Douglas and Agua Prietta

My last week in Arizona I traveled with Francisco, another No More Deaths volunteer to the border town of Douglas. We were sent to help staff a migrant resource center set up by one of the local churches in Agua Prietta, the town just across the border. The church was kind enough to hook us up with a trailer to stay in and a couple of bikes to get around. The purpose of this shelter is to minister to migrants who have been dumped off by Border Patrol at the port of entry. Most migrants are not from this area and being dropped off in a foreign city with no contacts or money can be quite scary so the resource center provides a place for migrants to rest, get their bearings, grab something to eat and get oriented towards the shelters and other public resources in Agua Prietta. After a few moments of rest and coffee most people are eager to get moving and reconnect with their groups to attempt another crossing.
During our shifts Francisco and I saw a decent number of people come through the resource center but never in a steady stream. Border Patrol has no rhyme or reason to when they deport people. It could be day or night, in groups of one or to or an entire bus load. For that reason we tried to keep the resource center open 24/7 but staffing wouldn’t allow that often times.
On rare occasions we were able to sit with the migrants and hear about their journeys. It struck me that even though all the people we encountered had just been dealt a major setback. Most were still very driven and ready to attempt the journey again. Border Patrol was not seen as an impossible barrier but simply an obstacle that with enough time and patience would be overcome.
The most significant moment of my time in Douglas came on Friday evening. Each week some of the local volunteers have a memorial event remembering those who have died in the dessert just outside of Douglas. Each of us took an armload of white wooden crosses. On the front were the names and death dates of people who had been found. We then started walking along the road, calling out the names of the people on our crosses and placing them along the curb. Hundreds of crosses were layed down and by the time we reached our last one we were near the port of entry. Right there in front of the passing traffic we gathered around and remembered four names in particular pastor ----- reminded us that the names we saw were lives once, they were maybe mothers, maybe fathers, maybe brothers or sisters to someone who loved and missed them. They were also image bearers of God and loved by him.
As we walked back we gatherd the crosses in a shopping cart. Each week a few more are added to the pile.

Arizona Desert

After a summer hiatus putting in a leisurely 80 hours a week at architecture school, it is time to finally let you know how the end of our trip went. Before we get into it though, some of you have mentioned that only blogspot members can leave comments on our posts. That should be fixed now so we would love to hear from you regardless of whether you are a blogspotter or not.

As I mentioned in our last entry, Steve headed back to California once we reached Tucson but I stuck around a few more weeks to finnish out our research. I had heard that the Arizona desert was one of the deadliest parts of the border and wanted to see what that meant. In Tucson I hooked up with an organization called No More Deaths and volunteered with them for two weeks in order to see the Sonora desert firsthand.

No More Deaths is an organization that was started by several local churches in response to the rising number of migrants dying in the Sonora desert. They send out patrols through the desert to look for people who may be in danger and also leave out gallons of water along well traveled trails to help prevent severe dehydration. (Just recently one volunteer was cited for littering because he left several gallons of water in the desert.) The sole purpose of this organization (if the name did not tip you off) is to prevent deaths in the desert.

My first week volunteering I spent hiking on patrols in the desert just south of Arivaca. I had done some work with No More Deaths before so I thought I knew what to expect. I had no idea we would run into 40+ migrants, manage two medical evacuations, and then wait helplessly for days to hear from a migrant named Sergio after he took off into the desert with no water, food, or maps. (he made it safely by the way)


Our first morning in the desert I had been selected to stay at camp while the rest of the crew split up to go on patrols. After constantly being on the move I was looking forward to a leisurely morning of reading and reflection. Half an hour after the crew had left, I heard a pickup roaring over the hill. It was Jimmy, one of our volunteers and in the bed of the pickup was a migrant he had found along the road just outside our camp. His name was Pedro and he had been waiting all night along the road hoping someone would come by.

Despite his latino complexion Pedro looked quite pale. He was doubled over and could barely walk to the cot we hastily brought out for him. He said he had been vomiting all night and as soon as he laid down he began to dry heave. Immediately we called 911 and after a twenty minute conversation, the lady at dispatch figured out where our base camp was (apparently she was new). We tried to give Pedro some water but he threw it up right away. He complained of pain on his sides, an indication that his kidneys were failing. The look on his face betrayed the fear he was trying to stifle.

As we waited for the ambulance I started asking him about where he was from, his family, anything to keep his mind off his current situation. He said he had a wife and three month old daughter back in Mexico. We congratulated him on his new child and he began to calm down. After an hour of waiting, a pickup with a firefighter and a paramedic arrived. They started an IV of saline and within minutes Pedro's body began to look better.

We discovered that he had been separated from his group and after a day without water he drank from a cattle tank which is nothing more than a manure filled pool. That evening his body had reacted and soon he had vomited out more water than he gained. If he had spent another day in the Arizona heat, he most likely would have died.



Eventually a real ambulance arrived and took Pedro to the hospital in Nogales. He would soon recover and be sent back to Mexico.

