2 DREAMERS TELL THEIR STORIES
It was late at night, and they had to be quiet. But Angelica Mag ana wasn’ t scared. As the 8-year- old walked through the desert, she was proud to “go to the other side”— that’s what they called it in J al is co, Mexico, when her family crossed the border. But today, Magana is scared. And she is angry.
Today, she and her two sisters are unsure of their future herein Illinois, where they have lived since they left their grandfather’ s farm and climbed into a car with a group of strangers, bound for the border.
Her sisters are confused, they don’t know what will happen when their DA CA work permits expire. Magana is angry, energized and focused, but she is “off ended most of all” that President Donald Trump did not deliver the news himself.
Though she isn’t sure if she will be able to renew her work permit, which expires Dec. 17, Magana, 32, said that she survived before Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals, and she will survive again.
“DACA has always been a Band- Aid,” Magana said. For some, that Band- Aid has been a more like a life jacket.
Mateo Uri be Rios married his wife two months ago, fearing his fate as an undocumented immigrant. Faced with renewing DA CA or applying for a green card through his marriage, he said, “Right now, DA CA is what’ s keeping us afloat.”
Uri be Rios came to the U.S. when he was only 6, but his eyes filled with tears when he spoke of Colombia. He re members Christmas in his led between two mountains in Medellin, and here members fire flies floating through the greene ry.
But he has not been back since he and his mother left on a tourist visa, and his father on a work visa. When their visas expired, they stayed.