The massive Border Patrol presence on a recent Saturday morning in Chicago's Little Village neighborhood didn't faze Ofelia Herrera even though she and her husband are in the United States illegally.

She waited for agents to move a few blocks away, then opened their stand serving Mexican-style corn on the cob and an array of flavored waters in the heart of the community of Mexican immigrants, just as they've done on weekends for 18 years. Sirens blared through a chaotic day as Chicago police responded to a Border Patrol call for help and confronted demonstrators.

Herrera, 47, and Rafael Hernandez, 44, have refused to alter their routines during an immigration enforcement blitz in Chicago that has caused many without legal status to stay home since it began in early September. Even some U.S. citizens of Latino heritage are afraid to go outside.

The couple says working regularly not only pays the bills but helps avoid depression, making them stand out from others gripped by fear in Chicago's immigrant communities.

“The only thing you can do is have faith in God and not be afraid,” Herrera said in an interview at the couple's South Side house, already bedecked with Christmas decorations just days after Halloween. “Fear gives way to depression and other things. At the end of the day, they don't deport you to Mexico but you are sick with depression and other things because you didn't have faith in God.”

Hernandez agreed. "We know people who have fallen into depression. They don't leave the house. It's very sad.”

From an Arizona desert trek to Chicago homeowners

Their Little Village food stand, adorned with American flags, is in a bustling area the Border Patrol has visited often. The two-lane commercial drag is lined with small, family-owned shops, including restaurants serving birria and chilaquiles and clothing stores with displays of Mexican sports teams jerseys or white dresses for quinceañera parties _ a coming-of-age celebration for 15-year-old girls in Latino families.

Vendors sell sliced fruit and pottery from parked vehicles. Ranchera music from cars and stores fills the air, creating a festive atmosphere that draws Mexican visitors from across Chicago and beyond. A family on a shopping trip from Waterloo, Iowa, lined up under cold drizzle at the couple's street stand to nibble corn smothered in mayonnaise, cotija cheese, lime and chili powder.

Many of the couple’s acquaintances haven’t ventured outside in more than two months. That fear has sparked a grassroots effort to buy out street vendors, allowing them to go home early and avoid public exposure.

Sidewalk traffic on 26th Street is livelier than many commercial areas in Chicago, even with the immigration crackdown. An overwhelming number of barber shops, food markets and other establishments tape signs on display windows in Spanish and English, ordering immigration authorities to stay away unless they have a court warrant.

The couple knows people within blocks who were arrested by heavily armed agents asking about their legal status _ an egg vendor here, a tamale vendor there . They say their eyes welled up when agents unleashed tear gas on demonstrators who impeded their movement at a shopping center parking lot in October.

Many immigrants, even some with legal status, are loathe to speak with reporters, especially if identified by name, fearful it may lead to deportation. Herrera and Hernandez say they are eager to share their story to foster understanding of how the Trump administration's push for mass deportations is playing out.

Herrera crossed the border in 2004, followed later by two children who are now adults living in Chicago. Hernandez made the journey a year after her. Both paid smugglers thousands of dollars for days-long treks through the Arizona desert. Acquaintances enticed them to head to Chicago, the second-highest U.S. destination for Mexican immigrants after Los Angeles.

The couple met while working at a Mexican restaurant near the two-story archway into Little Village over 26th Street. They have two U.S.-born children; their 10-year-old son speaks little Spanish and has been largely oblivious to the immigration crackdown.

Their 16-year-old daughter fears prolonged detention for her parents even more than the possibility of them being deported to Mexico.

The couple took a class at City Hall for a municipal certificate to become street food vendors and bought a house for $39,000 in 2017 that badly needed repairs. From 3 p.m. to 9 p.m.. weekdays, they serve tacos and burritos from a yellow truck in the dirt driveway of their quiet residential street Englewood, a predominantly Black neighborhood and one of Chicago's poorest. Once home to a thriving shopping district, parts of the neighborhood have fallen into disrepair with boarded-up houses. Crime is persistent.

On weekends they headed to Little Village, where they work 11-hour days.

Sales plummet after immigration raids frighten customers

They have thought about trying to obtain legal status but they don't have a strong case and could never afford an attorney. They obtained Illinois drivers' licenses. They paid taxes, stayed out of trouble and generally lived without fear of being deported.

“Chicago is nice," Hernandez said. “The crime is difficult but Chicago is marvelous. There are many opportunities for those of us who are immigrants. It's painful what is happening.”

The couple's sales have plunged about 75% since the Trump administration began “Operation Midway Blitz” in Chicago on Sept. 8, Herrera said. Like almost everyone they know, their phones constantly alert them to messages about where immigration officers are making arrests, warning them to stay away.

It appears that authorities are arresting “everyone,” Hernandez said, even though the administration vows it is pursuing “the worst of the worst.” More than 70% of people in U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement custody in the 12-month period through September were not convicted of a crime in the U.S.

U.S. authorities say they are making criminals a priority but that anyone in the country illegally is subject to arrest. That includes street vendors, according to Gregory Bovino, the Border Patrol official who led enforcement blitzes in Los Angeles, Chicago and, now, Charlotte, North Carolina.

“Those folks undercutting American businesses, is that right?” Bovino, a frequent presence in Chicago's Little Village, said in a recent interview. “Absolutely not. That's why we have immigration laws in the first place.”

The couple's memories of how the COVID-19 epidemic kept them inside are a reminder to stay active, allowing only small adjustments. They recently headed to Little Village to buy paper plates and other supplies for their business when word came on social networks that Bovino was in the area making arrests. They decided to shop in another neighborhood.

They have been back to Mexico only once in more than 20 years, a family visit in 2012 that included crossing the border illegally in Eagle Pass, Texas. They prefer to stay in Chicago but say they are prepared to return to Mexico if arrested. They would bring their two children with them.

“People are frightened because they have lives here, they have kids here, including us,” Herrera said. “We don't want to go to Mexico but, if we have to, we will. What else is there to do?”