a bus out of Laredo, Texas, on the day of his birthday. He has since contacted a lawyer who advised him not to cross the border for at least 2-4 years. All he could do was shrug his shoulders and say, "That is how things are." And all this he said with a smile.
I'm telling you, that boy is one of the nicest young men we know. As the husband said, "If we won the lottery, I would give Oly the money to get his trucks out of hock and to bring his family here." I would have to agree.
Besides, I would love to meet this guy's mother.
Showing posts with label international flavor. Show all posts
Showing posts with label international flavor. Show all posts
Thursday, April 12, 2012
Friday, February 3, 2012
A Waiter Named Oly And A Good Burrito
The husband and I are creatures of habit when it comes to restaurants. We like to find a place and get to know the people who work there. Just like the Chinese place where they know us and what we are going to order and the nice lady who gives me advice on family drama, we have a favorite Mexican place where the burritos are good and there's one particular guy we like. Last night we went there for dinner and sat outside talking about the life predicament we have found ourselves in. Oly (like in Holy Moly) stopped by our table to visit for a while. By the time he walked away, the husband and I looked at each other with a fresh appreciation for what we have.
Oly is twenty-two years old and speaks pretty good English if you take the time to listen carefully. He has worked at different Mexican restaurants in the area, but seems to like the one he's at now the best. When he's not working there, he mows yards or does other general lawn maintenance type stuff. He was a little bit bummed last night because that line of work has been kind of slow (although he did smile big when he said he had a job to do on Saturday). He said he has been saving his money because he is planning a trip home to Mexico in the next few weeks. If the weather stays good, he's planning on heading out at the end of this month. We asked him where home was. He rattled off a name that both of us were clueless about so he simply said Acapulco.
We asked him how long it would take him to get there. He shrugged his shoulders and said, "A couple of days." The longest part of the journey would be at the border he said to "legalize" his truck. We finally figured out he plans to "register" his truck to leave it with his family. The cost to do so? $800-$1,200 American dollars. The husband asked him why he would do that. Again, he just shrugged his shoulders and said, "They need it." Now his truck is nothing new. It happened to be parked right by where we were sitting and truth be told, it looked kind of rough for that long of a trip. The husband pointed out, "Well, you got new tires," to which Oly smiled proudly and nodded. Together, they estimated the cost of gas for the drive to be something around $500.
Oly got to talking about the dangers of the trip once he crosses the border. He said on two previous occasions, he has made the journey without incident. On another time, though, he was stopped once he crossed the border (into Mexico) and "shook down" for $1,000 to continue on his way. He acknowledged the husband's mention of the drug cartel as a dangerous reality and said his particular village is surrounded by "bad men". He talks to his parents on a regular basis, it seems, and they have told him it is safe for him to come home. Apparently these dangerous men do not bother the local people; they seem to have just set up camp there, so to speak.
The husband, forever the law enforcement man, gave Oly some tips on where to hide his money while he travelled. Oly smiled and proudly described how and where he stashes his cash... that and his green card. He said part of the "shake down" process that can occur once the border is crossed is someone trying to steal green cards or "hold them for ransom" because they know those cards are needed to cross back into the United States. Again we asked him, "And why are you taking this risk?" "To take my truck to my family and other stuff they need," he responded. That other stuff includes things like old ceiling fans and other items that we might disregard here. Oh, and there was one other reason he is determined to leave in the next few weeks... his birthday. He said he hasn't spent a birthday with his parents for seven years. He will turn twenty-three and wants to celebrate with his family.
So I counted back. That would put him as having come to this country around the age of fifteen or sixteen. It sounds like he came with his aunt while (most of??) his family stayed behind (four or five brothers, four sisters). His story is hard to keep up with there, but there is no denying that the boy loves them all. He waits tables, mows lawns, and collects old ceiling fans so he can save up enough to go home occasionally to help them out. We asked him how he plans on getting back if he is leaving his truck there. He said either bus or airplane, he doesn't know yet. He prefers the bus so he can "see all the country" but the bus is not safe anymore and he didn't seem sure about the cost of flying. "It is worth the risk," he smiled, "to go home and be there for my birthday."
