Tag Archives: Eva

Phone Call – By Nelson/Roberto

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May 1982

Shortly after Eva saw our mother for the last time, my mother urged my grandmother to take the children and move to Costa Rica where they would be safer. In 1980, Mama Chila packed up the family to live with my aunt Vilma who had been in Costa Rica since 1978. Mama Chila brought with her Vilma’s two children Evelyn and Jacqueline. As well as Ana’s two children Eva and Ernesto. I had not been born yet and our father Luis was in Cuba recovering from the bullet wound.

Earlier that year, Vilma had married a man named Eduardo who was the son of her employer. It was not the best arrangement since Eduardo did not treat Vilma well and occasionally threatened to deport her is she ever left him. Mama Chila and Vilma both worked during the day to provide for the children. Eduardo who was not as ambitious and stayed around the house most of the day.

They didn’t hear much from Luis or Ana. Because of the war it was very hard to send messages. Ana wrote occasionally and the messages where usually delved in person by someone who was involved with the revolution. It had been a few months since Ana had last written. Then one day something weird happened. They received a phone call. Ana never called because it was much to dangerous. Mama Chila and Vilma were both out but Eduardo took the call.

Eduardo sits at home watching TV. Its about 3:30 in the afternoon. My aunt Vilma and grandmother Mama Chila have not come home from work yet. Eduardo lazily flips through the channels waiting for the two of them to come so he can eat. Just then the phone rings. He glances over at it wondering if he should bother picking it up. Reluctantly he stands and wonders over to the phone.

“Hello?”

“Hello…is this Eduardo?” an agitated voice replies on the other side.

A little surprised by tone of her voice he replies “Yes…who is this?”

“Its Vilma’s sister Mila” She says nervously

“Mila! How are you? We haven’t herd from you in so lo…”

Ana interrupts him “Eduardo I’m sorry but I don’t have much time. Is my mother there its really important.”

Slightly annoyed by being cut off he replies “No they haven’t returned home from work yet but they should be home soon. You should call back later.”

“No there is no time can you give her a message” She is even more nervous now as someone is yelling in the background.

“Yes of course, whats wrong?” Eduardo questions.

“They found us I don’t know how.” she sounds scared now “I have to go. Tell mama chila I love her and…” she pauses slightly “tell her to take care of my kids…”

The phone clicks and Eduardo not knowing what to make of this stands for a second listening to the dial tone. He hangs up the phone, puzzled by what just happened and sits back down to watch TV.

Sometimes I wonder what it must have taken to make that phone call. She must have known when she made the call she would never see her children again. I can’t even imagine what that must have been like.

That would be the last thing we ever herd from Ana. We never knew what happened to her after that and most likely we never will.

Tip of my tongue – by Nelson/Roberto

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June 1998

“Roberto, levanate” my father says as he nudges me awake.

Its 5:30 in the morning and its still dark out. My flight home leaves in a few hours so I have to wake up and get ready. Sleepily I rub my eyes, yawn and head towards the kitchen. I’m greeted by Gerardo and his wife who promptly start asking me about breakfast. Being so early and my due to the little Spanish I know, all I can do is stair blankly. Picking up on this they try again.

“Cerial?” Gerardo questions. I nod. “Pan…bread?”

“Si” say while fighting back another yawn.

My father says something. He mentions Eva. I perk up a little. I haven’t seen her since December when we first met. I think he says that her and Roy will be at the airport.

Time to get ready. I showered and pack up and drag my bags out to the car. The sun is up now and the air is still cool but it’s getting warmer.

Its about a 30 minuet drive to the airport so I take out my CD player. I’m always listening to music whenever I travel. This time its The Notorious B.I.G.’s Life after death album. As we drive a long I start to think about camp and how I will be there in two days. “You must be crazy” I think to my self. I’m traveling over 3,000 miles in 4 days. Yesterday morning I was in panama and spent the day in a buss on there way to Costa Rica. Later today I will be back in Boston. Tomorrow I will be packing for camp and Sunday Will be my first day as a Counselor In Training.

Maybe I shouldn’t have missed the week of staff training…oh well nothing I can do now. What could possibly go wrong anyway?

We’re here. I jump out of the van and look around…no Eva yet. We unload my luggage and find a place to sit. It is a beautiful day. The warm air is intoxicating and makes me not want to leave. But then I remember its summer back home too and we’ll probably have more weather like this.

Just then a car pulls up. Its Eva! not a moment too soon either, because its almost time to check in. We all hug and Roy starts chatting away with my dad and Gerardo.

Out of the corner of my eye, I glance at my sister timidly. She must have seen me because she takes my hand and places it on her stomach. She smiles and says something in the best Spanglish she can muster. I’m not really listening, all I can think of how weird this pregnancy thing is. My sister is the first person I can remember that’s been pregnant. She is due any day now and her stomach is huge. I move my hand long her brown dress. No kicks, I’m a little disappointed.

