For these Black women who left the US, Mexico City became home

Updated Dec. 21, 2025, 9:01 a.m. ET

MEXICO CITY ― On a perfect, sunny 75-degree day, a group of Black American women gathered at a sidewalk cafe over coffee and pastries to dish about dating, the affordability of weight-loss medications and where to find the best chocolate chip cookie.

They easily break out in Spanish to converse with the servers. They go inside the tiny panadería to check out the display of pan dulces. Though bakeries are plentiful throughout the city, butter can be subpar here.

Dianne Ray-Herman, who sports glasses and a neatly-cropped and graying afro, opts to snack on a plate of falafel and hummus. She’s a retired widow originally from Little Rock, Arkansas. After losing her husband in 2019, she knew she would eventually pursue something different.

She plotted a path to leave her real estate job. And her country.

Ray-Herman, 67, landed in Mexico City, a longtime magnet for some of the greatest writers from Jack Kerouac to Allen Ginsberg. And pioneer Black artist Elizabeth Catlett, who trained with muralist Diego Rivera and lived her life in exile until her death in 2012.

She was drawn to the possibility of shedding her own baggage and grief for a new existence: Blaxican, as some call it.

“It’s the new American dream to escape the states,” Ray-Herman told me.

During the pandemic, many digital nomads left the United States to pursue the American Dream elsewhere. Mexico’s capital became a popular destination for forging new lives and building new homes.

Black women, in particular, are flocking to Mexico City. And while there’s really no way to quantify how many have relocated in recent years, there’s a robust online community of them who have made the move from the United States, or are visiting and considering the move.

The reasons vary: A lower cost of living; more affordable housing, health care and medical procedures compared to the U.S.; a desire to live abroad; and America’s political climate.

Perhaps a deeper reason is that unlike their U.S. counterparts, the so-called American Dream and its measure of equity and financial freedom has always been more difficult to achieve – and oftentimes out of grasp for Black women.

To be sure Mexico is one of the most dangerous countries in the western hemisphere for women. And yet, Mexico City is the country’s cultural heartbeat, built upon layers and layers of rich history that is both complex and alluring.

It’s the sound of street peddlers, knife sharpeners and healers performing a cleanse in a cloud of copal incense offering a fresh start. All of this against a backdrop of Michelin-star taco restaurants, money laundering, smog, traffic and the nexus of a hundred year drug trade.

Some might refer to these women as expats or place them in the growing community of digital nomads in Mexico, but they don’t see themselves that way. They call themselves immigrants. The difference and definition are nuanced and quite important to them. And most I spoke to are pursuing permanent residency in Mexico or have already established it.

They have the freedom to come and go as they please, back to America to visit family, and then back home.

‘As a person of African descent, I felt safe here’

Walk through these bustling streets and you’ll experience people hawking fresh calla lilies, sunflowers and roses, and food cart vendors offering everything from tacos to tortas on just about every cracked sidewalk. You’ll feel welcome, not only by the sun, but by the people.

Sara Wright, 69, a retired paralegal who lived in the Bay area and worked in the homicide unit of the San Francisco district attorney’s office, has found her happy place in the Colonia of Doctores for the past year.

She’s pursuing permanent residency while taking drawing and painting classes, Spanish classes and soaking up the sun on her daily walks.

Wright, who has always loved big cities, wanted to escape the cold for her next chapter in life. And she wanted to escape something else – something she describes as uniquely American.

“Here I feel like a Black person instead of a Black person under suspicion,” Wright told me. “No one is tripping on me or making assumptions about me because I’m Black.”

In many ways it’s a tale of two different North Americas. And it’s a juxtaposition not lost on the Black Americanos who have landed here.

It wasn’t too long ago when food menus were presented in Spanish. Now, in many restaurants, the menu appears in Spanish on one side, and with a quick flip, English on the other.

It’s a subtle signal that non-Spanish speaking Americans are not only visiting Mexico City, but are now a growing part of the population. Mexico’s Migration Policy Unit says the number of Americans who applied for or renewed residency visas jumped by 70% between 2019 and 2022.

They’ve joined the roughly 22 million folks packed into the capital of the former Aztec Empire. The city is made up of 16 boroughs or delegaciones, which are divided into various neighborhoods or colonias.

These Black women aren’t affluent. They are former teachers, paralegals, real estate agents. Many of them still work, just in a new locale.

Zakiya Harris told me when the pandemic erupted, she was one of the many people who looked around and thought: “Maybe I can do something different.”

“Being from Oakland, California, where we were one of the first places to go on lockdown and followed by the George Floyd uprisings, followed by a lot of economic instability and crime, I came to Mexico City.”

