ANABEL

2.9 NAME: ANABEL COUNTRY OF ORIGIN: VENEZUELA AGE: 28 CHILDREN: 3 GIRLS IN VENEZUELA ORIGINAL OCCUPATION: STAY AT HOME MOM TIME ON THE ISLAND: 1 YEAR AND 7 MONTHS

I first tried to come by plane, but when I got to the airport, I showed my passport at customs and they sent me back immediately. I still don’t know why. My brother then told me about his plans to make a trip by boat, when I arrived back in Venezuela. I said ‘take me with you, I have nothing here’. We didn’t have my husband sending us money anymore, because he was deported too so we had no income at all. It was hard. My daughters and I had been living well before, but from one day to the next, everything changed. When my brother told me he could take me with him in the boat, I saw it as an opportunity to fix things.

It was a ‘do it or die trying’ circumstance for me. I’ve already lost family that tried to make the crossing. We buried one cousin. Another cousin was never found. We’ve only heard stories of how she went back in the water to save someone and they never saw her again. Both cousins told me we would see each other again, but we never did. I also lost a childhood friend who used to eat at our table. We’ve lost neighbors, friends.... too many people. Before we left, I felt safe because my brother would be the captain. But I won’t deny it, I was scared too, because I don’t know how to swim.

When we reached the coast that night, the helicopters were there fast and turned on their bright lights. We were all caught by police and put in jail, except my brother. I was only in jail for two days, but it felt like two years. I cried the whole time and couldn’t sleep, because I had never been in jail before. Then they let us go and we had to present at the police station to sign a form every time, to prove that we were still here. But after a few months I stopped going, so they still have my ID and now I’m here illegally.

I work and send money to my daughters and my aunt. There is a kind of network here where we can pay in guilders and on the other side, they give it to our families in Bolivar. I can’t use Western Union because I don’t have an ID. My stepmom takes care of my daughters now. She is over 50 years old, so she will not find work the way Venezuela is now. Taking care of my daughters is her job.

At the moment I work at a finca. It’s very hard work, most women won’t do this kind of work. Most Yu Kòrsou don’t even do this work! Before the virus I worked 5 days a week, but now only 2 days a week for 60 guilders per day and it’s the same amount of work, put together in 2 days. 120 guilders a week is not enough. I have 3 daughters! I have to pay for their clothes, their birthdays, their food, their tuition. And for my own life here I have to pay the room I rent [ Ang 250,- ], water, electricity, food. This is a major change for us. In Venezuela we never paid for rent, water, electricity or internet. In Venezuela you only pay for the land. You find someone to connect you to everything and that’s it. We were rich in Venezuela! Now, with only 2 days’ work I have to borrow money to send to my daughters. What I make is not even enough to cover my own expenses. I rent a room, better said, I rent a prison cell. The house is horrible, in terrible conditions. My room doesn’t even have a window.

I left Venezuela to work towards a dream, but I also lost a dream. When I came here, I didn’t know I was pregnant, and I lost the baby after a while. One morning, about 2 months after arriving here, I get up in the morning to go to work and I feel wetness. My son was 36 weeks old. He was a complete baby, with everything. I had always wanted a boy, to take care of his sisters, you know. But I had been working, carrying heavy crates all day long, from 6AM to 6PM. I didn’t know I was pregnant. I hadn’t had any symptoms or cravings.

I have a very strong personality. I don’t want strange men touching me. If one touches me, I’ll punch him in the face. Being from Venezuela they already take advantage of you, imagine if you work in one of the snèks. The men here think ‘I’ll just give a girl 3 drinks, take her home and have my way with her. Then I’ll let her go and spread rumors.’ Not me. I prefer to work hard and earn my money that way. Because you know, when you go back to Venezuela and your family finds out you’ve worked in a snèk they’ll resent you for it. I’ve seen it happen. They’ll say ‘but you were having such a good time, dancing and drinking’.

I had a boyfriend from the island, he was my taxi driver. But I’ll tell you, men here sure mistreat a woman. He has beaten me, choked me, called me a whore. He’s very, very jealous. At first, he seemed quiet and sweet, but he turned out to be a demon. It got to a point where I couldn’t take it anymore, I have now moved to another place to protect myself.        

My sister lives here, but we’re like oil and water. We don’t get along at all. My brother is here as well, the one that was captain when I came. But he was caught a month later and he’s in prison now. His official sentence is over, but they’re keeping them there until planes are allowed to fly to Venezuela back. He already has his ticket, but they’re waiting.

The least people in Cura?ao can do is treat us like normal people, not like animals. See us as humans, not someone who is inferior and can be discriminated. I would like a different job, one that’s physically less demanding. The government could make sure our healthcare is covered. If anything happens to us, we have to pay for our own treatment. Yes, we have the clinic, but for x-rays or more extensive stuff they send you to the hospital and when you’re not insured you have to pay out of your own pocket.

I’ve dreamed about Cura?ao since I was 12. All I’ve ever heard is that Cura?ao is beautiful! Cura?ao this, Cura?ao that. I’ve been here for over a year and a half and I have to say that I don’t like it. To me, Cura?ao is not dushi. When you’re here, you’re very much on your own. My goal is to buy my daughters a house and as soon as I’m able to do that I’m going back. I want to be there to care for them, spend time with them. But I worry they might not know me anymore, since I’ve already missed so much! I left my three girls crying, standing in the door of the house asking me not to leave. It’s very difficult. At night I cry, but I don’t want them to know what I’m going through to take care of them.

My message: we should be more united, everyone should unite. In the eyes of God, we’re all the same. When you die, you can’t take anything with you. To be more aware of others and help each other when they need it. We’re human beings and shouldn’t be discriminated. All of us who came here, we’re not here for free. We all paid a price.