Yenny Briceno Soley as told to Kim Norvell and F. Amanda Tugade
Editor’s note: Yenny Briceno Soley first told this story on stage at the Des Moines Storytellers Project’s “Generosity: The kindness I didn’t see coming.” The Des Moines Storytellers Project is a series of storytelling events in which community members work with Register journalists to tell true, first-person stories live on stage. An edited version appears below.
I was about 6 years old and my sister was 8. We were living in one rented room in a house, and we shared a bathroom and kitchen with other people. One bedroom was all my mom could afford for the three of us to live and her to do work as a seamstress.
That night my mom was sewing, working late as always. Suddenly the doorknob moved up and down. Someone was trying to open the door. My heart started racing when I saw my mom jump to open the door. She saw nothing more than a shadow of a person running into the room next door. That room had been rented to a man the week before. My mom immediately went to the bathroom and filled a plastic bucket with cold water. She went to the man’s door, let herself in, and dumped the water on him, while yelling at him that this was the last time he would ever try to open her door.
In that moment I was scared, but at the same time I felt safe with my mom. She was strong and fearless and was never going to allow anyone to hurt us. The next morning my mom made sure that the guy got arrested and his lease was terminated.
That was my mom, Betty. A hard worker, tough and strong. She had to be because my father abandoned us before I was born.
She was committed, a risk taker, fearless, but most importantly, she loved her daughters with all her life. I don’t remember many hugs. She was very strict, but she kept us under her wings in every storm making sure we were taken care of, safe, and protected.
I am one of thousands of Venezuelans seeking political asylum in this country because our own country has been stolen by a group of authoritarian criminals. Chavez, the dictator, had taken absolute power whether we wanted him there or not.
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There was a time when I was an attorney and a criminal prosecutor back in Venezuela. One day I was told that the dictator’s order was for me to put in jail the former mayor of the city who had refused to follow the political party’s directions. There wasn’t a real case, there wasn’t a crime, there was no evidence, but they still wanted me to accuse him, get a conviction against him and send him to prison.
As I refused to do so, I became the target. I had witnessed for years how the regime sent judges, prosecutors, politicians and anyone who would be bold enough to oppose them to prison. I knew I needed to leave or I was going to be the next one going to jail. I fled the country for the U.S. for refuge.
I was lucky to be able to escape but faced a big loss when I left Venezuela. I had to start all over leaving behind my home, properties, family, friends, dog, profession, language, identity — and as if that hadn’t been hard enough, 10 months after I came, my mom got a brain aneurysm and she died. My hero, my everything, my foundation was gone and then my world fell apart.
I couldn’t legally work since I didn’t have a work permit yet. I didn’t have a place to live nor money and was staying in a friend’s house for a while. I couldn’t yet speak English and couldn’t help it when at the ice cream shop they thought I was asking for “a vagina” when I was really wanting avellana, which is hazelnut in Spanish.
I felt totally alone … but I wasn’t.
When I had just arrived in Des Moines, I had met the two people who were going to help me later to survive the worst times: Cheryl and Courtenay.
Cheryl was very enthusiastic learning Spanish. Courtenay had studied Spanish for years and always had the feeling in her heart that maybe she had been Latina in a previous life. They both were fascinated with the Latino culture, people and places.
As I saw them often to help Cheryl with her Spanish and Courtenay with her garden, I started feeling closer and closer to them. I trusted them, felt protected with them and started to love them.
One day Cheryl took me out for lunch, and as we talked about the struggles I was going through, I remember her exact words to me: “You need a mom here, so from today on I will be your mom here.”
I laughed because at the time I thought it was kind of a joke. But they were powerful words, and saw how they came to life more and more as the time went by.
As soon as my mom died these two women were there for me in so many ways.
Courtenay and her husband, Lee, offered to move me to their house and they told me: “We are not asking you to pay us anything. You can live here with us as long as you need to.” They adopted me as their Latina daughter. They even gave me money monthly so I could send to my family in Venezuela who also needed my help. I ended up living in their house for about five years.
On a dark winter night, I found myself kneeling on the floor and crying, totally broken. Everything around was blurry to me, and I felt like I was in the middle of a nightmare, in a world I didn’t belong to. Suddenly I felt those warm hands on my back followed by a tight hug and a soft voice letting me know that I was going to be OK. It was Courtenay kneeling down behind me. She didn’t have so many words, but I knew I wasn’t walking that path alone.
In the meantime Cheryl and her husband, Greg, also became soldiers in my army.
These two women and their husbands opened the doors of their houses for me, giving me food, shelter, food, advice, food, love, food, rides — did I mention food?
Eventually, time and lots of effort and patience made things better. And their love got me through a lot:
- I got my work permit.
- My English kept getting better and better.
- I got a job as a receptionist at the Polk County Attorney’s office and later became a legal assistant.
- I got a driver’s license and was able to get my own car.
- I got my dog, Louie, who helped heal my wounds — by licking them.
- I met a gringo prince with a Latino heart, who had lived in South America for four years, spoke fluent Spanish and loved the Latino culture, and in June of this year we had our wedding, which was one of the most beautiful days in my life. Courtenay and Cheryl became the moms of the bride and they walked me down the aisle, happy and proud as mother could be. And the photo of my mom, Betty, had a special chair near the altar. My three moms were that day by my side.
Today I am expecting a little boy. Courtenay and Cheryl are dancing with happiness because they will soon be grandmas. I couldn’t be more grateful for having these two women by my side and to be able to call them my “American moms.”
They are outstanding human beings who never had the opportunity to raise their own daughter. They have hearts full of love, compassion and kindness. They didn’t know it but they were needing a daughter and I was needing a mom, and it was magical that our paths crossed in the perfect time.
I am lucky enough to have three moms: That incredible woman who gave me life and raised me to be the person I am today, and these two incredible women who brought me back to life when my soul was literally in intensive care.
ABOUT THE STORYTELLER: Yenny Briceno Soley was born and raised in Venezuela where she graduated from law school and got a master’s in criminal justice. She came to the United States in 2015 seeking political asylum. Yenny works for the Polk County Attorney’s Office as a legal assistant on the misdemeanor docket.
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