November 8, 2019  · MARK REDWINE

This blog is part of a series exploring ministry and need at the U.S./Mexico border. It has been adapted for length from its original publication in Kings River Life Magazine in May of 2019. This account reflects the situation on the Brownsville border at the time of writing. To read the original, click HERE.

The smallest thing can sometimes make the greatest difference in life, especially to those who are losing hope or suffering. Music can be like that. There is a kid’s song from Africa. It is one of those silly songs that started in one region and spread all over the continent. No matter where you went in Africa, no matter what language group, you could hear the kids singing this song. It was a song from Cami’s childhood. One night we were singing songs under the bridge. Cami loves to sing. She tried to sing in Spanish, but it didn’t work very well. So she helped by letting out a call known as a regalia.

I knew some African songs, so later I tried to sing with Cami. I only know Swahili songs and she doesn’t speak Swahili. Then I remembered that kid’s song. I played it for her and when she recognized it her eyes lit up, and we began singing it together. The song has motions to go along with it, and Cami knew them well. She was losing hope under the bridge and was dangerously sick. But this song renewed her hope, along with prayer. Many times during her long wait she lost hope. When she called me, we sang this song together. She always asked me to pray for her, and her hope was restored.

Her African brothers stood guard over her while she waited in a heap at the line to enter the USA to legally ask for asylum. Finally, the guards from the American side let her pass and helped her to the detention center at the base of the bridge. From there, they rushed her to the hospital. She was evaluated, given medicine, and returned to detention. There, they placed her in a very cold room for two days. The immigrants call it the icebox. You are given a blanket that looks like a piece of tin foil, you only get bologna sandwiches to eat, and you are kept awake and harassed by the guards. The object is to dehumanize you. From there she went to Port Isabel Detention Center, which is a maximum-security facility. It is no place for a refugee. She couldn’t understand what the guards wanted because they gave commands in Spanish, and she experienced racism. Then, she was transferred to T. Don Hutto Residential Center. Hutto, a detention center for women, is a paradise compared to Port Isabel. There were many Cameroonian women there, and Cami made good friends. She had her own room with a bathroom. There, she would have three trials to determine her asylum plea.

The first hearing is to determine if there is credible fear. But it has to be the right type of fear: escaping death from gangs is different than escaping death by a government. The second is to determine if there is enough evidence to proceed to a final trial. The third trial is to determine if asylum would be granted.

While Cami was still under the bridge, a team from Oklahoma visited us and helped feed the asylum seekers. One of the women on the team, Lauren, made a powerful connection with Cami and an unbreakable bond was formed. She became Cami’s sponsor, and Cami asked a friend’s attorney to help her through all of the legal processes.

Gathering evidence for Cami would be difficult because it needed to come from Cameroon. Her husband and family were there, but they were being watched by the government. The family believed she was dead. The government believed she was still alive and in country. The police and the soldiers were putting a lot of pressure on her family to give information on her whereabouts.

My part in all of this was to encourage Cami and to help her not get lonely. Since the detention center was too far away for me to visit, I called all of my friends in near there and asked them to visit her. One couple, Tom and Linda, are now her American grandmother and grandfather. They would sing together in the visiting room for hours. Many times, when she was discouraged, she would call me and we would sing that song and pray. The last time she called, she said that she felt a deep change in her spirit and knew for sure that God was in control of her life and situation.

 Lauren was able to contact her husband in Cameroon. But gaining his trust took a while. He wanted to believe Cami was alive but was afraid that the contact from Lauren was a ploy from the government to trap him. He needed proof of life, and the only proof he was willing to accept was hearing her voice. That proved to be difficult—no recording devises are allowed in the facility. Cami’s attorney suggested that she call Lauren and have record that conversation for proof of life. Lauren sent the recording to Cami’s husband, and when he heard the recording, he said, “Now my mind is at peace.” Then he sent pictures of himself, the kids, and a sister to pass along to Cami. This made Cami happy beyond all measure. The situation for him and the family was growing more dangerous by the day.

Cami passed her second hearing, and the time for the final trial had arrived. Lauren arrived early and meet Cami’s lawyer for the first time; he wanted to prep them both for testimony. But then they discovered that Lauren would not be allowed in the courtroom. She sat in the lobby waiting and praying. Every time the door opened, she looked for Cami’s lawyer. It felt like it must have opened a hundred times. Finally, he appeared, answering her unspoken question: “She was given asylum.” After Lauren was done hugging him, she asked him to put his bill in her name. He simply replied, “What bill?” The generosity brought her to tears. It was late afternoon, too late to finish all of the paperwork for Cami’s release that day. The next day, Cami and her best friend were released together. Lauren drove them to Dairy Queen. From what I hear, their first experience with the soda machine was memorable—I can barely work one of those myself.

Later, after they dropped off the friend, Cami called her family. This was the first time they had a conversation in nearly a year. Lauren said that there were shrieks of joy, laughter, and that everyone came running to hear the miracle of her voice. She goes on to say this, “And her children! The sweet sound of children calling out to their mom! At that moment, sitting in my car, in a hotel parking lot, as she spoke to her family……that moment made it all worth it.”

Since then, Cami has been able to video call her family. Lauren said, “Just last night, she was able to talk with her mom. Mom had been skeptical about of her being alive, but after talking to her through relayed phones, she finally believes!” Her father died of a broken heart while she was traveling.

Welcome to America, Cami.

Mark and Marilyn Redwine are voluntary Nazarene missionaries in Brownsville, Texas which is right on the border with Mexico. They have been ministering the love of Jesus to the people there for the last nine years. They have two ministries, both of which are to the most marginalized. One is to the people living in generational poverty, and the other is to asylum seekers. Learn more about their ministry on their Facebook page.