CIUDAD NEZAHUALCOYOTL, Mexico Last year, the Hernández Pacheco family began noticing several Haitians arriving at an apartment across the street from their medical clinic on the outskirts of Mexico City.
His two-story mint green office is on a small street in working-class Ciudad Nezahualcoyotl. Haitians stood out among the tamal vendors and street vendors, sitting in the sun to warm themselves in the frigid air of the high altitudes.
One day, Dr. Sarahí Hernández Pacheco, who speaks French, approached a 15-year-old Haitian boy who often seemed sad and bored. “I have two nephews, do you want to play with them?” she asked.
Almost a year later, Haitian migrants make up much of the medical practice at the clinic, which is run by Hernández Pacheco, his mother and two of his brothers, who are also doctors.
The Bassuary clinic offers free consultations and the family also began giving food to Haitians and eventually helped some find work, including at the clinic.
Hernández Pacheco wants the clinic to be a safe haven for Haitian migrants, whether they plan to remain in Mexico or continue their journey north to the US border.
“I can’t even imagine what it must be like to be in another country where there are so many limitations,” she said. “The doors of my clinic are open to help you in any way we can. Not just as a doctor, but as a friend.”
One of these patients, Bellantta Lubin, 23, originally came to the doctor when she had a stomach ache.
Shortly afterwards, Lubin returned looking for work. She told the doctor and her sister, Dr. Hosanna Berenice Hernández Pacheco, that she was having a hard time. She didn’t speak Spanish, so no one would hire her. He was offered a cleaning job at the clinic three times a week.
Using a mix of Spanish, French and Creole, Lubin and the doctors have practiced a dance of dialects for the past eight months.
“We became very close. She started teaching me words in Creole and says we are friends,” said Berenice. “She really opened up to me.”
Political unrest and natural disasters have led to periods of migration across Mexico in the last decade. Many Haitians initially emigrated to South America, including Brazil, and then moved north after their economies struggled during the COVID-19 pandemic.
The rise in gang violence in Haiti has displaced nearly 580,000 Haitians domestically since March, according to a recent report from the UN migration agency.
A recent cleaning migrant camps in Mexico City as well as intensified efforts to intercept migrants in Mexico before they reach the US border have alarmed Haitians in the capital. These fears were compounded by new restrictions on seeking asylum at the border announced by the Biden administration last month.
More migrants like Lubin were stuck in Mexico for months waiting to asylum appointments through the U.S. Customs and Border Protection’s online application, CBP One.
The Hernández Pacheco sisters follow in the footsteps of their parents, both from poor backgrounds and were the first doctors to practice medicine in the rural neighborhood. They opened their first family clinic in 1963.
Sarahí Hernández Pacheco, who studied medicine at the National Autonomous University of Mexico, opened her own private clinic in 2014 to provide free medical care to low-income residents in her community. It’s across the street from her parents’ office, still open today. A brother, Marco Antonio, currently treats patients there.
The private clinic is not financed or subsidized by any institution. They sometimes receive donations from non-governmental organizations and work to keep costs low for patients in the region.
His mother, 83 years old, his younger sister Berenice and his brother also work as doctors at the Bassuary clinic. Two nieces help as nurses.
Over time, they noticed a number of health problems common to their Haitian patients.
“They had problems with their lower back because most of them sleep on the floor. Dealing with the cold was difficult for them”, said Berenice. “They also had stomach problems because their diet was completely different from the Mexican (diet).”
One of his patients, Gabriel Toussaint, 50, was one of the Haitians who lived in the small apartment across the street. Originally from the Haitian city of Dessalines, Toussaint was a school principal and history teacher for 28 years.
He made the difficult decision to leave his four children with relatives to try to join his wife in Florida. He crossed Nicaragua, Honduras and Guatemala to reach Mexico.
After arriving in Mexico City, he survived thanks to studying Spanish in his country. He came to the clinic for treatment of hypertension and eye pain.
“I really like Mexico, but there is a little problem here,” he said. “There is no work and the pay is bad.”
Mexico’s humanitarian visa can grant Haitians benefits, such as work authorization. Last year, Haitians requested the most visas among all nationalities, with more than 37,000, according to the International Organization for Migration. In the first five months of this year, however, Mexico received fewer than 4,000 humanitarian visa applications from Haitians.
“Since December 2023, the National Immigration Institute has restricted the distribution of this document,” said Alejandra Carrillo of the UN High Commissioner for Refugees in Mexico.
“We now see a significant number of Haitians working in the informal economy, with all the risks involved,” he added.
Consequently, many Haitians like Toussaint face hardships as they wait months for a humanitarian visa in Mexico or a CBP One appointment in the United States.
He worked in a factory and as a mechanic, but nothing consistent. Finally, after eight months, Toussaint and three of his roommates got appointments to CBP One.
For Dr. Sarahí Hernández Pacheco, their departure on June 20 was cause for celebration. Before the trip, she invited the men to a farewell meal. She prepared burgers and fries, her favorites.
“You should eat more than one!” she exclaimed as they crowded around a table in the clinic’s courtyard. “It’s a long journey.”
“This is la famille,” Toussaint said, pointing to the doctors and the three other Haitian men around him during the meal. “This is a family.”
For others, like Lubin, the wait continues.
She arrived in Mexico last year fleeing violence in Port-au-Prince, taking a flight to Nicaragua then crossing Honduras and Guatemala to reach Mexico.
“My family was a victim of insecurity,” she said. “Bandits seized our house and my mother’s cars. I really suffered because of this.”
Being the oldest in the family, she left behind three brothers and her parents, as well as her dream of studying medicine in Haiti.
Now she works at the clinic together with another young Haitian, Phenia. They live in a small room a five-minute walk away.
“It’s safe here and it makes me feel comfortable,” Lubin said. “At the clinic, I made very, very deep friendships.”
Sarahí Hernández Pacheco says Haitians deserve better from the international community.
“What I’m doing is just a grain of sand,” she said. “I would ask the government what they could do to speed up their procedures and get them to where they feel safe.”
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This story originally appeared on ABCNews.go.com read the full story
