Migrant woman searches for husband who has vanished, a common occurrence as men struggle to find jobs
By NELL SALZMAN | nsalzman@chicagotribune.com | Chicago Tribune
PUBLISHED: June 9, 2024 at 5:00 a.m. | UPDATED: June 11, 2024 at 3:11 p.m.
Jessica Juma, from Ecuador, cries while sitting on the street where her husband, Angel Mashiant, went missing on May 25 near a Mariano’s in Chicago’s Lakeview neighborhood on June 3, 2024. (Armando L. Sanchez/Chicago Tribune)
During Jessica Juma’s first week of work, her husband disappeared.
For nearly six months, the husband and wife from a rural Ecuadorian town had struggled to find jobs in Chicago. They had gone to clinics and panhandled in front of grocery stores.
But then, the 36-year-old mother found a therapist, who helped soothe her trauma and obtain the right paperwork to work legally. When she was offered a job packing fruits and vegetables at Mariano’s in Lakeview, her husband told her he was happy she was working. But the 37-year-old still hadn’t found a job himself. The stress was taking a toll.
On May 25, as Juma worked inside the store, her husband panhandled outside with the couple’s 15-year-old son, 19-year-old daughter and 6-month-old grandchild. A little before 8:30 a.m., he told the teens he was going to buy some new shoes. Then he left and never came back.
“It was like normal. Everything was normal, but we never heard from him again,” Juma said.
Since his disappearance, Juma has spent weeks in a daze, holding back tears. She’s walked along the lakefront, calling his name — Angel Mashiant. She’s filed a missing person’s report and approached police cars to ask for help.
She’s gotten no answers from police and doesn’t know what to do.
Though it’s uncertain what happened to Juma’s husband, the migrant mother represents a common phenomenon for new arrivals: After traveling thousands of miles to make it to the U.S., some migrant men seemingly walk out or vanish from the lives of their partners and children, leaving them to fend for themselves.
As more than 43,000 migrants have passed through Chicago, sent on buses and planes from the southern border since August 2022, hundreds of single mothers with children can be found staying in the 17 shelters run by the city and state. It’s unclear how many had arrived with partners.
The women who have been left are now trying to find work while raising their children — all without the help of their partners.
Licensed therapists and those working closely with migrants say the frustration and shame felt by men of not being able to provide for their families may be a factor in their choice to just walk away.
“We see cases like that,” said Ana Gil-Garcia, founder of the Illinois Venezuelan Alliance, who has led informational sessions for migrants at dozens of shelters across the city. “When men can’t provide, they decide to leave. They don’t take responsibility — and then mom is left with the children.”
‘I don’t know if I’ll be able to establish myself here alone’
Nareida Santana, 37, from Cartagena, Colombia, stood outside a migrant shelter in the West Loop Tuesday and recounted how she and her partner traveled for days across six countries to reach Chicago at the end of April.About two weeks ago, she said, he suddenly left. She doesn’t know where he went. She shifted her weight back and forth as she talked.
She has a 7-year-old boy and now has to do everything alone. The tasks stack up: enrolling him in school, navigating public transit, finding work and housing.
“I’m so scared,” she said. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to establish myself here alone.”
Santana said she knows there are women whose husbands have left them who are in worse situations than she is, who are pregnant or have significant health needs.
She said shelter workers are giving her guidance on how to interview for jobs, but it will be useless until she gets a valid work permit.
For now, she’s tirelessly trying to find work so she can move out of the shelter.
“It’s impossible to rest much in there,” she said, gesturing to the brick warehouse sheltering over 700 migrants on five floors.
Veronica Sanchez, a licensed social worker, led a series of healing circles for migrants at the Parent University in Pilsen this spring through an effort organized by the mutual aid group Southwest Collective. Sanchez said migrants talked openly about the trend of men leaving their wives.
As volunteers supplied hot meals and child care in a separate room, adult asylum-seekers engaged in group therapies, with topics ranging from anxiety and depression to traditional gender roles. Sanchez said many have been so focused on getting their basic needs met they haven’t had the time to think about their mental health.
In some cases, she said, this leads to last-minute separations.
“We discussed a little bit about depression at the beginning,” Sanchez said. “I told them we were going to talk very openly about any sadness they might be feeling.”
At a group session in mid-May, Sanchez led a discussion about what constitutes a healthy relationship.
“I’ve seen couples that have been together for many years, and they arrive here and it changes everything,” said a woman from Venezuela whose name is not being used out of privacy concerns. “I know it’s hard here, but how can they not remember everything they’ve been through?”[/IMG]
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