The Train

On May 23 Steve and I traveled to Ixstepec where the train makes its first stop after starting out in Arriaga. We took off on a bus two hours after the train left but it only took 15 minutes of driving before we spotted it along the roadside. The trip that took us only three hours in a bus lasted all day and into the night for the train riders. The tracks along this stretch are particularly bad so conductors take it slow. Safety is important but it makes for an exhausting ride. By the time they reachIxtepec most migrants have had enough for one day and opt to take a few days rest before heading out again. For the hearty few who don't care to waste time on things like sleep, the train leaves again that evening as soon as it can change over its cars.
Steve and I made it into town around noon and as we were searching for a hotel we ran into Mauricio and Wilfredo who we had met inTecun Uman (see Mauricio's story). They had been staying at the migrant house for the last few days and were getting ready to take the train out that evening. They invited us to visit the migrant house so after finding a room and grabbing some lunch we went to check it out.
The shelter was barely deserving of its name. It consisted of a few tin roofs and a couple storage sheds strewn about on a half acre of dirt on the outskirts of town. Walls were a luxury that were yet to be acquired although a few power cords held up by dead branches assured that the TV was in working order. A couple of guys from Colorado came out to greet us as we walked walked in. They showed us around and explained that this shelter was independently set up by the Catholic Church inIxtepec. It had no ties to the Scalabarini order (in charge of all the other shelters we visited so far) which helped explain the more laid back approach. The shelter had an outdoor kitchen and offered meals whenever it had the donations to do so. We tried to sit and chat with some of the guys lounging in the shade but Rambo IV was playing in the background so the conversations were short lived.
We headed back to town and found Wilfredo and his girlfriend near the food vendors. They had just received a dinner of beans and tortillas from a generous vendor and walked over to see how we were doing. We talked about how our project was going and they invited us to join them on the freight train heading out that night. The opportunity was too good to pass up so we grabbed our stuff from the hotel, inhaled some dinner, and met them in an open boxcar down in the train yard. It was just after dark and the train yard was filled with long shadows cast by the single set of overhead lights at the far end. Despite the hour everyone was in good spirits, ready to start the next leg of their trip.

Our group consisted of six people. Steve, myself, Mauricio, Wilfredo, his girlfriend Mirian, and Nolvia who had been traveling by herself but joined the other three a few days ago. We played a few card games until we heard the train from Arriaga coming in, then we crossed the tracks and crawled into a gondola style railroad car. The top was open and the sides low enough for an average person to see out when they stood up but it provided plenty of security from falling out.
It took another hour and a half before the train was ready to go but once we left town things started to move fast. Really fast. The boom of boxcars running into each other reverberated down the track every time the conductor changed speed. The hiss of air brakes and screeching metal was almost constant. We could barely make out each other's voices over the noise. Along either side of the train were thousands of fireflies illuminating the edges of our metal transport as it bobbed down the tracks. We were moving at least 60 mph but the wind was nothing more than a strong breeze as it was whipped around in the air pocket created by the cars in front of us. Above us was an expanse of stars interrupted only by the jagged peaks ahead of us. We stood at the front of our car for hours admiring the brute force of the vehicle hurling us through narrow mountain passes and fields of fluorescent green.
It didn't seem fair to rest rather than admire the moment but our bodies eventually told us otherwise and we laid down in the middle of our car with jackets as padding and backpacks for pillows. The noise of the wheels made it hard to sleep but I eventually dozed off.
Some time during the night Steve shook me awake. A couple men had entered the back of our car and were standing over some migrants in the corner. I glanced over just in time to see one migrant hand the man some money.
Steve and I quickly woke up the rest of our crew in case the men with flashlights came our way. We hoped our group was big enough that they would just pass us by but that was just wishful thinking. They shined their flashlights right in our faces and started talking in a tone too low to decipher over the noise of the train. I didn't see any weapons but something felt wrong. Mauricio got up to talk to the men and see what they wanted even though was obvious that Steve and I were the ones causing them concern. They said they were train employees and had come to collect money for riding on their train. In other words, they were extorting money from the migrants.
Riding freight trains in Mexico is the same as in the U.S. The benefits are free albeit dangerous travel to wherever your destination is. The downside is that it is not regulated which makes riders vulnerable to theft and exploitation (In case anyone is getting ideas it is also illegal which is enforced in the States but not in Mexico). I don't know what agreement these guys had with the rest of the employees on the train but you can be sure no money they collected was going much further than their own pockets. Steve and I stood up and explained that we were reporters riding the train in order to learn migrant's stories. After hearing that their attitudes took a sudden shift. I don't know if it was the power of our reporter status or that we stood a foot and a half above these guys but they never asked us for a dime. Instead they told us we should have informed the train line before boarding that night and shuffled off to the next car. We watched as their flashlights slowly worked their way from group to group all the way up the train.
A few hours later the train stopped at a fork in the tracks named Medias Aguas and we got out and slept until morning.
Riding the trains is not the only way to get through Mexico. If you have the money many Coyotes can take you from your native country all the way to the U.S. either by car or by bus. I talked to one guy who took public buses and made it through 19 checkpoints without being asked for documents (this is extremely rare). But the trains are still the most well known way of travel since they avoid most checkpoints and fit any budget. Steve and I feel privileged to have ridden the train and not run into any problems. This is not the case for most migrants.