At the time, Oakland was one of the hotbeds where protesters and police clashed.

Tensions escalated quickly. Four independent investigations concluded in 2021 that the police department’s officers committed more than 33 instances of excessive use of force with tear gas.

Harris moved to Mexico City with her 16-year-old daughter. She is now 20.

Safety was top of mind. “As a person of African descent, I felt safe here,” the life and wellness coach who resides in the Colonia of Annapolis told me.

“It wasn’t just about me being some digital nomad wanting to live elsewhere. I came here with residency. I came here to create a home and create a life for my family,” Harris said. “And it really checked off all the boxes.”

‘I am an immigrant’

But it’s difficult for these Americans to ignore the realities of their homeland, particularly how Mexican undocumented immigrants (or sometimes immigrants who have legal status) are being treated in the United States. The Trump administration’s deportation efforts – officers sometimes dragging people out of their workplaces, vehicles and homes without probable cause – fuels resentment among Mexicans who have welcomed Americans to their country.

And there’s anger and frustration among those Americans who have moved to Mexico City and felt welcomed. Because scenes from back home, the immigration crackdown of Mexicans living in various cities without legal status, appears cruel and inhumane. It’s the polar opposite of their experiences.

Yes, Mexico City is a place where prejudice exists – and yet, is vastly different.

So there’s a personal code of ethical conduct they’ve adopted – an unspoken apology. They understand their privilege and the importance of engaging with Mexicans. Some will only rent from Mexicans. Shopping at local and street markets is a must. As is an immersion of the culture and language. (I don’t speak much Spanish, and I felt like a heathen the entire time I was visiting these women.)

“I feel very strongly about supporting the local economy,” Harris told me. “I have an issue with Americans that come here and want to shop completely at Walmart and big box stores. I think it’s really important to see ourselves as global citizens, to understand that I’m a visitor here, that I do not use the word expat. I am an immigrant. I am immigrating into another country. I have permanent residency. I’m a green card holder in Mexico, just as many people are green card holders in America. So I’m always aware of my privilege and also my positionality as a Black woman.”

Acquiring legal residency status can be a headache. A person first must apply for temporary residency which requires proof of economic solvency. Tourist visas expire, so the women I interviewed have already established residency, be it temporary or permanent.

Annick Sorhaindo, a women’s health researcher, first lived in Mexico City in 1998 for work.

Sorhaindo, a single mother with a 6-year-old son, believes her son is safer in Mexico City than he would be in the United States.

He’s enrolled in a French school, where he’s becoming fluent in French, Spanish and English. He has friends of all backgrounds, takes robotics classes, Capoeira lessons and plays tennis.

She’s able to offer him a life here that would otherwise be out of reach for some single mothers back in the States.

“I know that he’s safer here,” Sorhaindo told me while tearing up. “I don’t think about it so much, but if I imagine him there, then I get anxious. Here? He’s fine. I think he’s safe here because people don’t judge him on looking at him immediately. He might be different. People might be curious, but they don’t immediately think negative things about him.

“Being Black inside the United States is like Superman being on Krypton, the planet Krypton,” she told me. “So like when he was on Krypton, he had no powers. But as soon as he left Krypton, he was Superman. And I think for Black people, being American is only powerful outside the United States. So there’s a level of protection that I have here being an American that I don’t have in the U.S., in addition to the fact that racism is very different and just not a priority. It’s just not the No. 1 thing that comes on people’s minds when they see us. There’s just curiosity.”

‘I know the gift I’ve been given to be a global citizen’

Still, protests have broken out in recent months in Mexico City. In July, thousands rallied against the influx of foreigners from the United States and Europe who are gobbling up affordable property. Frente Anti Gentrificación Mx, one of the protest’s organizing groups, on its social media compared Mexico City’s gentrification to a new iteration of colonization, one where “the state, institutions, and companies, both foreign and local, provide differential treatment to those with greater purchasing power.”

While walking through the streets of Mexico City, there are reminders of these protests everywhere. I saw spraypainted messages on the back of stop signs screaming: “No Gringos!”

And while they acknowledge that gentrification is an issue in Mexico City, these Black women are quick to say: “It’s not us.” Why? Because for the most part they don’t reside in the ritzy areas with other Americans who live in palatial apartments they could never afford in, say, New York City.

“I respect this country, and that I’m allowed to live here, to thrive here,” Lisa Vice, a Jersey City, New Jersey native told me. “I know the gift I’ve been given to be a global citizen.”

