It was pitch black: the night blinded my eyes like a void. I had to rely on my senses to guide my way through the dense darkness, but they were rendered useless against the forces of mother nature; the only thing that I was certain of was that I had to get there to change my life for the better.

That said, it would take nine days of non stop walking from Honduras to the American border, although in actual fact it felt like an eternity. My feet were starting to develop blisters, and every step felt like I was walking on needles. Hungry animals were quarrelling and barking at the middle of the night. I had to stay vigilant just in case they tried to attack: in this desert it was survival of the fittest and you had to have knowledge of the land. I had none of those traits. The cyote smuggler, who my mum paid $300 to take me across the border, left me for dead in a decrepit tent where the smell of old firewood permeated everything and I had to share my temporary home with  insects who didn’t seem happy that I’d entered their personal space. That’s when I heard the sound of an engine: it sounded like a cat trying to roar like a lion, and that’s when my worst fears came into reality. My heart began to sink. My breathing started to become more dense – I started to uncontrollably sweat, and overwhelmed with fear, anger and sadness, I began to cry. I cried so much that my tears would have probably overflowed an ocean, but at that moment when I thought all was lost I began to remember stories of America my mum had told me. Stories of clean water, and children who didn’t have to beg on the street so they could get a few pesos to find a decent meal, and who didn’t live in fear of being swept out of existence by traffickers. America was the land where dreams came true and this gave me hope. It led me to the point that I was now at, walking through the cold desert only using my sheer willpower to inch my legs forward.  My body didn’t agree. I passed out from dehydration and lack of food.

I started to regain consciousness. To my horror, it was morning.  The sun’s scorching heat was beating down on my face, slowly burning the left side. I tried to turn my cheek, but it felt like it was being grated on sand paper.  No matter how hard the pain was I had to carry on, I had to. But deep down I knew it was impossible, because my body was consumed with fatigue and hunger. There was a shrill squawk – a family of vultures circled my body. They could sense  death closing in. Then one of the vultures landed in front of me and stared  into my eyes. The hairs on the back of my neck jumped up. It was like the bird was staring into my soul;  it was  fight or flight, and I could do neither. It would take a miracle to get me out of this situation.