I pull my hand back and look up at her. She smiles knowingly. I smile back thinking how grown up and mature she looks. There is something about her, something familiar in those eyes.

Its time to go now. We kiss, hug and say goodbye. I want to tell her something but I don’t know what. Its like the words are there, on the tip of my tongue but I don’t know how to say them. So I just stood there, looking at her. Someone I want to know but can’t. It wouldn’t be until three years later that I would realize what I saw that day.

Part 2: My origins, how I was separated – by Nelson/Roberto

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With the introduction of my birth family came the information of my past and the story of my life.

My story begins even before I was born. My birth father and mother where around 20. My father had been influenced by high school teachers to join the revolutionary movement in El Salvador. Soon after he began his work he met my other Ana Milgro Escobar. Despite objections from her family she joined the movement as well. They were married shortly after in a ceremony of arms.

The group they were a part of the was called the FPL which was one of the sub groups that made up the FLMN. My father was a body guard to the head of the FPL while my mother worked to coordinate the different cells. (In the war people worked in smaller groups called cells. If one cell was captured it did not know enough to give away any information.) This was a very important potion for my mother who had just turned 20.

Later that year, my father was in a gunfight somewhere in the mountains of El Salvador. He was shot inches away from his heart. He spend 3 long days in hiding barely hanging on to life. If one of his brothers had not given him blood he would have surely died.

He was taken to Nicaragua for surgery. He managed to survive the operation but needed a second one to remove the bullet. This required him to go to Cuba. After four months in Cuba he had not gotten the operation and returned to Nicaragua to see my mother. At this point, my brother and sister had been sent to live in Costa Rica with my Grandmother. It was around this time that I was born. My mother and I lived in El Salvador for three month before it became unsafe to live there anymore.

My mother was supposed to meet up with my father in Costa Rica, but it never happened. She was reassigned on a new mission. She and two other men kidnapped a businessman in Honduras. We lived in a safe house for a few months, but the Honduran government found out where she was living. They stormed the house and killed my mother and the two men. This was three days before my first birthday. The police found me in a back room with two other little girls.

They did not know what to do with us so we were put in an orphanage. I stayed there for a whole year before I was adopted. They put sever notices in the paper saying that if any was missing children or knew the who we were they should come forward and claim us. No one came forward and after a year in the orphanage I was adopted.

Around this time my birth father had found out that his wife had been killed and his son was missing. He was furious at certain people within the FPL because they would not let him look for me or give him any information. Disillusioned he left the revolution and warned around Central America. He ended up in Panama where he worked 2 jobs only to earn $20 in a month. One of these jobs was doing silk screening. Think that he could do that on his own he set off to make a better life. He remarried and was able to create a stable business for him and his family.

Through a friend he learned that I had been adopted to a family in America. He began thinking about coming to America to look for me. However he had no idea where I lived so it would be impossible to find me.

In 1992 my grandmother began her search to find me. It took her a year to find an organization that would help her. An organization called Probusqueda spent four more years going though newspapers and whatever government documents they could get their hands on trying to find me. They finally completed their research in 1997 after doing an Internet search to find our phone number. We where contacted by a man working for the Physicians for Human Rights and given a copy of all their findings. After a blood test confirmed that they were my family we made arrangements to meet them during Christmas.

Part 1: The adoption, a leap of faith and a miracle reunion.

Holocaust Museum – by Nelson/Roberto

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Today I went to the Holocaust Museum in Washington DC. If you have not gone to a museum about the Holocaust then it is something I would recommend doing. It’s a very emotional experience. A lot of people have learned about it school and know about the death camps and other horrible things that took place. However you don’t really understand what all that meant until you see some of the images in person. Even then I could not even imagine being there in person and what those people must have gone through.

This was not my first time going to this museum. I had been once before on a school trip in 8th grade. I feel like it meant a lot more. When I went last time it was a really different experience. I was having a bad day so I kind of walked trough it with out taking it in. I also think this time I had more of a connection to it because of what happened to my family. In 8th grade I had not met my family yet and I did not know anything about the war in El Salvador.

While what happened in Germany does not compare to the things that happened in my country I think there are still parallels. For example we had secret police and paramilitary squads death. Some of them would punish supporters of the revolution by steeling their children. Thankfully what happened in my country was not as horribly brutal as what happened during the Holocaust.

I think the most moving part was the hearing the survivors talking about there experiences. They told stories about walking days on end while taking turns sleeping. People being left for dead on the side of the road because they could not carry on. One women had to step on the bodies of the dead to escape a death camp. As they spoke you could see the determination they had to a live and to make it. I truly admire them for that. You could see the pain on there faces as they recalled everything they had been through. I’ve seen that look on my own father’s face as he recalled his experiences in war.

One main cried as he described how he had to leave a 10 year old boy with a farmer. The little boy was to weak to walk with him and the farmer would take of him. The boy didn’t want to leave him and asked why the Nazis were doing this to him. All the man could say is because you are circumcised and Jewish. You could see the choke back the tears as the emotions came flooding in.