Uprisings have become frequent here by those fighting government corruption, gentrification and violence against women. Earlier this month, hundreds of women marched against sexual harassment and violence. Look no further than Mexico’s first woman president, who was recently groped on the street during a public appearance. Days later, Sheinbaum said she has worked with law enforcement to press charges against the man. She also unveiled a proposal to make sexual harassment a crime across all Mexican states – where an average of 10 women are killed daily.

Still, the conversation about gentrification seems to be the most active in the borough of Cuauhtémoc, which includes Condesa, Roma Norte, and Juárez. It’s become the heart of the foreigner bubble, as some refer to it. Clubs, hotels, bars and restaurants that cater to tourists or wealthy White immigrants look quite different from the rest of Mexico City.

You’ll find organic food, not the wares from local farmers who sell their produce on the streets. There are upscale massage, wellness and yoga studios and elite and pricy boutiques. The area accounts for close to 5% of Mexico’s gross domestic product.

This western side of the city is more opulent, while the east side, near the airport, and the south side, are less affluent. Once you head north, you are leaving the city and headed into the state of Mexico.

Cuauhtémoc landlords are raising rent prices at a rapid clip. Since 2020, rents there have increased by about 27%, according to government statistics.

“The issue of gentrification is one of the most important issues in the city today, but it is not new either,” Mexico City Mayor Clara Brugada said two weeks after the protest. “It is not only an issue for the city, but also for the entire world, and it means the displacement of thousands of families.”

Brugada announced a 14-point plan to address the capital’s housing and gentrification issues, including laws that would strengthen the rights of tenants and the obligations of landlords and regulate rental prices and access to short-term rental properties.

Because foreigners are paying upwards of 20,000 pesos, or about $1,082 per month, for studio apartments. That may seem ridiculously affordable to many Americans, but the average monthly salary for Mexicans living in Mexico City is about $370.

The income gap is real. But these Black woman immigrants say mortgages are still not even an option for them. If one doesn’t have cash – and a lot of it – it’s difficult to buy property. Mortgage lenders require a 30-40% downpayment, and the safeguards of title insurance don’t exist here.

So they are content renting and taking on roommates, especially where they can find other brown folks and an authenticity of culture in some of the more underrated Mexico City neighborhoods where a modest two-bedroom apartment costs around $1,200 a month.

Because these women, at least, wonder why a person would move to an international city that offers such an array of multiculturalism, only to experience an insulated lifestyle that feels like they’re living in the U.S.

“Been there, done that,” said Ray-Herman, who lives in Colonia Hipodromo Condesa, a central area of the city built on a former racetrack that offers overwhelming greenspace, including proximity to Parque México and Parque España.

‘It’s like the center of the universe’

Adalia Aborisade spent nearly 20 years teaching high school social studies, geography and history in Texas public schools. The Dallas native was exhausted. She met others who felt the same, and started noodling the idea of hosting retreats and workshops – ranging from professional reinvention to financial education to relocation.

Aborisade, 50, first moved to Mexico City in 2017, after various teaching jobs abroad. She spent two years in Asia before moving back to Mexico City in 2020. That’s when she established Picky Girl Travels the World. It was a way to earn income and to help other Black women realize they could leave the comforts of the United States and roam the world. On her website and YouTube channel she discusses financial literacy, her life abroad and solo travel.

In her free time, she’s sipping hot chocolate and eating pastries at cute cafes, she’s sewing, taking salsa lessons, Spanish classes and screen printing. She also established a walking group for other Black women immigrants.

“The first part of my life was not leisurely in that way,” said Aborisade, who was married for 20 years and raised two children. “This chapter of life doesn’t require that.”

Now she’s what her friends call the “ringleader of Black girl immigration.” She works about 15 hours a week. She recognizes the blessing – and how her financial conservatism back home allowed her to travel and eventually relocate. She also acknowledges how Mexico City and its people have fulfilled her.

“This city is, I want to say magical, but that might sound a little corny,” said Aborisade, who has traveled to more than 60 countries. “It’s like the center of the universe. Honestly, there is a certain energy here that I’ve never felt anywhere else.

“As Black women, we can see the United States without rose-colored glasses,” Aborisade told me. “Our country hasn’t always been kind to us. I think Black women feel more comfortable living outside the U.S. because life in the U.S. is not so great. I never really understood privilege until I left because I didn’t have much privilege in the U.S.”

That acknowledged privilege and financial prowess allows these women to gather at a sidewalk cafe in the middle of the day to have coffee and pastries. It affords them a level of security they didn’t feel in the United States. It’s opened their minds to Mexican culture, art and food. It’s given them an opportunity to strip themselves of the weight of American racism.