Around noon on September 3, during the busiest time between classes, several buses were traveling along the routes connecting the east and west areas of Duke University's campus.
Among them, driver Luis Juárez Hernández stood out. Upon boarding his bus, the first thing heard was "La Macarena" through the speakers, while some students greeted the driver.
Luis, Honduran The 54-year-old has been driving this route for 19 years and has become a familiar figure on campus. Every day, he selects a mix of Spanish music, filling the journey with rhythm and positive energy.
“I would like to continue working, because all the students here know me and like the music I play. It makes me happy to see them smile when they get on the bus,” Luis told Enlace Latino NC .
But his routine is at risk: on September 8, Temporary Protected Status (TPS) which has given him permission to live and work in the United States for three decades will come to an end.
"I'm worried because you depend on a little piece of paper (the TPS document) they give you. It also depends on your job, because you have to pay for everything, you have to eat, you have to do chores," Luis said.
“My life would be chaos, not just for me, but for almost 60,000 people as well,” he added.
The TPS that Luis obtained protects thousands of people from Honduras, Nicaragua and Nepal, who now face a similar situation of legal uncertainty.
A driver in the heart of the campus
For Duke faculty and students, riding Luis's bus is more than just a ride: it's a moment of joy amidst the university routine.
“I hear my classmates say, 'I got the party bus,'” said Gabriella Almonte, a senior at Duke, to Enlace Latino NC .
"There's no denying that he's been an important figure for our community. We're so happy to get on his bus to go to class or home; he brings a moment of happiness to our day," she added.
For freshman Emma Kavcioglu, Luis represents the fundamental role immigrants play in the community.
“For me, he is an example of all immigrants,” Kavicioglu told Enlace Latino NC “Luis is important to Durham's culture, and now they want to remove him. That's very sad for me.”
Luis's situation also touches her personally. His mother is originally from Nicaragua, and she sees a reflection of her own family in the uncertainty they face. thousands of immigrants today in the United States.
“When I see what's happening with Luis, I think of my family,” she added.
The students' support goes beyond words. On the bridge where their bus passes every day, there is a painting of Luis and phrases that read: "Duke isn't Duke Without Luis" and "No human being is illegal."
Gabriella and Emma highlight this gesture as a visible symbol of the affection and support the university community offers them.
“But it really bothers me that, given that Duke is a private university with so much power, they aren't supporting it as they should,” Almonte said. “It saddens me to attend an institution that doesn't support those who have worked here for almost 20 years.”
At the time of publication, Duke University did not respond to an email requesting comment on Luis's situation.
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He built his life in North Carolina
Luis arrived in North Carolina in March 1995. Three years later, Hurricane Mitch devastated Honduras, and President Bill Clinton's administration granted TPS to thousands of Hondurans.
“The president said we could stay here because it was devastated,” he recalls.
Upon arriving in North Carolina, he started working at a chicken factory in a small town outside of Wilmington. He then worked at a local hospital, where he was the maintenance man on the floors. During this time, he learned English and obtained a driver's license, eventually becoming a bus driver in Duke University.
“You get used to it. Living here for so many years… you're already part of it,” said Luis, highlighting the deep sense of belonging he has developed in the state.
In addition to his work, he has built a stable life in the region: he bought a house in Durham and has built a network of friendships and ties in the community.
But three decades later, the unexpected news of TPS's cancellation has left him worried about his future.
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The fear of returning
For Luis, returning to his country is not a safe option.
“I don't feel safe going to Honduras. There's a lot of crime there,” Luis said. “It's not like here.”
Even on his short visits, he felt out of place, having lived in the United States for so many years.
“I went once on leave for a month and I got desperate. I moved my flight forward. I couldn’t stand the heat or the mosquitoes. After so much time, you just don’t get used to it anymore.”
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No clear legal solution
Luis has explored legal options, but so far hasn't found any concrete answers.
“It's difficult to find a solution; there's no clear path. You're not prepared to suddenly be told that TPS is ending,” Luis said. “It's frustrating. Sometimes you can't even sleep peacefully, wondering what's going to happen to you.”
However, the support of the Duke community has been crucial for Luis throughout this process. This support has given him the strength to advocate for political solutions.
On September 4th, at 8 a.m., Siembra NC organized a trip with Luis, along with his supporters, to the North Carolina General Assembly to urge Senator Ted Budd and other state legislators to take action to protect workers like him.
“Students and teachers are supporting me, so I don't feel alone,” Luis said. “I have my home, my job… I have to fight and keep hope.”
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