Runaway Bride

Had she applied for asylum her first year in the country and been granted it, Lydia would have been able to receive a green card, which could lead to U.S. citizenship in five years. Now, if she were to convince the judge—and earn withholding of removal status—she would be able to stay in the United States and work with a permit, but it would have to be renewed annually and she would not be readmitted if she traveled outside the country. If the judge did not grant withholding status, Lydia would be allowed to depart voluntarily, but could not reenter the country for ten years. Worst case, she would be detained and deported to Kenya.

Lydia waited more than two years for the government’s ruling on her status. After both sides submitted materials in support of their claims, the judge heard final testimony in February 2006. The court scheduled a follow-up meeting for April 13, when Lydia expected the judge to rule on her status. The meeting was postponed until June 9. And again to September 7.

Lydia continued to work her jobs as an aide at two nursing homes and as a line cook at the Marriott Hotel, each day wondering if she would be there the next month and still too afraid to talk to any of her co-workers about her situation. The waiting frustrated her. The uncertainty scared her. She tried to be patient, to hope for the best. But she knew that her fate was once again out of her hands.

Finally, on September 18, 2006, Lydia appeared before the judge for his decision. Breitman sat on one side, paralegal Mengel sat on the other. Lydia waited tensely.

The judge began to read his decision in language archaic and remote. No one was allowed to speak. Mengel smiled at Lydia. She gave the paralegal a questioning look. Mengel smiled more—good news! Lydia smiled and did a quiet dance with her hands and shoulders. She thanked God in her heart. Finally, she was safe from the Masai.

Safe, but isolated. To secure her safety, Lydia had been forced to sever ties with her community. She has not spoken to her family since that August day twenty-two years earlier when she walked away. They do not read, so no letters were sent. She knows she will probably never see her family again—but would like to. She wishes she could make peace with them. “I’d love to,” she says. She shrugs. “I don’t know.” Tears swim in her eyes. She covers her face with her hand.

Seven-year-old Lydia took a path less traveled, but the reality of that route’s impact resounds with a thud throughout her days in the United States. She works. She watches CNN and Dr. Phil. She bakes, trying new recipes or making her favorite lemon cake. The weight of her new life is forever with her. She wants to believe it is for the better. “So long as I’m happy and a free woman, that’s all that matters to me right now,” she says. “There are some people who would die for the opportunities I have. I’m satisfied with what I’ve got.”

Lydia loves Nyabworo, who has permanent resident status, and figures they will marry, perhaps within the next year. She wants to have children. Eventually. In the meantime, she is working toward a nursing degree at Hennepin Technical College and dreams of being able to do for the less fortunate what others have done for her. “I want to help others, the way I’ve been helped by other people,” she says.

What if the girls of her Masai community she played with as a child could see her today? “They would envy me,” she says. “I know that, because in their heart, it [a Masai woman’s life] is not something they really want. At such a tender age to go through all that, it’s not right for them. They should be given a choice. Some of them might be doctors, teachers, ambassadors—who knows?—if they were given the opportunities.” 

Minneapolis writer John Rosengren is the coauthor (with Esera Tuaolo) of Alone in the Trenches.