Albergue Casa Hogar occupies an unassuming storefront on the Libre Comercio in Ojinaga, wedged between a home goods store and a gas station on the central thoroughfare that becomes the highway to Chihuahua City. Though the entrance is always locked and bars block every window and door, a sign posted assures visitors that the facility is open 24 hours and advises to ring the bell.
Behind tall walls, Casa Hogar is home to roughly 30 children, and over the course of its 35-year existence, has provided shelter to countless — mostly orphans, some with troubled families, and in more recent years, a consistent stream of young migrants waylaid on their journeys north.
Last Monday afternoon, I paid a visit to Casa Hogar, accompanied by my friend and frequent partner in community service and activism, Ramon Rodriguez Aranda. We bore with us a carload of eggs, fruit, ground meat, rice, beans, and so on — in response to a request for support that Ramon had received from Casa Hogar’s director, Karely Gonzalez Vasquez, a couple days prior.
At the gate, we were warmly greeted by Nohemi Lujan Chavez, presidenta of Albergue Casa Hogar de Chihuahua AC, the Mexican entity that operates and supports the orphanage. As we unloaded our gifts, Nohemi introduced us to one young migrant, Gerardo, whose story we had come to hear.
A slight 16-year-old from the state of Guerrero, Gerardo sticks out among the young children in the dining hall. No longer a boy but not quite a man, he offers a respectable handshake and squints his eyes when he smiles. Unlike other migrants at Casa Hogar, Gerardo is not looking to head north – he spent the last two years living with his cousin and working in Midland, Texas. Gerardo came to Casa Hogar by way of ICE. With Ramon serving as translator, he laid out that story as follows:
In mid-July, the restaurant where he worked as a cook was raided by the Midland PD and he was arrested for being undocumented. He spent two days and two nights at the Midland County Jail, where he slept on the floor due to overcrowding. Without appearing before a judge, he was handed over to ICE, who drove him, along with two Venezuelan men, in an unmarked truck to the Presidio-Ojinaga International Bridge and handed them over to the Mexican authorities.
Because he was a minor, he was not sent on to Chihuahua City with the others. Nohemi explained that he will reside at Casa Hogar for a minimum of three weeks up to one year, at which point either the Mexican government coordinates his return home, or his family manages to cobble together the funds to come get him. In the meantime, for his own protection, he is not allowed to leave.
The room where the young male migrants sleep is painted an electric shade of light green. Gerardo slouches in the doorway, alongside another migrant he appears to have befriended. Nohemi points out that the drywall on the south wall is littered with penetrations; the teenagers have been releasing their energy and frustration by punching and kicking it. Unbothered, she assures us that they always repair it.
And so life in the orphanage bears a sisyphean quality for a young man who was once emboldened to look for a better life in a foreign land. Nohemi has kindly enrolled him in a baking course. She tells us they want to help Gerardo — and all of the children — achieve their dreams. Her rousing conviction requires no translation.
Nohemi informs us that Casa Hogar has no monthly budget and subsists solely on donations. Everyone working there is a volunteer. Food is scarce at times and the buildings are badly in need of improvement, but those ambitions require funding that they do not currently have.
As we are talking, Nohemi flips through a spiral notebook that serves as their monthly log. The list of migrants’ names is kept distinct from the orphans’. The youngest they ever received she guessed was eight months old. That was five years ago. The circumstances are unknowable, but they suspect the parents were lost in the river.
With Gerardo’s arrival comes a new concern — is he an anomaly or the first of many? And in the case of the latter, how many more will there be?
Driving back to the bridge, Ramon and I start to process what we have learned. The so-called One Big Beautiful Bill Act allocates $29.9 billion for immigration enforcement and deportations alone, part of a four-year, $75 billion federal investment in ICE. Can it be that the end game of this investment is to foist vulnerable youth on the charity of our neighbors? To be fed from the allotment of orphans?
We do not know the information that precipitated the raid on Gerardo’s workplace. However, I have since scoured Midland news for reports of a criminal enterprise exposed by a recent police raid on a local restaurant, to no avail.
We do know as a matter of lived experience that there is no lack of individuals and businesses — in our remote communities in West Texas and around the state — who wouldn’t be pleased to employ a hard-working young immigrant. What might one imagine is the collective return on having local Texas law enforcement spend their time and resources raiding Mexican restaurants? The realities of this cruel and expensive policy defy not only our common humanity but basic common sense.
“Welcome to the new USA.”
Home at the end of the day — that’s what my husband has to say when I deliver an emotional report. The comment grates on my nerves because his sarcasm minimizes what I see as the moral tragedy at the core of Gerardo’s story.
At Casa Hogar, as Ramon and I said our goodbyes, we caught sight of a recent addition to the paved courtyard where the children play — a black pleather punching bag suspended from the shade structure; and boxing mitts, discarded on the ground. Nohemi offered an unnecessary explanation, and we shared a brief laugh.
As I’ve mulled over this experience in the days since, I keep thinking about Nohemi’s conviction when she spoke about Gerardo and how she wanted to support him towards achieving his dreams. I can’t help but see her display of concern in contrast to the indifference with which his American dream has been so abruptly terminated.
For those who believe that the Promise of America — the promise of freedom, refuge, and equal opportunity — is an entitlement only ever intended for certain citizens of this country, I would hold out Gerardo’s story as a testament to their success.
There are also those who believe that the Promise of America is a legacy of ideals that Americans uphold, if imperfectly. We have done this in the past not just for our benefit but for the universal good because these ideals have the potential to inspire others and lift up even those who may never see our borders. In that case, I fear we have come to a moment in history when the burden of our nation’s Promise falls on humbler shoulders.
Casa Hogar would appreciate the public’s support. They have a Facebook page where one can follow their news: www.facebook.com/alberguecasahogar.ojinaga/ Checks can be mailed to Albergue Casa Hogar de Chihuahua AC, PO Box 1705 Presidio, Texas 79845. Bank information is available on request.
Casa Hogar Orphanage Inc. is a West Texas-based 501(c)3 organization devoted to supporting the orphanage. They can accept U.S. tax-deductible donations. Their website is casahogarorphanage.com
The Democratic Party of Presidio County has set up a gofundme to help Casa Hogar and another migrant shelter in Ojinaga in the purchase of much-needed air conditioning units, and information about that can be found on its Instagram: @presidiodemocrats.