For many asylum seekers, Phoenix airport is a gateway to a new life in the US
Carolina Peinado was riding in a passenger van headed to Phoenix Sky Harbor International Airport when her 4-year-old daughter, Salome, suddenly rested her head on her mother's lap.
In an instant, the girl was fast asleep. It had been a long and exhausting journey from Colombia to the United States, and it wasn't over yet.
Peinado peered out the van window, one hand on her sleeping daughter's shoulder, and marveled at the vast number of lanes on the Loop 202 freeway in Arizona.
"The highways are really big," Peinado said. "And the bridges too. Much bigger than my country."
Peinado is an asylum seeker from Colombia. She and her daughter were among the 32 asylum seekers who were dropped off May 11 by a U.S. Department of Homeland Security bus at Iglesia Cristiana El Buen Pastor, a Spanish-language Christian church in Mesa, Arizona. The church is one of several churches and groups in the Phoenix area that offer shelter, food or other humanitarian assistance to asylum seekers released by federal immigration authorities.
Asylum seekers have been released by federal immigration authorities at local churches and shelters for years. But the number is expected to increase, possibly significantly, after pandemic-era Title 42 border restrictions ended late May 11, hours after Peinado and her daughter arrived at the church in Mesa.
Those restrictions were initially used to quickly expel migrants arriving at the border without authorization from Mexico, El Salvador, Guatemala and Honduras, and, more recently, people from Haiti, Venezuela and Cuba.
The vast majority of asylum seekers released at local shelters don't remain in Arizona. Most are headed to reunite with relatives and friends in other states. They typically only spend a few hours and sometimes overnight at shelters or in hotels until they can buy bus or plane tickets to their final destinations. The asylum seekers are responsible for buying their own tickets. Relatives or other sponsors already in the U.S. often pay the costs and book the tickets.
Peinado's experiences at the shelter provided a window into how the process works. She was headed to Los Angeles. Other asylum seekers released at the church on May 11 were headed to Virginia, Florida, and New York.
Peinado agreed to allow a reporter and a photographer from The Arizona Republic, part of the Paste BN Network, to follow her from the church in Mesa to Sky Harbor.
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Before Title 42 expired, about 200 asylum seekers were dropped off at the airport daily by various nonprofit groups, including the Mesa church. The number, however, could spike as more asylum seekers are released in Arizona following the end of Title 42.
On that Thursday, 15 buses holding 55 passengers each arrived at the airport at various times throughout the day from the Regional Center for Border Health, a shelter in Yuma. That was double the number of buses that have been arriving at the airport from the airport in recent weeks, said Alex Bejarano, a spokesperson for the center.
But there did not appear to be any problems accommodating the uptick in asylum seekers dropped off that day.
The airport is accustomed to accommodating large numbers of travelers, said Julie Rodriguez, Sky Harbor's deputy aviation director.
The airport serves more than 120,000 customers per day, including arriving, departing, and connecting passengers, Rodriguez said.
The nonprofit groups, Rodriguez said, "have been doing a very good job of preparing asylum seekers for travel before they arrive at the airport. When they are dropped off at Sky Harbor with their flights booked, our customer service team is able to direct them through the process as they would any other traveler who may be less familiar with our airport."
During a visit to Phoenix this week from New York City, David Miliband, president and CEO of the International Rescue Committee, said he was impressed by how smoothly nonprofit groups in Arizona are working together to accommodate asylum seekers released in the state. The refugee resettlement agency runs a 340-bed shelter in Phoenix called The Welcome Center. In addition to providing other assistance, volunteers there also drive asylum seekers to the airport.
"I really think there is an Arizona model here that the rest of the country needs to learn from," Miliband said. "The fact that there are no street releases of asylum seekers is down to the fact that there is coordinated provision and effective information for asylum seekers and good management of the resources that are available at the city level, state level and at a federal level."
"We are proud to be playing our part," Miliband said.
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Asylum seekers create a brief community in a church courtyard
Peinado, 35, is from a small town in western Colombia. She said she fled from Colombia with her daughter to seek asylum in the U.S. because she feared for their safety after she left her violent ex-boyfriend, the girl's father.
"He went to my house. He hit me," Peinado said, seated at a white plastic table in the courtyard of the Mesa church. He also threatened to harm their daughter, she said.
"The reason we left is for fear," Peinado said, as Salome played with a stuffed toy lion. She said the girl was too young to know what was happening. She thought they were on a vacation, Peinado said.
They left Colombia on May 3, Peinado said. They flew first to Mexico City and then to Mexicali, a border city in Mexico. There they crossed the U.S.-Mexico border into California near Calexico, where they turned themselves over to Border Patrol agents to ask for asylum.
After spending two days in Border Patrol custody, Peinado said they were transported with other asylum seekers to a federal immigration facility in Phoenix where they spent the night before being dropped off at the Mesa church the next morning.
"We didn't get much sleep. The air conditioning was very high, and the mattresses were very small," Peinado said, explaining why her daughter fell asleep so quickly in the van.
At the church, the asylum seekers called or texted relatives on their personal cell phones to book plane tickets with the help of volunteers, who also tracked the flights once they had been booked on a wall-size board inside the church office to coordinate trips to the airport.
