Brownsville (United States) (AFP) - Two days after being admitted into the United States, Roberto Martinez and Javier Liendo are already taking on odd jobs, repairing walls and washing cars.
The two Venezuelans say they came to the country to work, and so they are.
In Brownsville, Texas -- directly across a river from Matamoros, Mexico -- migrants are released into the city after turning themselves into border patrol and pledging to present the details of their asylum request to a judge.
It can take up to three years for their cases to make their way through the immigration court system, and in the meantime, they must begin to build a new life.
Martinez is "prepping the...concrete, preparing to seal (the wall), and well, finish the job," he says of his work fixing up the structure of a local business.
"We're painting, making everything impeccable, everything beautiful, lovely, like it is here," the 36-year-old craftsman explains.
At a local gas station, he helps renovate a concrete platform -- where the fuel is dispensed -- by scraping a spatula loaded with a cement mixture along its base.
After being released from detention, "I grabbed this day job, because I need to keep going," Martinez says, explaining he hopes to end up in New York.
Martinez says he arrived in Brownsville after traveling from Venezuela by bus and on foot.
"It's a long journey that I wouldn't wish on anyone," he says.
"But I kept going, always with my Almighty God."
With the pandemic-era policy Title 42 -- which allowed for the quick expulsion of migrants -- ending Thursday at midnight, thousands of people are opting to cross the Rio Grande river along the US-Mexico boundary and surrendering themselves to border officials.
Though remaining rule Title 8 allows border-crossers to claim asylum, many fear it could also expedite deportations and sanctions, such as imposing a five-year ban from applying for legal entry on anyone who has first tried to cross illegally.
At the gas station, meters away from Martinez, another man rolls white paint onto the gas station's walls, as a boom box blasts music at full volume while they work.
'Here to work'
Across the parking lot, 23-year-old Venezuelan Javier Liendo carries a bright yellow sign proclaiming "CAR WASH" -- the gas station manager has allowed the men to earn some money by setting up a scrub-and-rinse operation on the property.
The international bridge leading to Mexico is visible in the distance.
"We came here to work, man," Liendo says."We're here making money for the journey, but -- working, working."
"At first, we came here to ask for money, but they supported us here" by offering work, he explains.
"We're washing cars and the people help us out with a little something," he said.
Many in this group, mostly young people, also dream of studying in the United States.
Sair Medina left Venezuela "to look for another future."
"I like to study, I like everything, and I had to leave my country because of a situation that was ultimately not worth anything at all," the 19-year-old said, also joining in on the car washing.
Thanks to the murky regulations around whether migrants who enter the country this way are allowed to work, the people who have hired this group prefer to stay anonymous.So do the neighbors who stop by with donations of food and clothing.
Amid everything, Cleiber Colmenares, who has just been released in Brownsville, says he looks around and feels hopeful.
"I have a four-year-old daughter and a five-year-old son whom I want to give a better future to," he says.
"I'm 26 years old, and I have my life ahead of me.I'm excited to be here, because I want to work and save money," he adds.
"To be able to make money here, look, we're going to wash cars, so that people know there are also good people (among us)," says Eli Gonzales, 23.
"A lot of people discriminate against us, but God bless you all.We are all human beings."