Arriaga

On May 18 we left Tapachula and took the bus to Arriaga which is where we were told migrants board the freight trains heading north for the first time. Arriaga is a quaint Mexico town. The streets are clean and buildings well kept and in many ways it reminded me of my home town in Iowa. The train yard splits the town in half with the North side shoved up against a bluff and the south side trickling out across the plain.
Our first evening we took a stroll to see if we could find anyone we thought might be migrants. As the last threads of daylight faded away we approached the train yard and discovered dozens of groups strewn about in circles of five or ten. Some laughed and played cards while others lounged on railroad ties. Under the only tree in the yard a few people had built a campfire and were cooking something in reused coffee cans.

Quite a few people took interest in the white boys walking around but no one seemed too concerned. We had thought it would be tricky to approach migrants outside of a shelter but our pale skin and better than average stature made a good ice breaker. As we walked around people shot questions at us, curious about who we were and why we were there. After humoring the interrogations we continued on.
We found a man named Elmer hanging out with a group of Hondurans. He said he was in charge of the train yard so we asked him if the crowd we saw that night was normal and why the people were not worried about the police. He said the local police didn't give migrants any trouble ("why would they?") and that Immigration officers only come around occasionally. The train company was obviously not raising a stink either so migrants were free to hang around the yard.

Later that evening we were walking through the town square when we ran into Dennis. Back in Tecun Uman Dennis hung out with us as we went around taking pictures (he is the guy cutting bananas with a machete) and we were glad to see he had made it this far in good shape. We invited him to dinner and he told us about the walk from Tecun Uman to Arriaga. Like so many others he had fallen victim to the bandits that prey on migrants as they pass through "La Rosera ", an area between two small towns known for harboring lots of thieves and small gangs. Fortunately, he said, he only had 70 pesos (U.S. $7) on him at the time so he did not loose much. Others he was with had much more and lost it all.

Despite being robbed Dennis was still in good spirits and was excited but slightly nervous about the train ride ahead. We gave him a little money so he could find food in the next town and then said good night.

The next morning we got up before the sun to see the train off. We were told it would leave at 7:00 am and didn't want to miss a moment.

The train yard was a buzz of activity. The groups from the night before had multiplied to hundreds (300-350 we estimated) all anxiously waiting to get on their way. People were crawling all over the train, throwing water bottles and backpacks to those already perched on the top, and trying out different locations for the safest, most comfortable ride to El Norte. Local vendors walked up and down the tracks selling food, water, candy, and Popsicles to migrants. Some of the more prepared groups dressed in plastic bags or cardboard to stay dry from the morning drizzle.

