We regularly gathered in cafés to bemoan the system and swap our stories. Some made the pilgrimage to spend the three days across the border. Others of us traveled office to office for one more stamp, one more signature, money exchanging hands as we went. Some just figured they'd charm their way out of it when the time came. To say we were hiding in plain sight would imply that we ever tried to hide, which we didn’t. We were Americans after all and that entitled us to so much more. We were the illegals, the undocumented, working without papers in Panama. Getting a tourist visa to be in Panama was not difficult. If you were willing to travel to Costa Rica for three days you could easily reenter and renew your visa for another three months. I was married to a Panamanian and was legally allowed to be in the country; I did not have to take the Costa Rica trip. However, I was not legally allowed to work in the country for the first year I was married. That's how long it took for me to get by working papers. (Compared to how similar papers would take in the US, this is nothing, in case you were curious.) When I tell this story, no one tells me what a horrible, criminal person I am. No one mentions that I might have been taking a job away from a hard-working Panamanian. I was breaking the law. And, in a country where there is high unemployment, there is a good chance I was taking a job from a deserving citizen. And, yet, every time I tell on myself, everyone nods their head as if everything I did made sense. The fact remains, I was indocumentada, no matter how entitled I felt to find a way to earn a living. Since I like eating, I would probably do the same again today. Who were the other people who worked beside me? Spouses of people who were stationed in Panama for work, including one whose spouse worked in the US Consulate. Think about that for a minute, will you. The very people who were charged to extend visas (or not) to Panamanians had spouses who had employment without working papers in the host country. There were also several tourists who decided to extend their stay by working. We found each other the way you do when living in a foreign country. We complained loudly (Did I mention that we were mostly Americans?) about the inefficiencies of the immigration system. No matter the reason, no matter the story, to the person, we all felt justified to be working baja cuerda. Next time you imagine an undocumented worker, imagine something new. Imagine me.
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