This is just one of the many migrants I saw that week. Most were in groups and quickly went on their way after thanking us for the water and snacks we provided. Some had been separated from their groups and would have continued wandering had they not found our patrol. One woman had to be airlifted out by a Border Patrol helicopter. Some people were from Mexico but many had come up from Central or even South America. Each person had their own reason for crossing the desert. For some it was a calculated risk, some were simply ignorant of the risks before they left, still others had been overtly lied to by Coyotes (smugglers) who cared more about money than the cargo they transported.

To the Line

First of all I must apologise. Our blog posts have been a little deceiving lately. Steve and I are not still in Mexico. We got back into the U.S. on May 29. We have been a little behind on keeping you up with our current events but hopefully by the end of the weekend everyone will be caught up. So for those of you still wondering and worrying, we are back to our respective places and both in good health.
After a day in Tierra Blanca Steve and I realized we were running out of both time and money. For both these reasons, and because we did not want to be left stranded in the middle of Mexico, we decided to hop, skip, and jump to the border so we could learn about what it takes to actually cross into the States. The bus ride North took us two and a half days. We crossed all kinds of different terrain and were exhausted by the time we got to Nogales (border town between Sonora and Arizona). With our handy dandy passports we hopped right through the border and made straight for the shuttle heading to Tucson. I was so excited to be back in the U.S. that I walked right up to the ticket desk and asked in proud English how much it was for a ticket.
I was met by a blank look.
"¿Como?" said the guy behind the desk.
Turns out people speak Spanish in America too.
Eventually we made it up to Tucson thanks to the generosity of a few No More Deaths volunteers. Being in an American city again was welcoming. It felt strange to walk past a group of people and understand their conversation. People were so white there too. I can't figure out how you can live in a desert and not have an ounce of tan. The next morning we visited the University of Arizona to use the Internet and enjoy the beautiful air conditioning. Steve decided he had had enough and we parted ways after he booked a Greyhound ticket for San Diego.
I was thinking about why we did this trip and was brought back to Matthew 22:37-40 "And he said to them, "You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all you soul and with all your mind. This is the first and great commandment. And the second is like it: You shall love your neighbor as yourself. On these two commandments depend all the Law and the Prophets."
Love, the law hangs on love. Often one of the questions we got while preparing for this trip was whether or not the people we were going to talk to were illegal immigrants. I don't know why people asked this question and I am sure there are plenty of reasons for it but the answer I never dared to give was: "does it really matter?". The people we met on our trip were our neighbors. They are moving thousands of miles to make that literally true. So if all the rest of the law depends on the command to love God and neighbor, what does it matter if they are in possession of a few extra legal documents? In my interpretation the word 'depends' could be equally translated as 'is subordinate to' which means laws such as immigration take a back seat to the more important law of love for neighbor.
I understand that it is tough to see people as neighbors and friends when the rhetoric we hear screams 'illegals' but I hope as we continue to share more stories with you that you may see the people we describe as image bearers of God with families and lives all their own. I would argue that our adherence to the second greatest commandment for any Christian depends on learning how to see through our circumstances to find our neighbors.

Tierra Blanca

The morning after our train ride I woke up surprisingly comfortable. The motionless quiet of the field we slept in was a great luxury next to the screaming and churning of the train. Just 50 feet away there was a sign warning of all the poisonous bugs and reptiles in the area. I laughed at how small that danger seemed next to what we just went through. After everyone was up we went and grabbed some breakfast before saying final goodbyes. Even though we were headed the same direction it seemed unlikely that we would run into each other again.
We took a taxi to the nearest town and grabbed a bus to Tierra Blanca, the next known stop for the train. Tierra Blanca was a hot, dirty city. There were no birds singing but our sticky shirts let us know we were still in the tropics. Again in a new city, we were subjected to the stares of people who were not used to gringo visitors.
Along the tracks we ran into Alex and Roberto who we had met back in Arriaga. They said everything had been going well so far and that to their estimation there were about 500 people in town waiting for the next train. Alex had lived in the U.S. for 9 years doing construction work before getting deported. This was his eigth trip to the U.S. Roberto was his nephew, an adventerous 15 year old who decided to go with his uncle to find work. Alex said they hadn't had money for a meal in a while so Steve quickly ran to the store to get some bread for them to pass around.
As we talked Alex said he was not trying to work in the U.S. anymore. He said he was fed up with being deported so this time he was going to try to make it all the way to Canada where it was less likely that he would be deported. His motives for leaving however, were quite unique.

Alex's family had been fighting with another family for quite some time. He already had four relatives killed by the other family and he had left for the States fearing for his life. Now that he had been caught and deported several times he decided to try his luck working in Canada. We asked him why he had not tried to go to another Latin American country and he said he did not like the corruption that was always around. He was afraid he would be found unless he headed somewhere completely away from his Honduran ties.
The United States has a mandate to accept any political refugees seeking asylum but as far as I know that policy does not apply to family situations even if the threat is the same. I will never really be able to understand what it is like to flee a country fearing for your life but I sympathize with Alex's positon. Sircumstances have forced him to leave everything that he knew and now if he goes back to the U.S. he will be considered a criminal. I hope he and Roberto make it to Canada. I hope they find good work there. I mourn the fact that there is no way for them to find safety in a country that works so hard to keep me safe.

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