I grew up in the countryside about 2 hours from Quito where I lived with my grandmother. I moved to the city where I met my husband and we had two kids. He was a mechanic and I worked odd jobs to help with the bills. My jobs always involved something to do with tourists from other countries. I would hear about a place called America and wanted to someday go see it for myself.
I never wanted my kids to struggle or experience what I did growing up and knew that education was the way out. We placed my son in a private school so he would have the best education possible. It was then, that we realized we could not afford the same education for my daughter. The expense of education was too great, and we just didn’t know what we were going to do.
A friend had an uncle who was the chauffeur for a man that worked in the World Bank. His family was moving back to the States and was looking for a nanny. I was 29 when I decided to take the opportunity to see for myself if all the stories of America were true. In July 1970, I left my husband and two kids; my son was 6-and-a-half and my daughter 2-and-a-half. I really didn’t know what was waiting for me, or the time I was about to lose seeing my kids growing up…