Natalia E Contreras

Corpus Christi

KINGSVILLE, Texas — Two hours — a 100-mile drive — doesn’t seem like a long distance for most people.

But for Maria Hernandez, it's very far away. That's where her family is, in Alamo, Texas.

She left the small town in the Rio Grande Valley, where she grew up — and her family — right after she graduated high school.

And the day she left to attend Texas A&M University-Kingsville, she risked everything.

She risked never being able to return home and travel those two hours to see her family.

She risked the life she created for herself in the United States.

She risked getting detained and deported to Reynosa, Mexico, where she was born. She was undocumented and there's a border checkpoint she'd have to pass through before arriving to her destination.

But Hernandez always knew what she wanted.

More:Dreams on Hold: What will the end of deferred action mean for recipients?

She had dreams of attending college, graduating and having a career. She had dreams of living somewhere different from what she knew.

She wasn’t afraid; she left her home and family in Alamo and made it to Kingsville in 2010.

When she was 4, Hernandez and her siblings were brought to the United States illegally by their grandmother.

And for a young undocumented woman, like Hernandez, following dreams can come with sacrifice.

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Maria Hernandez: End of DACA worries college grad who was detained

Most undocumented immigrants don’t travel for fear of being detained at the multiple checkpoints near the U.S.-Mexico border. They are not qualified to apply for driver’s licenses.

After Hernandez made it to Kingsville, she spent four years without seeing her family.

But her life changed in 2014.

She graduated from TAMUK with a bachelor’s degree in psychology and was approved for the Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals, or DACA, program.

Hernandez is among the about 113,000 active DACA recipients who call Texas their home.

The program — created in 2012 by the Obama administration — provides those who were brought into the U.S. illegally as children a temporary relief from deportation.

The program also gave recipients the ability to work lawfully in the U.S. and a chance to get an ID and driver’s license.

More:What is DACA and who qualifies?

DACA allows the 25-year-old to travel to visit her family, without worry of being detained or even questioned.

”That's actually the best part about having DACA,” she said. “I go back and forth as many times as I want.

"I have that freedom now because it had been years since I’d seen them.”

That could soon change.

But Hernandez's life and the lives of thousands of others like her were shoved into limbo when the Trump administration rescinded the program on Sept. 5.

The announcement came with restrictions.

Anyone who qualified to apply for DACA for the first time would not be able to do so after Sept. 5. And not every DACA recipient was able to apply to renew their work permit for another two years.

President Trump gave Congress a six-month deadline — March 5, 2018 — to come up with a legislative solution for DACA recipients like Maria, who wish to continue to live in the only country they’ve called home.

Fortunately, she was able to renew her work permit, which won't expire until August 2019.

For the past three years since she's had DACA, Hernandez was able to work at as a case specialist at a shelter for unaccompanied minors in Driscoll.

She rents a small one-bedroom apartment in Kingsville, got a driver's license, purchased a car, and adopted a small pup she named 'Mia'.

But on Sept. 17, only a few days after the DACA program ended, what she once feared would happen, happened.

She was detained at a Customs and Border Deportation checkpoint in Sarita, Texas.

Hernandez, her puppy and a friend were headed back to Kingsville from a weekend in Alamo.

What used to be a stop of less than a minute at the checkpoint — about 40 miles south of Kingsville — turned into a more than a two-hour wait this time, she said.

This was the first time Hernandez had been detained by law enforcement.

“After I got DACA every time I’d go through that checkpoint I’d just show my card and they’d be like ‘OK, have a good day’” she said. “And this time they asked me to park the car and to get out.”

Border Patrol agents told Hernandez they needed to “verify her status.”

More:CBP: DACA checkpoint detainments not result of policy change

Maria was confused and did not know why she was being detained if her documentation was valid.

She was told to go inside a small room at the checkpoint with several others who had also been detained that day and she waited to be questioned.

Agents also took Hernandez’s fingerprints and photo.

And as she answered their questions she was able to hear other people's’ answers and cases.

“It was humiliating,” she said.

And although she knew she had done nothing wrong and that she’d be let go, she saw others who weren’t as lucky and were sent to a detention cell.

“I felt that it wasn’t fair that I was detained because they told me they were looking for criminals and to me, that’s very broad,” she said. “But they were targeting DACA and I felt discriminated against.”

And by the time she was detained, there had already been reports of other DACA recipients who were previously detained for similar reasons.

At least 10 DACA recipients were detained on Sept. 11 at the Customs and Border Protection checkpoint in Falfurrias.

Immigration attorneys with RAICES — a nonprofit that helps with free and low-cost legal services to immigrants and refugees in central and South Texas — were not sure why the detainments were happening, even to recipients who have a valid work permit like Hernandez.

Immigration attorney Diana Tafur said the incidents created fear for many in the immigrant communities across Texas.

She said Hernandez's detainment was similar to what some of her clients have experience and urged immigrants to get informed about their rights.

