I remembered very few moments between airplanes. Extreme fatigue prevented me from taking in any of my surroundings. All I could think about was meeting a new part of my family. My blood, my origins, on the other side of the globe, and I didn’t even know their names. I’d heard countless stories of them visiting in the past, and all I could recall was that I had a godfather whom I’d never met, and he lived over 5,000 miles away. 

I was told stories of their previous visits to the U.S. and their current struggles in attempting to visit now.

I thought back to the dreaded 13-hour plane ride, during which I could not catch a wink of sleep, but instead, spent hours staring into blank space without a care in the world. 

We left the airport and began traveling toward what I could only guess to be our family. I was not concerned about learning or taking in the world around me. I was more focused on finding cell service for my phone. After many hopeless efforts in finding service, I stopped caring and drifted off to sleep.

After a short nap, I opened my eyes wearily and found myself in awe of the diabolical nightmare I’d discovered myself in. The prison-like bars on each window reminded me of the documentaries and TV shows that were meant to scare bad kids straight. As I continued to look around, I realized that this devilish nightmare was not a dream, but a horrifying reality for many.

I began to think of home. I imagined my past struggles for the newest iPhone, but I never struggled to find a sturdy roof to sleep under. I remembered the desire for the newest Xbox each Christmas, not the worry about having money for food each night.

I had memories of asking my parents for expensive things, like nice shoes or a TV in my room. Although, now I see how the money spent on items like this could have been spent on necessities for people who live in the neighborhood I'd found myself in. 

Poverty had grasped this population to the extent that people had opened little stores and sold things through the bars on their windows in the struggle to make ends meet.

I saw what I can only describe as prison. Walls topped with shattered glass because the people of Mendoza, Argentina, lived in fear that the few things they owned would be taken.

The car I had been traveling in stopped. The area we had stopped in seemed familiar, like the one my father showed me in pictures.

Until this moment, everything felt so unreal — I did not feel as if I was living the nightmare. But then, I saw figures begin to approach, and I was frozen with fear. The nightmare had suddenly become a reality.

The group of people advanced diligently toward us. I sank low in my seat, desperately trying to hide my face in the hopes that they would turn back.

Their pursuit became evident as the strangers got extremely close to our parked car and stared me in the eye — although their stares did not seem to have any aggression behind them. Their faces seemed familiar, even though I had never seen them before. Warm, welcoming smiles were presented as they embraced us. All of the fear faded. Then I realized, these were the ones — my family. They didn’t seem petrified, but comfortable and happy in this environment that was so new to me. 

Their faces were new, but still seemed familiar, like those of my family in the U.S. 

“Hola primo,” said my father. There was no response but simply a warm embrace.

My father spoke to whom I would later know as Tio Herman. He is my godfather, but I had never met him until this point. For my father, this was a reunion with family members whom he had not seen in a while, but for me, I got to meet new people. 

I was still petrified of the environment we had found ourselves in, although the presence of family had calmed my previous stress.

I was in awe of how the presence of family in the worst environment could lighten my mood.

Our family invited us into their home, and as we entered, the scary outside world faded. The home was so inviting that inside it was easy to forget that on the other side of the wall was a country suffering from poverty.

I think back to sitting on the sofa with my family, whom I would soon get close to, and I now remember how their words comforted me and allowed me to relax while in a horrifying environment.