When you were growing up, did you know that your dad’s activities with NHP could lead to his deportation?

I was aware of what was going on, but I didn’t know how far it could go. I didn’t know about deportation or green cards or none of that — I just knew I was Hispanic, growing up in a Hispanic house that acted like black people. A green card would never even come up in our house, even though it was full of people who need them. But it got thrown in my face.

After ICE took him into custody, how long did you have to wait to hear from him?

A couple of days after he was taken in. I didn’t think he was going to get deported, but he knew he was going to get deported. I was talking to him so much when he was in ICE. That shit was lowkey cooler than prison. ICE was more lenient about phone calls and visits. One thing about me is that I never go see someone when they’re down. My uncle has been in jail a long time. He’s my best friend, and I’ve never gone to see him. I can’t. I don’t want to look at my homies through glass. I never went to visit my dad when he was in ICE. Even when my homies get shot, I don’t want to go see them in the hospital. I don’t like seeing my people down. But I make sure that my uncle is straight. Matter of fact, today is his birthday.

But I don’t like to see people when they’re down. When my dad was in ICE, everybody that went to see him sent my love. He just knew I was always on my shit. I never let nothing block what I was doing. Even with all of the bullshit, I was like, “I could be mad and sad about it, but it’s not going to get none of us anywhere.” I knew that I had to be the person who took my family out of this hell hole.

How long was your dad in custody before being deported?

Until 2015. He appealed, like, three times. When they finally deported him, we were like, “Is he going to make it off that plane?” When you go to El Salvador, MS-13 is waiting for you fresh off the plane. That was our biggest concern as a family. Even when he got to my grandpa’s, they had to hide him away. As soon as he got there, my grandpa called like, “He’s here.” That was the best feeling. Knowing him, though, he wants to get back here.

When he got off the plane, he got jumped.

He got his ass whooped and then they left him alone, which was perfectly fine with him. He kept telling us, “I’m going to go to Mexico. I don’t know how, but I’m going to get there.” He told us the day he was leaving, “There’s something strange going on around me. I’m in the middle of nowhere. I’m going to figure it out, though.” He got on a fucking raft with a Guatemalan chick and I guess she knew the way. He’s a Mexican citizen now, which is fine with him. I’m fitting to get him a big ass house out there.

When I visit him, we’re just about smiling. We don’t want to see each other down. I went out there so we could sit down and let people talk to him. We always had a relationship. We DM on Instagram all damn day. We send voice messages back-to-back. We talk. He’s always been in my life, even when he was out of it. When I saw him, I got to feel his presence. We didn’t even talk that much about shit — we just sat next to one another.