In the meantime, Peinado and the other asylum seekers were fed sandwiches and hot coffee for breakfast, and spaghetti for lunch prepared by volunteers.
They took turns taking showers, which were limited to 5 minutes each, and picked out used clothing that had been donated to the church. Maricopa County health officials also offered them free vaccines against COVID-19, flu, hepatitis, tetanus, and mumps, measles and rubella.
Peinado and her daughter were the first asylum seekers to book their tickets. They were headed to Los Angeles, where Peinado said a friend who is sponsoring them lives. Their flight on Southwest Airlines was scheduled to depart at 4:05 p.m. A friend paid the $605 airfare for the two tickets.
Hector Ramirez, the pastor, told Peinado to be ready to leave for the airport at 1 p.m.
The asylum seekers dropped off at the church in Mesa on May 11 were from many countries. But they formed a sort of community as they sat at the tables in the church courtyard. Some took turns watching each other's children or rocked babies to sleep while they made their travel arrangements.
Elizabeth Alor Farfan, 28, sat across the same table as Peinado. She was traveling with her 4-year-old son, Kevin. Alor Farfan said they were from Lima, Peru. She was seeking asylum in the U.S. after criminals destroyed her food cart. They threatened to harm them after she was unable to repay money she borrowed from loan sharks to support herself after the economy collapsed in Peru, she said.
Ruth Solis, 28, and her husband, Dieter Flores, 27, sat at another table. They had traveled from Bolivia to seek asylum in the U.S. with their 3-month-old baby, Nicolas Fabian, who was asleep in Solis' arms. Solis said the baby had gotten sick with a fever and a cold during the journey but was getting better.
The couple said they were fleeing extreme poverty in Bolivia. They said they were headed to live with a friend in Virginia.
Catching the final flight to a new home
Shortly after 1 p.m., Ramirez, the pastor, called out to Peinado to gather her belongings. It was time to leave for the airport. Peinado had just finished tying her daughter's long dark hair into ponytails with pink ribbons. They had showered and put on fresh clothes for the trip.
As Peinado and her daughter left the courtyard, some of the other asylum seekers yelled out in Spanish: "Goodbye. God bless you."
Peinado, dressed in a white T-shirt and denim shorts, only carried a small white Nike bag stuffed with her few belongings. Salome carried a pink jacket and a small blue backpack, a gift from the church.
Peinado's hair was still wet when she and Salome climbed into a red passenger van. Ramirez sat in the driver's seat. A family of four from Brazil also got in and sat behind Peinado in the rear seats. Ramirez said he was dropping the Brazilian family off at a hotel because their flight didn't leave until the next day.
On the way to the airport, Ramirez gave Peinado a piece of paper he printed at the church and told her to present it at the Southwest Airlines ticket counter to receive their boarding passes.
When Peinado was in Border Patrol custody, she turned over her Colombian passport. But when she was released, the passport was not returned. Instead, she was handed a clear plastic bag with photocopies of her passport inside, along with immigration documents identifying her as an asylum seeker. The documents also included a date to report to immigration authorities in Los Angeles to begin the legal process for applying for asylum.
Ramirez told Peinado she would need to present her immigration documents to the Transportation Security Administration agent to pass through security. He warned her that some TSA agents would not accept the documents and that an immigration agent might have to be called.
Ramirez dropped Peinado off at Terminal 4, where the Southwest Airlines ticket counters are located. The van arrived at the airport at 1:45 p.m., more than two hours before Peinado's 4:05 p.m. flight.
"Baby. Wake up. Wake up. We are here," Peinado told her daughter in a sharp tone. Salome woke up with a jolt, wiping drool off her cheek with the back of her hand.
Ramirez got out of the van and hugged them goodbye, but Salome dropped to the ground, looking like she wanted to go back to sleep on the pavement.
Inside the terminal, Peinado presented the piece of paper to the ticket agent as Ramirez had instructed. The Southwest ticket agent handed Peinado their boarding passes a moment later.
The boarding passes said Peinado's flight was leaving from Gate D7. She wandered around for a few minutes before figuring out she had to take an escalator to the upper floor where the security checkpoints are located.
Peinado held Salome's hand as they walked through the airport. There was no line at the security checkpoint to get to the D gates.
Peinado could be seen fishing around for her immigration documents in the clear plastic bag and then handing them to the TSA agent. The agent inspected the documents for several minutes while other passengers passed through. But instead of allowing Peinado to continue, he could be seen motioning for them to sit on some plastic chairs.
Peinado and her daughter sat for more than half an hour. By then it was getting close to their boarding time. Finally, another TSA agent arrived and could be seen inspecting Peinado's documents. This time the second TSA agent allowed Peinado and Salome to proceed. It took another 10 minutes or so for two more TSA agents, both women, to inspect their small bags.
At last, Peinado and her daughter disappeared. They were on their way to gate D7, and possibly a new life in the United States.
Daniel Gonzalez covers race, equity and opportunity. Reach him at daniel.gonzalez@arizonarepublic.com or at 602-444-8312. Follow him on Twitter @azdangonzalez.