From the stories my mother has told, the journey from Morelos, Mexico to El Paso, Texas was treacherous. From the dirty, murderous streets of Tijuana to the endless hot Chihuahuan desert. My mother and my four older siblings, who were of the ages of seven, five, three, and two, were part of a group of 15 people. They were lead by a guide who knew the desert well and had taken many others before them to the land opportunity. It took 16 days to reach to El Paso, Texas. From there, they were all alone. None of them knew English or the way to a safe shelter but they continued on in search of a better life in which they would flourish. Many immigrants from all over the world see America as the country where success is blind to race. Here, they