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Village where child disappeared is haven for close-knit, legal residents
IMMOKALEE
— It’s a community that’s been at the center of national media reports
since 6-year-old Adji Desir went missing last weekend in Farm Worker
Village in Immokalee.
But what is Farm Worker Village?
To outsiders it’s just government-subsidized housing.
Yet to the community’s residents, it’s home and a safe haven.
“It’s a neighborhood,” said Jean Blanchard, 42, a resident of the
village for eight years. “It’s a community.”
Opened in 1974 as farm labor housing, Farm Worker Village has grown from
the 150 original units in the first phase of construction to 641 units
spread through five phases. The last homes were built in 2001.
And no, the village isn’t a hotbed for illegal immigrants.
Renters at Farm Worker Village, which is operated by the Collier County
Housing Authority in Immokalee, must be citizens or permanent residents.
Legal temporary guest workers aren’t allowed to live there.
And that helps strengthen the feeling of community. That feeling was
evident one day late last week as kids played along Chadwick Circle in
the village.
Among them were Blanchard’s three boys, Junior, 11; Ernesto, 9; and Ted,
4.
The youngest arrived from Haiti on Monday with Blanchard’s wife, Marie,
40, after years of going through the legal immigration process.
Blanchard’s relief and happiness were evident as he described what a
normal weekday would be like for his kids.
Homework will get done right after school, he said, and only after the
work is done can they have some fun.
“My wife does not play,” Blanchard said with a grin.
Through the eight years he’s lived in the U.S., all in Collier County,
Blanchard said the connection felt by residents has remained the same in
Immokalee and at the village.
“I don’t think I want to go anywhere else,” Blanchard said.
Blanchard’s next-door neighbor, Camilo Martinez, moved in five months
ago with his family.
The move was like coming home, said Martinez, 37.
Born in Naples, and raised in Immokalee, Martinez said the moment he got
his driver license he’d drive over to the village to visit friends and
family.
He agreed with Blanchard in saying that the “neighborhood feeling” has
not changed.
“We all know all our neighbors,” Martinez said.
Both said Adji’s disappearance has shaken the community and that it’s
not a reflection of how the community has been all these years.
“This has never happened,” Martinez said of security for village
residents.
But like other areas of Collier County, Farm Worker Village has changed
in recent years.
Esmeralda Serrata, the Collier County Housing Authority’s executive
director, said the village has undergone changes during the past 8 to 10
years.
“The biggest change we’ve seen is the demographics of our population,”
said Serrata, who has been with the agency for 20 years. “Now we serve a
larger percentage of Haitian Creole families.”
When it opened nearly 35 years ago, the majority of the population
living in the housing was of Hispanic origin, which included Mexicans,
Guatemalans, Hondurans, Puerto Ricans and others.
What hasn’t changed, however, is the bond the residents feel.
Serrata said the village has maintained a sense of family as it has
grown— something the development shares with Immokalee.
“There is a sense of community,” said Serrata, who smiled as she called
the village close-knit. “They all live here, they all live close by and
they know that they have to live together.”
And many former village residents still maintain ties to their old
stomping grounds.
“A lot of families have transitioned and have gone on to home
ownership,” Serrata said. “But there’s always some connection to the
people that lived here.”
In the morning, it’s not uncommon to spot village residents giving each
other a ride to work or into town ... it’s just what they do.
Another typical sight occurs when Village Oaks Elementary starts and
ends its school day across the road from the village.
Throngs of neighborhood kids make their way to and from the school,
slightly somber in the morning and more laughingly in the afternoon.
Overall, Serrata said, there’s a common feeling of respect and
humbleness among the village residents.
It’s something else that makes the community stand out, she said.
“There’s a sense of appreciation,” Serrata said, adding that many of the
village’s residents have come from difficult situations in their native
lands, including the political and economic turmoil in Haiti. “They’re
just thankful. What’s important to us is not necessarily important to
them.”
Barbara Mainster, executive director of the Redlands Christian Migrant
Association, said the professional make-up of the village’s population
also has changed.
“It has changed in that there are more seasonal farm workers there
instead of migrant workers,” Mainster said in an interview Friday.
“There’s a lot of packing house workers.”
The association has two separate day-care centers in the community, the
first of which opened in 1975, Mainster said.
“They’re hard-working families,” Mainster said. “It’s really a
neighborhood community, that’s why this has been so shocking.”
Serrata echoed that sentiment and added that a lot of the village’s
families never before had to worry about their children’s safety.
That changed when news of Adji’s disappearance spread through the
development.
As of week’s end, the search for Adji continued.
“Everyone is fearful,” Serrata said.
But through it all, Serrata said the residents have come together to
help the authorities try to find one of their own.
“It’s a member of the community,” Serrata said. “It’s personal to them.”
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