Around 7:45 the railroad workers finished their final preparations and the train, dragging empty cars and eager migrants, slowly made its way out of town.

The next few days we talked to residents and business owners about the constant stream of migrants going in and out of their town. They didn't seem to mind too much one way or the other. Some were slightly annoyed by people constantly coming to beg for food but no one held much resentment. Yes, they said it made the town a little dirtier but Arriaga has its fair share of emigrants as well. It is hard to see migrants as just an issue when you know their reasons for leaving.

Steve and I hung around Arriaga four more days until the next train came and went then we grabbed a bus and headed to Ixtepec where the freight is reshuffled before heading further north.

First of all Steve and I want to thank your for all the support we have received over the past month. Almost every day we get emails from people who are excited about this project. It is a blessing to know how many people are praying for us and seriously thinking through what we have encountered along our journey.

We also want to thank those who have made it financially possible to do this trip. With your support we have now made it half way with many stories, photos and interviews to show for it.

In order to finish our journey we still need to cover a few more costs. Please help us see this journey through to completion.

We now have a good idea of how things work so we thought we would break down our daily costs to show how your donation can help:

$2 means an hour each of Internet time which is an essential for keeping up a blog.

$10 provides a bus ticket to the next town.

$20 lets us stay in a hotel for a night instead of fighting over park benches (just kidding we haven't had to do that. yet)

$60 will cover our expenses for an entire day including food, water, hotel, Internet, and transportation.

Steve also mentioned that if we got 4000 people to donate $0.50 we could cover all our costs and then some. Spread the word...

Donations are tax deductable as well.

In all we have about 25 days left before finnishing up in Tucson.

If you like using technology you can send donations using the donate button on the left column of our blog.

If Paypal makes you squeamish you may also mail donations to:

Immanuel CRC
Attn: Desert Footprints
1405 Albany Ave. NE,
Orange City, Iowa 51041

God is at work here there is no doubt about that. We see him working through the ministries at Casa Del Migrante, we saw him touching the lives of injured migrants at Albergue Jesus el Buen Pastor, and we hear the testimony of his faithfulness from migrants almost every day who continue to be tested along thier journey.

With your help we hope to continue learning how we as Americans may best join in God's work here through seeking justice and showing love to immigrants in the U.S.

Thank you for your support,
Steve Eaton & Nathan Poel

Mauricio's Story

TROUBLE IN CHIAPAS

Mauricio is a 29 year old man who we met at the Tecun Uman house. He left to work in the United States for the first time at age 25 and has attempted to make the trip six times since that first try. Each time he was caught and sent back but he continues to go for the sake of his family. When we talked with him he was kind enough to tell us about a few of his past attempts.

Mauricio told us he leaves for economic reasons and that its harder to leave each time knowing that it may be the last time he sees his wife and children. He stated that it is harder now because his children are getting old enough to understand the reality of the daunting trip he faces. The migrant horror stories circulate in Central American towns and knowing that his children are hearing them makes leaving all the more difficult. Mauricio's kids are now ages 13, 8, and 6. In response to why he makes the trip he referenced them and their education. "Not to have luxuries, but to have their needs met".

On the first attempt he told us about how he ran into problems in the southernmost Mexican state of Chiapas. He was walking the three day trip from Tapachula to the tracks now at Arriaga. This stretch is known as "La Rosera" and is infamous for migrant robbery. Soon after crossing through the town of Huixtla he was robbed. He wasn't carrying much money but they took everything he had. When asked who the bandits were he described them as "Not gang members but people who are opportunists. People that say here comes easy money". They used a pistol to rob him. Once they had robbed him they let him continue north. That same day as he continued to walk he was assaulted again by a different group of robbers. The robbers were angry when they found out that he had nothing. Not wanting to be left empty handed for all of their trouble they took Mauricio's shoes. After telling us this story he stopped abruptly and told me "But that story doesn't even compare to the time before that".

