“Fear is why I left my country. Living with the thought that someone could harm me—or kidnap my children—does not allow you to live in peace.”
“Everyone has the right to work, to food, and to live in peace.”
My name is Alfonso Méndez. I graduated as an agricultural engineer from the Universidad Surcolombiana, and during my early professional years I worked for a company dedicated to the eradication of illicit crops in Colombia. My role was to travel to rural communities in the department of Huila and convince farmers to stop growing coca and instead shift to legal crops such as tilapia, rice, and cotton.
In Colombia, it is well known that in many of these areas guerrillas control the territory. Because of this, my work did not go unnoticed. I was threatened. One day, shots were fired at the car I was driving. Shortly after, my wife—who ran a small leather goods business with me in the city where we lived—received a note saying they were going to kill me and kidnap our children if I continued this work.
Shortly after, my wife . . . . received a note saying they were going to kill me and kidnap our children if I continued this work.
That was when, in the year 2000, we made a decision that changed our lives forever. We left Colombia and came to the United States, to the city of San José. We arrived without knowing anyone and without speaking English. I had only $2,000 in my pocket. The first month I paid $800 in rent.
The second month, another $800. After that, I had no money left to feed my family.
Fortunately, someone who was a volunteer at Santa Maria Urban Ministry—and who later became my daughter’s preschool teacher when she was just 18 months old—suggested that I come to Santa Maria. That is how we began receiving food boxes and clothing. We came from a hot city and arrived in San José in September. My children did not have clothes suitable for the cold.
Arriving in a new city, with a new culture and a new language, was extremely difficult.
At Santa Maria, I received food and clothing for my children. It deeply moved me because they reached out to help me exactly when I needed it most. After about two months, I found work at K-Mart, where I also met people from Mexico. At that time, very few Colombians were arriving in San José because of the distance from our country.
Little by little, people helped us. Someone gave us a small bed, because at the beginning we slept on clothes laid out on the floor—my wife, myself, and our young children: Daniel, who was four years old, and María Paula, who was 18 months old. Those years were very hard. First, because we had to separate from our families suddenly and unexpectedly. And second, because we had no idea what it meant to live in the United States.
Santa Maria offered me a helping hand. Later, once I had a full-time job at Toyota, I decided to give back some of what I had received and began volunteering at Santa Maria.
I came two days a week. I volunteered for nine years, until a part-time position opened and I was invited to fill it.
I began working with Reverend Lorenz, who was the director at that time. I would arrive at 7:00 in the evening and leave around 11:00 at night, helping to process documents. After nine years, Santa Maria appointed me as operations manager. I ran the center for several years with the support of volunteers who have always been the backbone of this place.
Today, I serve as Director of Operations, working alongside Louis, the Executive Director, to continue moving forward—transforming the lives of immigrants like me. I always tell people that I understand what it means to be an immigrant because I went through that process myself. It is painful, but it is also a process that helps you grow as a person.
Above all, I want people to feel here the same helping hand that I once received.
For me, Santa Maria is not just a workplace. It is a place I defend as if it were my own home. I like being here. I like serving people. I like listening to them. Many times, what people need most is simply someone to listen. And I am here for that. If I can help, I do. If I cannot, I at least try to guide them toward someone who can.
That is why I have been connected to this organization for nearly my entire adult life. From the year 2000 to 2025, Santa Maria has been part of my story. And I hope to remain here for many more years, continuing to serve our community, which right now needs support more than ever.
Over the years, I have collected many happy memories at Santa Maria. Some are even humorous. People come up to me and say, “Thank you, Father.” I tell them I am not a priest, but they keep calling me Father. It makes me smile—not because they think I am clergy, but because they see me as someone who serves the community.
There are also deeply meaningful memories. Children who once attended our preschool programs are now adults. I meet them on the street and they say, “Teacher, this is my daughter, this is my son.” Now they are parents themselves. It is beautiful to know that they remember having a good experience here, under the roof of Santa Maria.
I have worked with children who struggled with behavior in our after-school and summer programs. When I spoke with them, they listened. Years later, they tell me, “Thank you—I made it to college because you always encouraged us to keep studying,” or “Thank you—I changed the way I was.” Parents come to thank me too, saying something changed in their children. That brings me great joy.
Some children call me “grandfather.” It started with the children of my coworker Fernando, who call me “abuelito,” even though I am not truly a grandfather. Other children, like those of Rosa Acevedo, also see me as family. For me, it is an honor to be seen that way.
I never imagined that after so many years people would hold me in such regard.
Fifteen days ago (December 9, 2025), I received a recognition from the Guadalupe Washington Association. (photo above) It was a very emotional moment. When they handed me the certificate, people applauded warmly. They told me I truly do many good things for the community. I never imagined that after so many years people would hold me in such regard. I shared that moment with my family in Colombia and with close friends here in the United States. Those are beautiful memories for me.
Because of my relationship with Santa Maria, my children have also benefited. Through connections and support, they were able to receive a strong education at private schools, paying very little or almost nothing. My son graduated from Bellarmine College Prep and completed his degree at San José State University. My daughter graduated from Saint Francis High School in Mountain View and completed her degree at Santa Clara University. Both are now pursuing graduate studies.
They feel proud when they see recognition or news about my work. They joke that I am famous now. I have tried to pass on to them the value of social service, because that is what I learned from my parents. Although they were humble, they always helped their neighbors. I grew up in a community where service was simply part of life. My children are the same.
I know it was worth coming to this country. Because we are here, we can help our family in Colombia, where sadly the situation has once again become dangerous. The guerrillas have regained power. Although we wish our family could come here, visa restrictions make that impossible. Still, we support and accompany them as best we can.
I want to thank Santa Maria for opening its doors to me. I have dedicated my life to this institution. For a long time, I thought my work went unnoticed. But through the recognition I have received, I realized that I do matter to this community—our Latino community. That realization touched me deeply.
It hurts me to see what immigrants are experiencing today. I know what it is like to live in fear. Fear is why I left my country.
Living with the thought that someone could harm you, or kidnap your children, does not allow you to sleep in peace. You walk constantly looking over your shoulder. If a car stops nearby, your heart races. It is a situation I would not wish on anyone.
I know this is the same fear many immigrants are living with today. I pray that understanding will come, that we remember everyone has the right to work, to food, and to live in peace. There is a saying in Spanish:
“There is no evil that lasts a hundred years, nor a body that can endure it.”
I trust that one day there will be justice.