Early Trials

 Let’s be clear: I’m not the first, nor will I be the last, to come to the United States in search of better opportunities or, as we grew up hearing, “chasing the American dream.” Because we come here with certain expectations, and the reality is definitely different. Thanks to an immigration program, over 90,000 Nicaraguans were able to enter the U.S. legally through an airport port of entry, which made things a bit easier avoiding the risks that many face crossing the border. Not to mention the long and dangerous journey they take to get here.

My first three months here were relatively calm and gave me time to reflect and compare my new reality with the one I left behind. It was a radical change, from the simplest things to the most complex. For example, spending the whole day in air conditioning.I can only imagine that electricity bill skyrocketing. That’s just one example, but I’m not here to talk about life’s trivialities.

As I was saying, those first three months flew by. I was slowly adapting to the new life, and above all, enjoying time with my sister. After so many years, we could finally be together in the same time and space. If I remember correctly, the last time she was in Nicaragua was almost five years ago.

Then, just over a month and a half after I arrived, we got the news that my brother had suffered a heart attack. You can imagine what that meant. While he was having the heart attack, he managed to Google the symptoms, and thanks to my niece acting quickly and contacting a cousin who lives nearby, they got him to the hospital. Long story short, he spent a couple of weeks in intensive care. Thankfully, he recovered and is stable now, but it was a huge scare and I couldn’t be there for him. At one point, I even thought I might never see him again.

The days kept passing, and the wait for my work permit felt longer than I expected or rather, I didn’t really know how long it would take, but it felt like an eternity. During that time, things started happening, and like I said before, I’m not the first or the last person to come to the U.S. and start from zero. One of the hardest parts was not being able to earn an income. Even though my sister was supporting me, I didn’t feel good about it. Like anyone else, I was used to earning my own money and not depending on others. My savings were running out, and I felt bad not being able to help with rent or basic household expenses.

During this period, I worked a few days with my nephew, who owns a roofing company. And what can I say? I definitely wasn’t physically or mentally prepared for that kind of work. Not that I couldn’t do it, but I’ll be honest—the sun, the heat, and the external conditions made the job extremely tough. I didn’t enjoy those days at all. It’s not that I didn’t want to do it—like people say, “desperation has many faces”—but I just wasn’t used to that kind of work. That led to some of the first negative comments about me, which, of course, got back to me (though no one said them directly): that I was lazy, useless, unwilling to work, that roofing was a job anyone could do, and how could I leave early because I didn’t want to keep going?

Anyway, a series of harsh judgments just from my first attempt at work. I say this with all sincerity: I have immense respect for people who work in construction, landscaping, and other jobs that face Miami’s extreme climate daily. The heat and sun make those tasks feel like punishment. That was my first experience. My nephew never asked me to help again, and I didn’t offer because it would take time to adapt, and I didn’t want to get in the way of his well-organized workflow.

Then came my second experience, and this one was the total opposite not under the sun, but indoors in freezing temperatures! Hahaha, ironic, right? My brother-in-law recommended me to a staffing agency. Long story short, I worked from 8:00 a.m. to 11:00 p.m. for two or three days, I can’t remember exactly. These agency jobs depend on operational needs. This one involved packaging vegetables and fruits, all kept under controlled cold temperatures. I completed my shifts, got paid, but was never called again. Just like before, people made comments (again, not directly): that I didn’t know what it was like to live here, that I wasn’t ready, that I didn’t want to work, that I wasn’t cut out for it, that I wanted everything easy…

During this time, I never heard a single word of encouragement, just negativity. And let me be clear, I’m not playing the victim. No one bothered to ask how I felt or what I was hoping for. But they sure had time to talk behind my back and openly criticize me. But like they say: time puts everything in its place.

After updating my resume and adapting it to reflect my skills, strengths, and experience, I finally got the opportunity I’d been waiting for. I didn’t really know what I was getting into, but I was about to enter a new world of learning, one I’m proud of… but that’s a story for Chapter 4.


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