Between Tacos and Tequila: Chronicles of an Adventurous Belgian in Mexico

Part Two : A Desperate Phone Call

“You have to leave the country.”

The phrase echoed relentlessly in my mind as I frantically dialed my colleague’s direct line, hastily feeding coins into the public phone. My heart pounded in my throat, the unexpected turn of events at the internal affairs office still a shock.

How had it come to this? Just days ago, I had been floating on cloud nine, reveling in the joy of beginning a new chapter of my life in Mexico. But now, the ground had crumbled beneath me, leaving me on the edge of despair.

“Agnes, Agnes, can you hear me?” I shouted over the din of passing traffic.

My colleague undoubtedly sensed the panic in my voice as I struggled to articulate my thoughts amidst a torrent of anxiety.

Agnes’s calming voice reassured me and steadied my trembling voice and fingers, allowing me to catch my breath.

As I rode the subway back to the Embassy, my mind drifted back to the events that had led to this moment of reckoning.

Arriving in Mexico to take up a position at my country’s Embassy, I was just twenty-one, having left behind a job as a translator in Brussels. Amidst the excitement of my impending marriage, administrative tasks seemed trivial. In my mind I was dancing the waltz in a meringue-like white dress and had little headspace to dwell on bureaucratic hurdles.

Unfortunately, everyone involved assumed someone else was handling my residency and work permit. It wasn’t until a coworker casually inquired about my special permit that reality crashed down upon us.

We decided to start the paperwork in the usual way and see what happened. And what happened, without further ado, was that the authorities categorically rejected my application. Although I considered that possibility, I certainly did not expect the drastic outcome I was now confronted with.

Faced with the ultimatum to leave Mexico within a month, my mind raced through the limited options. Belgium seemed the most logical choice but also the most financially burdensome. Guatemala offered a cheaper alternative but came with its own risks amidst political instability. The last resort was to head north and cross into the US.

With a hastily purchased bus ticket to Laredo, I found myself at the terminal, longing for the companionship of my boyfriend, who, due to visa constraints and work obligations, couldn’t accompany me. Despite my usual adventurous spirit, I felt a profound sense of loneliness and apprehension.

The journey was arduous, the bus showing signs of wear and tear as it plowed through the night. The cold seeped into my bones, chilling me to the core, as we pushed onward to reach Monterrey. At the border, my anxiety peaked as uniformed officials singled me out, subjecting me to interrogation. Though eventually allowed to continue, the encounter left me shaken and vulnerable.

Back on the bus, I faced the disdainful stares of fellow passengers, clutching the government document that dictated my uncertain future. But amidst the chaos and uncertainty, an unexpected turn of events loomed on the horizon.

To be continued…

Stay tuned for the next installment next week, or delve into the full story and other adventures in my novel “Dear Wednesday.”