TRAINS

The events unfolded in a town near the Texas border named "San Louis Potosi".
"We got there about two in the morning from another train", Mauricio began.
"We were tired after a long train ride so we decided to get off in San Louis Potosi to rest to re-cooperate our strength. At this point we had enough money to continue by bus but the bus left at seven in the morning, five hours from when we got off the train. I was traveling with a childhood friend from my Neighborhood in Honduras. I had grown up with him and we were practically brothers. Suddenly after about two hours of rest a train appeared, moving fast. Without talking it over my friend jumped up and started to chase it yelling for me to follow over his shoulder. Since I didn't want to be left alone I got up and followed him running. Because it was still early in the morning it was dark and hard to see. My friend up ahead of me managed to get on so I ran trying to do the same.
As I ran I didn't see one of the planks on which the tracks lie sticking out past the rest. Because I couldn't see I tripped on the board sending me flying through the air. As I fell I did not shut my eyes, I saw everything that happened. It was just a second but I saw that I was falling towards the wheels. And I don't know how it happened but I was able to turn and landed right next to the moving wheels. My head hit something on the way down and that's how I got this scar."

He pointed to a scar about an inch and a half long cutting his left eyebrow into two sections. He told us that his childhood friend then came running up to him in tears because from his perspective he could not see the lower part of Mauricio's body. His friend thought that Mauricio had become another victim of the train. When he saw that Mauricio was alright he was overjoyed but Mauricio told him to leave him alone for a while, he needed time to think.

"I lay there for about an hour and a half because of the scare. Because that happens in seconds, you don't mess around with the train. A lot of people have been cut in half by the train, but there's a saying... He who doesn't risk, doesn't gain. As I lay there while the train was rushing by I only thought about my family. My mom, my kids and my wife. I lay there thanking God for this new opportunity. A lot of people mess up like that because they don't want to be left alone. Not everyone can catch a train when its moving that fast. I couldn't judge how fast the train was going because it was still so dark out."

Mauricio's story is a lucky one. A single trip to the Hospital in Tapachula or a walk by the tracks in Arriaga will show you that not every story ends happily.


MEXICAN GENEROSITY

Shifting gears Mauricio then told us of an experience when he felt blessed by the generosity of the Mexican people, whom he told us had helped him many times.

"It's a hard trip, the one who helps us is God. God touches the hearts of the Mexicans who help us. There is this one place where the train moves slowly for thirteen hours, and when it stops, there's nothing around. On this day the heat was extreme up there on top of the trains. Making things worse, a lot of us had thrown our water bottles when we had hopped on because sometimes its impossible to catch trains when you are weighed down by water bottles. So we were left thirsty without water in the heat of the desert."

The heat in the desert is often over 100 degrees Fahrenheit. Couple this with the fact that people are on darkly painted metal trains and you have an easy recipe for heat exhaustion. Fainting in these circumstances accounts for many of the deaths associated with the train aptly named by migrants, "El Tren de la Muerte" or The Train of Death.

Mauricio continued. "So what happened next is we went by this little town rather slowly and we asked this guy by the tracks for water, but he didn't get the water out to us in time to throw it up. But since the train was moving slowly he got in his truck and caught up to us. He parked ahead of the train by the tracks and set up to throw the water up to us. He was able to throw up about 4 bottles of water, thank God. Sometimes the people, a lot of people, throw bags of food up to us near Mexico City."

At this point we asked Mauricio if things like that ever happen here in Chiapas.

"No not in Chiapas, but there are some people who will share food. The problem is that some migrants don't ask out of fear, because there are bad people out there too. What do they do? Well you walk by and they tell the migra 'There go a bunch of migrants' and the next thing you know there is a squad up ahead waiting for us. But in the end its all worth it, for that chance to better your family's way of life".

