Diego

They killed him.

Some ten years or so ago I found myself in the Antigua market where Marielos, one of Alex’s other women and the mother of three children, had a stall selling hair trinkets. A small boy with a big smile, about eight or nine years old, came out from behind her. I asked who he was, and she smiled and said that he was mi nene, her son, and that his name was Diego. I was startled as I had believed Alex’s story that Marielos was taking care of a nephew whose parents had been assassinated in the capital. Yet another lie. Quite obviously Alex’s machismo would not allow him to consider that his most recent esposa had ever been with another man.

A few days later there was an end of the school year event for Cristofer and Mishell. Marielos, Diego and one of his aunts came. Diego knew about ten English words and made a point of using all ten with me. My immediate impression was that the boy was looking to be rescued. A survival technique always in the minds of many Guatemalans is to befriend a gringo/gringa as the assumption is that they are all extremely rich which is seldom the case. But to those with few resources any gringo has possibilities.

I started seeing more of Diego along with his two siblings, half-siblings as they were. Diego has a blank space on his birth certificate where a father’s information would normally be. So, no father of record. Years later Diego told me that he used to see his paternal grandfather but that his birth father was deceased. He has fond memories of his grandfather. The last time he saw him he promised to bring Diego some toys the next time they were together. But, as Diego told me recently, “They killed him.”

Diego assumed a parental role with his younger siblings at a very young age. Or, perhaps it was imposed upon him. He was five when Cristofer was born and Mishell came along a year or so later.  He prompted the two to say “gracias,” to look both ways crossing the street and a whole lot more. One day we went together to collect Cristofer from a birthday party. It was cold. Diego took off his jacket and put it on his little brother.

Diego, aged ten, looking after Cris and Mishell.

As Cris and Mishell were then enrolled in a decent school, I asked Marielos about Diego’s school. She started crying and told me that she was behind in her payments so they would not pass him to the fifth grade. She further said that while the school had been good in the past, she did not feel that Diego was learning much. It was about one hundred dollars that she owed so with that settled I went about trying to find a better school for Diego. The school that Mishell and Cris attended did not then offer the fifth grade.

A friend recommended a nearby bilingual school. The Cuban director, who was not bilingual, indicated that Diego would need to take a battery of tests to determine his level. A few days later I left him at the school for the tests. When I returned, he was looking hopelessly at a written English test. The director then told the two of us that Diego could not enter the school for his lack of English. Diego burst into tears and ran out of the room. In my fairly broken Spanish, I suggested to the director that we talk. I explained Diego’s situation, how he felt solely responsible for his mother and two siblings and that she had just kicked him in the teeth for his lack of English. And how was he going to learn English if she wouldn’t admit him to the school. She relented and agreed that Diego could attend the school as an unregistered student for the year. She would place him in a third-grade classroom with an American teacher and his only objective would be to learn English. And that he did.

The following year Diego was allowed to be registered as a fifth-grade student. The school was mediocre at best and very dependent on massive amounts of homework which set Diego up for failure as there was no one in his home who could help him. He struggled especially with math as he clearly did not have a good math foundation. At the end of the sixth grade, I was told that Diego had failed math and could not return to the school as they did not allow students to repeat grades. I was thrilled as that failure meant that Diego could move to the same school as his siblings as they would be having the sixth grade for the first time.

Diego flourished at the new school where homework was done during class time and teachers were available to help. His math improved as did his English. There were, however, ongoing problems at home where Diego and his siblings lived with his mother, grandparents, one aunt and one uncle.

By this time Alex and been arrested and Marielos had moved from an apartment she had shared with Alex back in with her parents. The four of them had one small room with two beds. Periodically, Diego complained of stomach pains and had to be treated for gastritis. He confessed to being worried about having to be homeless and living on the street.

One Friday the three kids arrived at my house from school. Mishell said cheerfully, “my mom says we have to stay here for a while. I brought my clothes.”  My head reeling, I messaged my attorney with the subject “abandoned children” and told the kids that we should go to the grocery store and buy some cornflakes. Cornflakes and red wine.

The attorney quickly drew up a power of attorney and had the mother sign it. This, she explained, would give me some protection though the law stated that I should contact social services who would have taken the children away and put them in separate foster homes. Essentially destroying them.

There were several versions of what was going on. One was that Marielos was not paying any rent at the family home thus, she had been told to leave. Another was that she had borrowed money that she had no intention of repaying, and the family was being threatened by someone who had just gotten out of prison and perhaps was not afraid of returning.

Whatever the reason a few weeks later the children went to an aunt’s house with their clothing in garbage bags. A few weeks after that they moved back to the grandparents’ house because of problems with their cousins. Shortly thereafter, the grandparents sold their house to pay off the debts incurred by Marielos and a sister. Marielos and her children ended up in a house rented for the grandparents by their oldest son who lives, undocumented, in the Los Angeles area.

Along the way Diego, who has always had a keen interest in technology, started doing some volunteer work for Mundo Posible, a non-profit that distributes educational resources to rural schools without internet.

Diego showing people how to connect their devices to Mundo Posible’s offerings..

In 2017 Diego received an award from the Internet Society for his volunteer work with Mundo Posible. He was flown to Los Angeles where he met twenty-five other young people like himself from all over the world who were using the internet to make a difference.

Diego began spending more time at my house. No doubt the internet signal was a factor. Shortly, before the pandemic began, he told me that we needed to talk. He said that before his grandmother died a year or so earlier, she had confessed to one of his aunts that her husband was not the father of Marielos, Diego’s mother. After the grandmother passed away the aunt had told the rest of the siblings and the California resident son who was supporting his father’s household decided that Marielos and her children needed to go. Month after month she contributed nothing and left it to the rest of the family to feed her children. Diego told me that he had been put in charge of Cris and Mishell and he asked me if they could come and live in my house.

A few days later I drove to the family home and the two kids piled into my car with their worldly goods in two backpacks each. They were happy and laughing. I was confused. No one from the family had appeared to see them off or to thank me for giving them a place to live.

A few days later the Covid-19 lockdown began, and the children did not see their mother again for the better part of a year. No one knew where she was living or with whom. One evening Diego sobbed for the better part of an hour saying only, “I am fine.” Mishell barely spoke to me for about a year and Cristofer, very matter of factly, said, “my mom said we would have a better life with you.”

At this writing the three do spend time with their family, including their mother. Mishell talks to me now, even smiles and laughs but spends endless time on her phone with her mother. Cristofer declined for a long while to spend time with his mother but now does so occasionally.

Diego is almost twenty-one, so his life is about his friends and his plans to attend IE University in Madrid in September where he will study business administration. He does worry about leaving his siblings but with today’s technology he will be able to talk to them on a daily basis.

Whomever Diego’s father was he left him with some good genes. He is a nice, charming, caring, and respectful fellow with a quick wit. He is completely bilingual and bicultural which should serve him well in his university studies and beyond.

After he graduates from university Diego will likely face a hard dilemma. Perhaps with a job offer in Spain or an offer of marriage to a rich Spanish girl, which we joke about, Diego will be able to stay in Spain where his future might be a lot brighter than if he returns to Guatemala. Staying in Spain, however, would mean losing touch with his beloved maternal (sort of) grandfather, his mother and his siblings.

Whatever path the universe provides for Diego it is very unlikely that he will ever have to hire a coyote and become a migrante. He has made the leap!

Spain, si.