In a Minneapolis apartment, the curtains are drawn; a table holding four computers and three children serves as a makeshift classroom.
Esmeralda, Kevin and Carlos have stopped attending school in person in the weeks since US immigration agents stepped up operations in the Midwestern city.
“If I go out, it’s only into the hallway,” said Kevin, 12, speaking to AFP.
Like many children from immigrant families in Minneapolis, Kevin is now taking his lessons online — a practice schools believed they had left behind after the worst of the Covid-19 pandemic.
Online learning has once again become a necessity for some in the community, as families remain indoors to avoid President Donald Trump’s mass deportation campaign.
After a raid at Esmeralda’s high school about a month ago, her mother, Abril, decided that none of her children would leave the home. She has no idea when they will be able to step outside again.
Like all members of the family, Abril spoke to AFP under a pseudonym.
The family arrived in the United States from Mexico a year and a half ago to seek asylum and are still awaiting a legal decision.
People with pending cases like theirs have been targeted by immigration officials after the Trump administration launched a review of the legal status of around 5,600 refugees in Minnesota who have not yet been granted green cards.
A federal judge temporarily blocked the administration late last month from detaining refugees in the state who are awaiting permanent resident status.
On a recent February morning, the children logged on for classes.
“And then more classes and more classes. Then we have lunch and we stay on the computer a bit longer, doing more work and homework,” said 14-year-old Esmeralda, wearing headphones during a lesson on fossils.
Turning their table into a classroom and their home into a bunker feels “weird”, “stressful” and “boring”, she said.
Not even free to laugh
Kevin said he misses his friends and teachers.
“We can see each other, but we’re not really together. It’s not the same as being on a video call,” he said.
During in-person schooling, “we could go outside to the park,” reflected Carlos, the youngest.
Abril and her husband, Rigoberto, are increasingly concerned about how the self-imposed lockdown is affecting their children.
“They ask why this is happening, or why—if we’re not doing anything wrong—we’re hiding, and how long it’s going to last,” Rigoberto said.
A mechanic by trade, he has not been to his workshop in more than a month, even though it is only a block away.
Federal immigration agents were deployed to Minneapolis in December, and heavily armed, masked officers have been a frequent sight ever since.
“When we read that they’re nearby, we turn off the TV and say, ‘Kids, don’t make noise, be quiet,’” Abril said.
“They’re not even free to laugh.”
No sleep
The strain has taken a toll on Abril, who says she barely sleeps.
“Sometimes I stay awake until dawn,” she said.
The last time she went outside, she added, was December 3 — more than two months ago.
The curtains have remained drawn for five weeks.
“I don’t even go out to take the rubbish out,” Abril told AFP.
With both Abril, who works as a housekeeper, and her husband unable to work because they are afraid to leave the house, a neighbour has been helping them with groceries.
“As the head of the family, it’s incredibly difficult not to be able to do anything for them,” Rigoberto said.
They know that one day they will be able to step outside again, “but things won’t be the same,” he added.
“The fear will always remain.”
What does Abril miss most?
“Going to church,” she said. “Taking the children for ice crea