That is something I have experienced before. When the pain of memory comes rushing back and it takes everything you have to fight it. Some of my own experiences have been painful enough so I can’t even imagine what he went through.

I think how horrible this was all was and how horrible war is. I think many people don’t realized the way it tears families a part. No matter what side you are on. I’m just lucky that even after everything that happened to us we were able to find each other again and rebuild.

I have to say I am proud of my parents for fighting. They sacrificed so much and they stood up for what they believed in. One of the reasons the Holocaust happened was people did not stand up to the government. They saw an injustice and did not stand by let it happen. People like them and others who stand up for what they believe in make this world a better place.

I also know that its easy now look back now and say that they did the right thing by standing up to the government but I’m sure at the time it was not so easy to pick right from wrong. So like my sister said I don’t think my parents would have done this unless they believed it was the right thing to do.

One of the survivors said something that stuck out in my mind. She said the dead are not here to tell their story and that even the survivors will not be here one day. I that one reason I am writing this. My mother is not here to tell us her story. So by telling mine she won’t be forgotten.

A Little bit of Mama Chila – by Mireya

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Mamá Chila is my grandmother, as my cousin Eva said she’s really a loving and caring, Mother and Grandmother. So delicate and small, with wrinkles from all the hard blows she had received in her life. But every time she has known how to rise above it, how to get trough it. She’s a leader, she always has been the center of the family and the motor who move it. So it was hard for me as a granddaughter to see such a powerful women, fall into the deepest of sadness. This happened when her great-grandchild was killed. I’m talking about Renecito, a beautiful, smart and healthy kid, who’s tragic death brought the family together. At the funeral, I saw a different Mamá Chila. She was in a deep thought.

Probably remembering the death of her son René, whom as fate would have it died in similar circumstances. That day I thought that she would become ill and I feared that she could not live with that suffering. The days following, while Renecito’s mother Eugenia, was recovering Mamá Chila was so sad. Deep in thought as if she was looking for an reason it happened. As if she was wanting to find the meaning of it all. Trying to turn back time and erase all the pain. Once Eugenia, was back from the hospital, resting and recovering, Mamá Chila began recovering too. Her vitality, energy and happiness returned. I never really lived with my grandmother before.

The last time was when we traveled to Costa Rica all those years ago to meet my cousin Roberto. This time I got to spend more time with her, so I could get to know her a little more. Once again I saw a strong, tenacious woman, who wakes up at 6 in the morning even on Sundays, and she fall sleep at 7 at night. As I said in the beginning, she is the foundation of our family. We all have a little piece of her inside us. I can´t imagine my life with anyone other than Mamá Chila.

They Never Forgot – by Nelson/Roberto

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2001 was a really hard year for me. I had finished my first year and half in college and hadn’t done very well. Every course I took I was on the verge of failing even though I tried very hard in some of my classes it just wasn’t enough. I decided to transfer schools because I just couldn’t keep up. I felt like I was failing out. I had pledged in a fraternity and while it probably didn’t help academically it was my saving grace socially. I had lost touch with everything I liked to do. I was missing Carolina, my love interest all the time, and I just wanted to go see her again. Our relationship was a little…dysfunctional to say the least and it was really getting to me. Not only did she live in another country but she had a boyfriend. Sometimes I wonder what I was thinking. Needless to say it was not an easy time for me.

I went down to panama as usual for Christmas. I was really down and my family could tell. They tried to cheer me up as best they could but nothing really worked.

One night I was sitting outside looking at the star and my stepmother Miriam came to talk with me. We talked about some of the stuff we I was going through. Between her broken English and my broken Spanish I’m surprised we talked about as much as we did. She sat there dictionary in hand and comforted me as best she could.

I’m not exactly sure what we were talking about but I remember her telling me how much my family cared for me. She said Eva, Toto and Estefany grew up knowing about their brother who had been lost. Luis had learned through some friends that I had been adopted to America. He had no idea where in America but he was saving money to come look for me. Those words cut right through me and I broke down…they never forgot about me. Even though I was lost for 15 years they never forgot. I was completely overwhelmed by that.

I’m not sure why it meant so much to me and why it still does. Maybe it has to do with being adopted. One question that I think every adopted child asks him or her self at some point is why was I given up? Even if the situation was for the best you can’t help but feel like you were forgotten. So hearing those words was like an answer of my payers or something. I have no way of describing it.

Even now as I sit here reading my sister post about how my grandmother never stopped looking for me I’m overwhelmed by a feeling I can only describe as joy. However that does not even come close to the feelings that I have. To never be forgotten. There are no words. I have to be one of the luckiest people in the world. So many people are neglected and forgotten about. Not only did I have a wonderful family here in America but I also had a family in Central America that never stopped thinking about me, never stopped looking, and never stopped caring.

No matter how lost I was to them or even to myself they never EVER forgot about me…