I know it sounds like he was at our table for a long time and I guess he was for about fifteen minutes or so. It was just so fascinating to hear this young man's story. When he said he better get busy and wished us well, we just sat there shaking our heads and looking at each other. "Man, I hope he gets back all right," the husband said. "I hope he gets there all right," was all I could say. We looked at his truck and talked about the journey he would be making alone. "If I were younger and didn't have a family to worry about, I 'd ride shotgun with him," the husband said. "That boy could use some back-up."
So like I said, conversations like that always put things in perspective for the husband and me. Nothing kills a pity party like realizing (once again) that the world does not revolve around us. Let's see, we've got the Chinese lady and the Mexican guy to remind us what is really important in life... now I think we need to find somebody Italian. There's got to be a good life lesson hidden away in lasagna somewhere.
Oly is twenty-two years old and speaks pretty good English if you take the time to listen carefully. He has worked at different Mexican restaurants in the area, but seems to like the one he's at now the best. When he's not working there, he mows yards or does other general lawn maintenance type stuff. He was a little bit bummed last night because that line of work has been kind of slow (although he did smile big when he said he had a job to do on Saturday). He said he has been saving his money because he is planning a trip home to Mexico in the next few weeks. If the weather stays good, he's planning on heading out at the end of this month. We asked him where home was. He rattled off a name that both of us were clueless about so he simply said Acapulco.
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| Look to the right of "Pacific Ocean" to find Acapulco in orange. |
We asked him how long it would take him to get there. He shrugged his shoulders and said, "A couple of days." The longest part of the journey would be at the border he said to "legalize" his truck. We finally figured out he plans to "register" his truck to leave it with his family. The cost to do so? $800-$1,200 American dollars. The husband asked him why he would do that. Again, he just shrugged his shoulders and said, "They need it." Now his truck is nothing new. It happened to be parked right by where we were sitting and truth be told, it looked kind of rough for that long of a trip. The husband pointed out, "Well, you got new tires," to which Oly smiled proudly and nodded. Together, they estimated the cost of gas for the drive to be something around $500.
Oly got to talking about the dangers of the trip once he crosses the border. He said on two previous occasions, he has made the journey without incident. On another time, though, he was stopped once he crossed the border (into Mexico) and "shook down" for $1,000 to continue on his way. He acknowledged the husband's mention of the drug cartel as a dangerous reality and said his particular village is surrounded by "bad men". He talks to his parents on a regular basis, it seems, and they have told him it is safe for him to come home. Apparently these dangerous men do not bother the local people; they seem to have just set up camp there, so to speak.
The husband, forever the law enforcement man, gave Oly some tips on where to hide his money while he travelled. Oly smiled and proudly described how and where he stashes his cash... that and his green card. He said part of the "shake down" process that can occur once the border is crossed is someone trying to steal green cards or "hold them for ransom" because they know those cards are needed to cross back into the United States. Again we asked him, "And why are you taking this risk?" "To take my truck to my family and other stuff they need," he responded. That other stuff includes things like old ceiling fans and other items that we might disregard here. Oh, and there was one other reason he is determined to leave in the next few weeks... his birthday. He said he hasn't spent a birthday with his parents for seven years. He will turn twenty-three and wants to celebrate with his family.
So I counted back. That would put him as having come to this country around the age of fifteen or sixteen. It sounds like he came with his aunt while (most of??) his family stayed behind (four or five brothers, four sisters). His story is hard to keep up with there, but there is no denying that the boy loves them all. He waits tables, mows lawns, and collects old ceiling fans so he can save up enough to go home occasionally to help them out. We asked him how he plans on getting back if he is leaving his truck there. He said either bus or airplane, he doesn't know yet. He prefers the bus so he can "see all the country" but the bus is not safe anymore and he didn't seem sure about the cost of flying. "It is worth the risk," he smiled, "to go home and be there for my birthday."