“My clients keep asking ‘what now? What do we do?’ The fear is that law enforcement and immigration officers are not going to respect their valid DACA documents,” Tafur said.

More:Are you a DACA recipient? Know your rights

Knowing her record is clear, Hernandez continues to drive to Alamo every time she gets a chance, although not as often as she used to or would like to.

Now every time she plans a trip, she wonders if she’ll get detained and if she'll be as fortunate to be let go as she was the last time. That thought is constantly in the back of her head.

And before Sept. 5 that never used to happen before, she said.

The last time she made the drive down to Alamo was Nov. 4. It was her mother's 50th birthday and she promised she'd be there.

MEANT TO BE

As soon as she arrived to Alamo, that Saturday morning in November, she made her first stop at her mother, Carlota Palomo's home.

Palomo had been waiting for her daughter's arrival, she cooked late breakfast for her, one of her favorites — chilaquiles, scrambled eggs, beans, and tortillas.

But their mother-daughter relationship wasn't always like this.

Hernandez did not see her mother for several years after her grandmother brought her and her siblings into the U.S. from Reynosa, Mexico.

Palomo endured domestic violence from her husband, Maria's father in Reynosa, Mexico. Knowing the situation, her grandmother, Esther Palomo, decided to get the children out and take them with her where she knew they'd be safe.

Hernandez was raised by her grandmother, who is a naturalized U.S. citizen, and she sees her more as a mother.

Hernandez's childhood wasn't easy. Her grandmother, 76, worked picking fruit and vegetables out in the fields in the summertime would take the children with her.

"I went through hardship growing up. I left home at a young age and I have worked my whole life," Esther Palomo, who is now retired.

"I did all of this alone, I had to feed my kids, and then my grandkids and I have always wanted them to have it better than I ever did, " Palomo said.

So Maria spent her early teenage years traveling across Texas, Oklahoma and New Mexico to work the fields alongside her grandmother, siblings, and cousins.

"My grandmother saved our lives," Hernandez said. "I think in her heart she knew she was doing the right thing by bringing us here and I think that's what any parent would have done."

She also saw her grandmother build her home from the ground up and she taught Maria, her siblings and cousins to always work hard to prove themselves.

“My grandma told us, 'you're undocumented so you need to work hard and prove why you need to stay here,'” Hernandez said. “She said 'the government is not going to give you anything, no one is going to help you so you need to work and fight for yourself.'”

And Hernandez believes these experiences have helped her become who she is.

Although her grandmother is a U.S. citizen, her mother is undocumented and her siblings are both DACA recipients as well.

Without a U.S. citizen parent, sibling or child, there's no path to citizenship for her. DACA is all she has.

"After I turned 18, I was doing some research and read that if my grandmother would have adopted me, then maybe there'd be a way," Hernandez said. "It's too late now."

But she focused on her family.

She now tries to look after her mother — who struggles with diabetes — and has learned to love her as much as she loves her grandmother.

On her mother's 50th birthday, Hernandez cooked a meal for about 30 people, including family members, she had baked a cake, she decorated the house with balloons and made sure her mother felt special.

She bought her mother a brand new birthday outfit and did her hair and makeup.

"My mom is more like my best friend," Hernandez said. "With everything that's going on I am more worried about her and what could happen to her, she worries so much about me."

Carlota Palomo has a hard time understanding why her daughter was detained, she worries about her constantly and always asks her friends to look after her.

"Cuidenla", which means, "look after her" in Spanish is what she tells everyone who travels with Hernandez.

After hearing about the incident in Sarita, Palomo worried so much, she had a stroke.

So, Hernandez tries very hard to make sure her mother knows, things will be OK no matter what.

"(My daughter) is my joy," Palomo said. "Every time I see her I am just so proud. I couldn't be there for her, I didn't give her anything as a child but I think she knows I love her and I pray every day, I pray that she's safe."

Her immigration status, and the announcement of DACA ending, although frustrating, it's hardly discouraging for Hernandez.

She still plans on achieving more in her career, maybe even apply for a job out of state one day.

"I've thought about moving to New Jersey, put everything in my car and go, why not?" she said.

And her ultimate life goal? To obtain her master's degree in bilingual education and help youth get into higher education.

"Everything will fall into place. I believe I was meant to go to Kingsville, I was meant to graduate and get DACA and if it's meant to be, I'll stay here."

DREAMS ON HOLD

The Caller-Times spent several months investigating the impact of the decision to rescind DACA (Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals program).

The Dreams on Hold series explores the potential effects on the economy, our schools, the workforce, our communities and those who relied on the program.

Dreams on Hold: Meet four South Texas DACA recipients

Monica Rocha Alcaraz: Texas woman graduates, owns business with help from deferred action

Claudia Jimenez: Teen's future uncertain after DACA program ends

Ezequiel Rojas Martinez: South Texas father, laborer works on path to citizenship

Maria Hernandez: End of DACA worries college grad who was detained