In bed 23 at the Adelanto ICE detention center, a terrified son remembered his mother

Wilber Urbina Garcia tossed and turned in bed 23 on the first floor of the Adelanto ICE Detention Center. The mattress was as hard as cardboard and he was worried about his mother.

He didn’t speak to her before he was arrested, and she was naturally anxious, panicking whenever her children were away from her. He knew he would be mad.

The day before, he had graduated from Jordan High School in South Los Angeles wearing an honors medal, the first in his family to walk the stage. Her mother was very proud as they talked about what courses she could take at El Camino College in the fall. They celebrated with a family dinner in Long Beach before taking a short walk along the beach.

But the next morning, Wilber, 18, was arrested by Immigration and Customs Enforcement when he entered as part of his family’s ongoing asylum application. His hands and ankles were chained, and he was shipped off to Adelanto with a number of other emigrants, all of whom were at least ten years older than him.

Wilber had never been separated from his family, and his first time traveling was when they left Nicaragua during the political repression there in 2022.

The family — Wilber’s mother, two older brothers and younger sister — had been meeting regularly with ICE as part of their application.

Wilber couldn’t even close his eyes that first night in Adelanto. His thoughts were wandering. Would he be returned to Nicaragua, where his family says he is at risk of political persecution by the government of President Daniel Ortega? Would his mother be able to tolerate his sudden disappearance? Will he ever set foot in a classroom again, let alone fulfill his dream of becoming a doctor?

The other men detained at Adelanto, who are in their 40s, were shocked to see Wilber the morning after his arrival. His round baby face, square glasses and short stature made him a boy who made him look younger than he was.

“What happened to you, you are too young to be locked up here with us,” said the man.

Wilber felt very afraid of the new and uncertain environment he was forced into, but the kindness and guidance of the other men at the center kept him grounded, he said.

He hadn’t taken out an account for calls or shopping at the commissary, so the Guatemalan man gave Wilber his only phone to call his mother on that first full day in Adelanto, more than 24 hours after he and his family were first deported. A few other men gathered together instant noodles, chips, cookies and coffee to last him at least his first week there, until Wilber could buy his own food.

“Don’t worry, I’m fine. Stay calm,” he told his mother. “The men here are old, some say they will take care of me, they have children my age, they say don’t worry.

Wilber’s family arrived in the United States together in 2022, and soon turned into ICE at the border. The family was granted amnesty and allowed in the country as they had applied for asylum. The mother, Yadira, applied for asylum and listed Wilber, who was 15 at the time, and her younger sister, as dependents in her case.

When Wilber was arrested, ICE agents told him that he was now 18 and was no longer a party to his mother’s asylum case. Wilber’s lawyer, Armineh Ebrahimian, said he should have stayed out of his mother’s case, as he was a minor when the plea was filed.

A spokesperson for the Department of Homeland Security previously told The Times that a child detained in a parent’s immigration case does not lose their claim when they turn 18, but said that a pending asylum application does not confer legal status.

In Adelanto, men find creative ways to fill their time at the detention center. One man gave Wilber a notebook he made from old chip bags and cereal box cardboard, and suggested that he write down his family’s phone numbers. Others use the materials to make key chains and wallets.

They met in the evening every day to pray. They prayed for those who were arrested, and asked God to protect those who were going to be tried in the courts. One man made rosaries for the group out of stale bread.

The men were different in age and from different countries in Latin America, but they bonded and supported each other while they were incarcerated.

“You should be over there, studying, not here with me,” Wilbur said another man told him.

Wilber woke up early on June 24, about 15 minutes before the guards came knocking at 4 am.

He took some extra time to brush his teeth and comb his hair, before he changed into his blue jumpsuit and was led into the van in handcuffs.he said. The men had prayed for Wilber the night before, asking God to give them a good outcome.

The bond hearing was lengthy. Although Wilber was granted parole, Homeland Security determined that his first entry was invalid, making him ineligible for bond. Even if bond is granted, Wilber was worried that his family would not have the money to pay his bail, which could cost thousands of dollars.

“I knew that every decision made there would directly affect my mother and my entire family,” he said. “That’s what scared me.”

Instead of returning home that night, Wilber found himself sleeping in the 23rd bed of the detention center – denied bond – trying to ignore the stench that permeated his 14-person cell. The pipes were blocked and the room was filled with sewage.

The men were denied time to go to the yard the next day as punishment for not cleaning up the dirt, he said.

Denial was a blow to Wilber’s breath, but Yadira tried to calm the restless teenager. The Federal Public Defender’s Office in Los Angeles reached out to his attorney after The Times reported on his case, and wanted to help.

“These other lawyers, join your case, son,” Yadira said she said he told Wilber. “They will do everything in their power to get you out, we will have to wait for a while, please don’t give up and don’t sign anything.”

“Bed 23!” The guard called out to the common room, and called Wilber on the afternoon of June 26th.

Wilber tried to suppress his excitement, but he had been around long enough to know that if someone was called by a security guard during the day, it meant they had a case in court or they were going home. If they were taken at night, they were fired.

He had just spoken to his mother that morning, who said the lawyers had not received any word on when or if he would be released.

On the day The Times article was published, the public defender’s office helped the family file a habeas corpus petition on Wilber’s behalf. Habeas corpus is the basic legal system that protects people from illegal detention and the writ allows immigrants like Wilber to challenge the legality of their detention.

“Casa,” the guard told Wilber. It was time to go home.

After 16 days in prison, the government approved a request for Wilber’s release.

A cry broke out in the cell, as happened every time someone was released. The other men growled at Wilber.

“Hey man, can you take me with you? Just put me in your back pocket,” another man joked. Someone urgently asked Wilber if he had spoken to his family.

Wilber said no. The man went straight to the phone booth and called Wilbur’s older brother Winston, with the number Wilbur had written in the notebook, to make sure he would be waiting for a ride when he was released from the high desert.

He was told that, immigrants are not given the opportunity to call family members before being released, and are dropped off at a nearby facility, often with uncharged cell phones or no phone at all.

When he left Adelanto, Wilber returned to the men he was imprisoned with. They stood near the common room, big smiles plastered on their faces as they watched him gather his things, she remembered.

For Wilber, these men were more than prisons. They were friends and sometimes father figures.

Returning home, while others remained in prisons, was difficult.

Winston was getting ready to go to Adelanto to visit his brother the next day, when he got a call from Wilber’s roommate. Within minutes, Winston and his younger sister were in the car on their way to pick up their brother.

Yadira, who couldn’t go to Adelanto because of his ankle, came to work, preparing the meal Wilber had requested when he got home—carne asada. He gathered his classmates and bought a cake to celebrate his return.

“Even when he got home, he couldn’t believe that he had left,” said Yadira. “We kept squeezing him and telling him, ‘You’re here, you’re finally home.’

Wilber can no longer be arrested by ICE as long as he does not commit a crime, his lawyers said.. Now, he prays for the many men he was imprisoned with to one day return to their families.

Wilber’s family is still fighting for their removal in court. They will continue to have regular checks with ICE until his case is resolved.

But his release at least temporarily restored his life. He spent his time at home playing video games and going to the theater with his siblings, trying to get his summer back.

And next week, he will register for his fall college classes.