I first encountered the woman on a spring morning in Hipódromo, a neighborhood in Mexico City inhabited largely by young professionals and expatriates. She might have been mistaken for a backpacker at first glance, with her giant battered rucksack and crew-cut hair. Upon closer look, however, there was something “off” about her presence — the aggressive stance, the torn and dirty clothing, the angry muttering and gesticulating wildly. Her freckles and red hair, cut military-short, implied she was a non-Mexican, though she moved through the streets as if she owned them.
As I passed her, I averted my eyes and crossed to the opposite sidewalk, joining other passersby in careful avoidance. Over the next several months, from time to time I would spot her again in Condesa or Roma Norte. Each time, I found myself wondering about her story — who she was, where she came from, how she had ended up here. She seemed dangerous, baring her teeth or laughing hysterically to herself, sometimes brandishing a glinting sharp object. As I moved on with my day, my curiosity would fade as her presence was relegated to the background of busy errands around town.
A viral video
It wasn’t until several weeks later that Mariah Markus, as I later learned she was named, once again entered my radar: this time via a series of alarmed messages in various WhatsApp groups. Immersed in writing an article one afternoon in mid-December, I became irritated by the constant vibrations of my phone. My WhatsApp channels were blowing up with cautionary messages and a forwarded recent clip of the woman throwing a heavy rock at someone outside of the video frame and flashing a glinting knife while screaming. A message in Spanish accompanying the video read “Neighbors, be very careful with this crazy person. She has a knife, attacks people, throws stones, and is wandering around Vicente Suárez and Tula, the sidewalk on Mazatlán, and the area around Walmart. Be cautious!”
The digital grapevine quickly transformed into a forum for concerned residents sharing their personal experiences encountering the woman and theories about her origins. The messages, alternating between Spanish and English, painted a portrait of mounting concern in these typically peaceful neighborhoods. A woman named Ali, one of the group members, reported “Apparently the police have been called several times, [Mariah has] been detained and then released. [T]he US embassy has been notified.”
Taylor, another resident, added to the growing narrative: “She is outside my apartment building most mornings and throughout the day. Where the Green Corner is on the corner of Mazatlan/Fernando Montes de Oca. Very concerning, I see her almost every day.”
“We have to do something!” added a woman named Daniela, in another WhatsApp group.
An American woman named Sara chimed in with a recent sighting “I just saw her in the middle of the street probing a manhole cover while traffic whizzed past.”
Amidst the buzz of fear and speculation in the chats, several women expressed sympathy and concern for Mariah. Carla, a Mexican resident, wrote: “Is very very sad her situation, she must have been abused several times, I had seen her all beaten. I hope that soon she receives help, for her sake and others 😞” Carla’s words sparked new discussions about mental health support systems available for expats and the homeless in Mexico.
Despite some compassionate inputs, underneath the surface of several messages and comments on social media lurked an unmistakable strain of xenophobia, particularly among some Mexican participants who called for Mariah’s deportation. “Deport the American woman now!” demanded one particularly vocal member. Other posts on social media showing videos of Mariah sarcastically referred to her presence as “Gentrification.”
As the video of Mariah’s most recent activities continued its viral journey, appearing in nearly every WhatsApp channel, the community’s response crystallized into action. A dedicated WhatsApp group titled “Police Report” materialized, attracting 148 members within hours of its creation.
Crowdsourcing Mariah’s story
Little by little as more facts and information were shared in the various chats, a clearer picture of Mariah Markus began to emerge. A woman connected with the U.S. Embassy revealed Mariah’s full name, while others dropped articles from Mexican publications reporting on her previous arrests. Videos surfaced showing her confrontational behavior, including footage of her standing in traffic, shouting at passing drivers.
But it was her LinkedIn profile, shared by another group member, that revealed the most startling contrast. The profile painted an unexpected portrait: Mariah was 33, a Colorado native, and a graphic designer with her own portfolio website. Her background included computer science studies and a four-year service in the Colorado Air National Guard. The profile listed an impressive thirty honors and awards, including professional fighting titles, though their authenticity remained unverified.
Most unsettling were the four articles she had written on LinkedIn, which revealed not only her past as a victim of abuse, but also a troubled history marked by multiple suicide attempts. The professional facade of her online presence stood in contrast to her current situation, serving as a haunting reminder of the precariousness of mental states — and how quickly circumstances can unravel without proper support.
The situation caught the attention of local politician Alessandra Rojo de la Vega, the mayor of Cuauhtémoc, who used her social media platforms to provide updates and call for firsthand accounts from affected residents, citing a need for concrete evidence in order to support deportation proceedings. It appeared that, on numerous occasions in the past, Mariah had been detained and released by authorities due to a lack of evidence needed for resolution.
Within less than two days of the initial buzz on community groups and social media, COPACO Hipódromo Condesa (a community-based organization) reported that Mariah had finally been successfully deported back to the United States.
Crossing borders, carrying burdens
Mariah’s story serves as a sobering reminder to many in Mexico City’s expat community. Her descent from a young professional to a person in crisis on the streets of a foreign city represents a dark inversion of the American Dream, played out against the backdrop of Mexico’s capital. It raises questions about mental health support, community responsibility, and xenophobia in a city that attracts foreigners seeking new beginnings.
In the end, Mariah Markus’s story serves as a reminder that the promise of a fresh start in a new country cannot mask deeper, unresolved troubles that no change of scenery can cure.
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