ON THE TEXAS BORDER

As if the prior experiences were not enough Mauricio still had stories to tell us. On another attempt to make it to the United States Mauricio made it to a border town by the name of "Piedras Negras". Once in the town he made a deal with a Coyote to lead him across the unfamiliar terrain to the United States. It was November and and very cold.

"We had no idea it got that cold on the border" Mauricio began. "I got in on a Tuesday around three in the afternoon and our group of 15, including four guides, crossed the river at about two am that night. We walked for the next hour then rested for an hour and everything was fine, but then it got cold".

We asked if the group was wet from crossing the river.

"We weren't wet because we carried our clothes in black plastic bags. And the water is shallow at Piedras Negras, it only goes up to about your knees. But then the wind picked up and it got very cold and as the sun was coming up it started to snow. The trip was only supposed to take two days, but because of the cold, wind, rain and snow the guides got lost. So we walked and walked and never got there.

We ended up walking for five days, but after day two we were out of food because you dont carry a lot. Only what you can carry in a little back pack. Not enough to fill a person up, just enough to get by. So we were out of food, we were out of water, but the real killer was the cold. The snow was gathering on the ground and with each step we sank deeper. Once the snow was past our feet it began to pack around our shoes and as you know snow gets heavy when it sticks like that. So by the fourth day people started fainting. In our group there was a sixteen year old kid, well he seemed like a kid to me. I saw him fall over. He was traveling with his uncle who pleaded with me to help him carry the boy. I really wanted to help but I couldn't. If I had stopped to help carry the boy the guide would have left us and we would have died in the cold.
At this point the group was all split up. There was only one guide in front of us because the other three couldn't take the walking. They were somewhere behind us at this point. My knees were all swollen and I prayed, 'My God, let us arrive, help me, If I stay here I am going to die!'. Because the thing about coyotes is that they aren't going to risk staying behind for one if it means endangering themselves or the rest of the group. If you fall behind they will tell you to hurry up, but if you don't, they will leave you. They are in it for the money. That's what's important to them, the money. They aren't about to risk staying in one place too long for fear of the 'Migra', because they have trucks and planes on their side."

MAURICIO'S WIFE

"One time I made the trip with my wife and the Coyotes left us. My wife just wasn't strong enough to make the journey." Mauricio told us, still talking about the dangers associated with using a coyote.
"We had only been walking for a day, but it was at a fast pace. My wife was exhausted and her knees were all swollen from the journey so I pleaded with the coyote to let us rest. I begged him not to leave us because we had no idea where we were. All around us were mountains not a house in sight. I told him that if we rested for a while that my wife would recuperate and be able to continue at a faster pace, firmly believing that to be true. I just thought she needed to rest.
Reluctantly the coyote agreed, but he insisted we could not stay for long, a quick rest would be all he would allow. I layed her down to rest for a while but when it was time to keep moving my wife began to cry. 'I can't make it! I can't make it!' she sobbed. The coyote and the rest of the group got up and left."

Mauricio was left alone with his wife in the middle of the night in unfamiliar territory. He knew that since they had already walked for some time they must be near their destination but their options were quickly dwindling with the coyote gone.

"I was desperate. Once again I began to pray. We didn't know where we were, we were out of food, and we had only a little bit of water left. At that point I knew I would have to carry her. So I lifted her to my back and just started walking. We didn't have much water so from time to time I would allow myself to wet my lips. We had to make frequent stops because I would feel like I was about to faint.
There came a point where we were out of water and we stumbled upon a little puddle. The water was dirty and we could tell that this was where the cattle drank because there were droppings everywhere. But we were thirsty and out of options so we used my shirt as a strainer to try and make the water a little bit cleaner. After that we kept walking and walking until I saw a streetlight from a highway and I knew we were saved. When we got to the highway we hugged and fell asleep right by the road. At dawn we were picked up by the Border Patrol. I explained to them that my wife needed medical attention and they were good to us. I didn't complain, thank God we were picked up. She's the mother of my kids, my wife, and I love her. I can always try again, but we only live once. After that trip my wife swore that she would never again make the journey to the United States."