I know it sounds like he was at our table for a long time and I guess he was for about fifteen minutes or so. It was just so fascinating to hear this young man's story. When he said he better get busy and wished us well, we just sat there shaking our heads and looking at each other. "Man, I hope he gets back all right," the husband said. "I hope he gets there all right," was all I could say. We looked at his truck and talked about the journey he would be making alone. "If I were younger and didn't have a family to worry about, I 'd ride shotgun with him," the husband said. "That boy could use some back-up."
So like I said, conversations like that always put things in perspective for the husband and me. Nothing kills a pity party like realizing (once again) that the world does not revolve around us. Let's see, we've got the Chinese lady and the Mexican guy to remind us what is really important in life... now I think we need to find somebody Italian. There's got to be a good life lesson hidden away in lasagna somewhere.
Monday, February 7, 2011
Chinese Wisdom and Garlic Chicken
While sitting at our favorite little dive-of-a-place Chinese restarurant (the same one where the old guy wants a piece of my hair to carry around in his pocket), the little Chinese lady (not the one that thinks my husband is funny, the other one who calls me Mama and Heath Daddy) came over to our table and asked if everything was all right. Only one out of five was actually eating and two of the five were nowhere to be seen.
No. Everything was not all right.
She looked so concerned, though, so instead of giving the customary Oh, we're fine or Everything's good, I looked her straight in the eye and said Family Drama. I bet you had your own share of days like that.
She didn't smile or nod her head and hurry off to her other tables. Instead, she sighed heavily and in broken English, began to tell me her story. Moments like this I tend to memorize and although I'm sure I don't have it word for word, but I think you'll get the general idea. This is what she said.
I have only one son, not many children like you. He was ten when my husband died and it has only been me and him. We depend on each other. When my husband died, I only have my son and I not speak hardly any English when my husband died. So my son go with me everywhere and he tell me what is going on. He read the map and tell me where to drive. We lean on each other. He is thirty-six now and a good son. We lean on each other twenty-six years ago. Just my son and me. I didn't raise him; he raised me.
Then she smiled and spread her hands out over our near empty table and scarcely eaten food. What you have here is family. You have fun and you fuss, but you have family. You are good family. You fuss, but you are together. You good family. Mama and Daddy and children. Good family.
Yeah. At this point I was about to cry, too. She patted one kid on the back and went on her way. The missing two members joined us about a minute later and the entire atmosphere had been changed. I got a thumbs-up from one, and at the same time everybody started reaching for the rice and garlic chicken and saying please and thank-you. We laughed and talked and ate and read fortune cookies out loud. The fussing was over and the good was back.
She was right. We are a good family. We are together. We fight and argue and bicker, but we are together and I think after tonight and the wisdom of a little Chinese lady that calls me mama, I think we're all a little bit better.
No. Everything was not all right.
She looked so concerned, though, so instead of giving the customary Oh, we're fine or Everything's good, I looked her straight in the eye and said Family Drama. I bet you had your own share of days like that.
She didn't smile or nod her head and hurry off to her other tables. Instead, she sighed heavily and in broken English, began to tell me her story. Moments like this I tend to memorize and although I'm sure I don't have it word for word, but I think you'll get the general idea. This is what she said.
I have only one son, not many children like you. He was ten when my husband died and it has only been me and him. We depend on each other. When my husband died, I only have my son and I not speak hardly any English when my husband died. So my son go with me everywhere and he tell me what is going on. He read the map and tell me where to drive. We lean on each other. He is thirty-six now and a good son. We lean on each other twenty-six years ago. Just my son and me. I didn't raise him; he raised me.
Then she smiled and spread her hands out over our near empty table and scarcely eaten food. What you have here is family. You have fun and you fuss, but you have family. You are good family. You fuss, but you are together. You good family. Mama and Daddy and children. Good family.
Yeah. At this point I was about to cry, too. She patted one kid on the back and went on her way. The missing two members joined us about a minute later and the entire atmosphere had been changed. I got a thumbs-up from one, and at the same time everybody started reaching for the rice and garlic chicken and saying please and thank-you. We laughed and talked and ate and read fortune cookies out loud. The fussing was over and the good was back.
She was right. We are a good family. We are together. We fight and argue and bicker, but we are together and I think after tonight and the wisdom of a little Chinese lady that calls me mama, I think we're all a little bit better.
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