This story was shared through City in Colour's project, "Safer WorkPlaces: Racialized Immigrant Women Experience of WorkPlace Health and Safety".

Animation and design: Alejandra Villanueva

Photography: Natalia Botero

Originally a Psychologist from Mexico, a Latin American woman, faded up with the work in low paying survival jobs and systemic racism in Canada, wrote about the violence she experienced at the first job she tried to secure as a cleaner:

Vancouver Canada, March 22 2021

My Beloved Mother,

I’ve finally made it home. Today, I started very early. I don’t know if it’s the lack of sleep, the exhaustion, the uncertainty, or simply that my heart is fading away.

Today marks three months since I arrived in Canada. I remember the last thing you said to me at the airport: “You’re my bravest little girl.” Today, I’m not sure if I was brave, Mom. I don’t know if you’d be proud of me or if you’d say, “What are you doing over there? You have everything here in Mexico.”

When you arrive in a new country, whether by choice or because the situation in your own country forced you to make such a drastic decision, you seek out your own people—those who speak your language, who enjoy the same food, who guide you, teach you a few things, and even lend a hand, just a little, when you need it. You hope they’ll share their success stories to inspire you and help you hold on to your strength.

But today, Mom, I met someone on this path who didn’t smile at me. Her name is Aurora. She’s Latina and runs a cleaning company (don’t say anything—I know I was a well-known psychologist in Mexico). I didn’t think getting my hands full of soap would feel so sad today.

Aurora called me to meet her in downtown Vancouver. You’ll like it a lot when you visit. I found a coffee shop just like the ones you love. Aurora asked me a couple of questions—I think she wanted to hear my English because she didn’t say a single word in Spanish throughout our entire conversation.

She offered me a job cleaning houses. She said today would be a trial day, that she wouldn’t pay me, and she would only give me 3 dollars to get back home. I accepted.

We arrived at an apartment owned by a couple. The lady greeted me with a big smile, and the man was sitting at the table drinking coffee and reading his newspaper.

I tried my best to secure the job, even though Aurora offered me less than the minimum wage here. I thought it would be okay (until I feel more confident with the language).

I spent three hours cleaning alone, Mom. She just watched. Three hours where I wanted everything to be perfect, but it was a bit challenging. The apartment looked like it hadn’t been cleaned in a long time (now I know this is called deep cleaning and costs more).

After three hours, Aurora called out to me in a hurry and with a harsh tone, “It’s time to go. Do you think they’ll pay us for what you’re doing? There are more houses to clean.” (Now she spoke to me in Spanish).

I was kneeling, cleaning a corner of the room where dust had accumulated, and I hadn’t finished. I told her I was almost done. But she didn’t repeat herself. She grabbed the bottle of bleach we were carrying and threw it against my back. I only felt it smash against me. Unfortunately, upon impact, the bottle burst open, and the liquid began soaking my clothes.

I turned to look at her, and she snapped her fingers. Mom, I was speechless! I didn’t know what to say. I just saw her towering over me because she was standing, and I had to tilt my head back to look at her since I was kneeling on the floor, still holding the rag in my hand. Mom, it wasn’t just my pants that lost their color; my hopes faded, the little strength I had left washed away, and my dreams are slowly losing their brightness.

Mom, I’m scared!

Now I’m in bed. I’ve taken a shower, and I’ll sleep tonight clinging to the phrase you told me: “You’re my bravest little girl.”

I love you, Mom.

Gaés