Tapachula

Now that we have moved on with our journey it is time to write about Tapachula and what that city means to the migrants that pass through.

Tapachula has long been known as a central hub for the migrant journey. Historically it is the place where Central Americans hop trains for the first time on their route to El Norte (the north). It is home to another Casa Del Migrante as well as Grupo Beta headquarters and a hospital originally dedicated to migrants who have been injured by the trains.

Tapachula is located in the southernmost state of Mexico called Chiapas. This area has been known for its gang activity particularly the MS 13 and 18th street gangs which were pushed north after anti-gang laws were passed in Central American countries. Steve and I expected to find a run down Mexican city with lots of migrants and gang activity. Instead Tapachula turned out to be doing quite well compared to towns in Guatemala. Streets were clean and families came to hang out in the central square after dark.

We did see some gang markings on a few buildings but most were faded or crossed out. None of the migrants we talked to spoke of trouble with gangs in Tapachula.

After visiting the Casa Del Migrante we discovered trains had not been going through Tapachula since Hurricane Stan took out the bridges in 2005. After resting for a brief time, most migrants walk to Arriaga to grab their first train.

Even though trains no longer run there the shelter was full and Steve and I had to stay in a Hotel downtown. Every afternoon we took a cab back to hang out with migrants and hear their stories.

Everyone at the shelter was at a different point in their journey. Some were heading north for the first time. Others were on their fourth or fifth attempt after being caught and sent back. One man we talked to had lived in New York for 20 years. He was deported to El Salvador at age 32 after losing his resident alien status. While in his native country he got married and now two years later he is trying with his wife to make it back to his family in New York.

Two days before leaving we visited Albergue Jesus el Buen Pastor, a heath care facility set up for people who are not able to pay their medical expenses. Originally it was started to aid migrants who had lost limbs after falling off freight trains. Albergue still receives some migrants who have lost limbs on trains further north but many of their current patients are locals who cannot afford to stay at the hospital. Along with basic health care Albergue offers ESL (English as a second language), computer, and sewing classes to help patients learn skills they can use later on.

It was exciting to see that a place like this existed. I cannot imagine what life would be like to suddenly lose a limb instead of going to the U.S. to work and support your family. Without the chance to learn a professional skill it would be easy to lose hope. Albergue is a place committed to maintaining the dignity of people who would not have a chance at a decent job otherwise. If anyone wants to donate or volunteer with Albergue visit thier website at http://www.alberguebuenpastor.org.mx/.

From Tapachula the journey becomes much more difficult. There are eight separate checkpoints on the 140 mile road between Tapachula and Arriaga. This means taking a car or bus is out of the question for migrants without documents. The alternative is walking which takes three days for an able bodied person. Some people take the train tracks, others follow paths through the mountains. Either way they avoid all main roads which means taking on tropical forests. Most of the people we talked to were robbed at some point during these three days. Many were robbed multiple times. There is one area named ¨la Rosera¨ that is particularly known to be trouble.

Still many people along the way are also generous. There are just as many stories of restaurants giving food or people allowing migrants to work and earn some money for their trip.

Some migrants never make it to Arriaga but for those that do, a new chapter in their journey awaits. In a few days we will write about boarding the trains here in Arriaga. From what we have seen already, it will knock your socks off.

Photos

For those who have not discovered this you can see all the photos steve and I have posted so far by clicking on the photos on the left column. The most recent ones are at the top and all previous albums are at the bottom. Check it out now to see photos Steve took in Arriaga of migrants starting their journey on the freight trains.

Check Out Photos From Steve

Mexico