I've written a lot about the people we've encountered here in the desert, but I've said very little about the landscape (or at least, not enough). Today is the best day for me to do so.
Two other volunteers (Tom and Danielle) and I went for a patrol on the edge of the Cerro Colorado mountains today, setting out for what was going to be a 5.4-mile hike in horizontal distance (putting it at much more once elevation changes are factored in).
To jump to the juicy bits, we came across a rattlesnake and another awesome large red snake, and then we got caught in a monsoon storm. The rains drenched us to the bone in no time, just as our hike was getting to the steep inclines, washes, and nasty drops. For 3+ miles we hiked through monsoon rains with booming thunder and lightning, up and down ridges and through raging washes. We probably did everything we were not supposed to do, but we did it safely! We stayed away from peaks and moved quickly across ridges when we had to, and we held hands and braced one another when we had to cross the larger, more powerful washes (there were at least 30 running washes that we crossed, probably ten that were large...a running wash is akin to a small river, if that terminology confuses you).
The power of the weather and the land was unbelievable today, and we enjoyed our time right in the thick of it to no end. The three of us made the ultimate extreme patrol today, and I am even more in awe of the desert's power now than I was before. It's sunsets and stars are easy to love, and the scenery as we drive through valleys and across ridges is obviously beautiful. What we witnessed today, however, is in an entirely different category.
I will be sad to leave this place.
Shalom.
Added two days later:
What we hiked through was enjoyable because we knew we had a (fairly) dry truck waiting for us at the end, once we found the end. At the same time that we were hiking through the storm, hundreds of migrants were doing the same (or hiding in the non-existent hiding places along the way), with no hope of having time to rest, a nice meal, or a place to dry off afterwards. As we hiked, though we could not see far at all, we still tried to find migrants along the way who were surely in need to help because of the weather. We found no one, but that by no means says that people weren't affected. A thought to keep in mind (white privilege, eh?)
A happier note: if you can imagine us hiking through the monsoon rains yelling, "We're volunteers of the church, and we have water!" you might taste a bit of the hilarity that made the hike so enjoyable.
Less than a week before we leave...
Wednesday, July 25, 2007
Friday, July 20, 2007
Since last time
Since last time, as usual a lot has happened. I spent a couple days at the migrant resource center in Agua Prieta and then returned to the desert for more search and rescue.
So occasionally while I'm down here, I desperately try to understand what made me drop everything and come down to camp in the desert for the whole summer- patrolling migrant trails in 110 degree weather and shouting out things in Spanish that I hardly understand.
Obviously I came because I care about the issues surrounding immigration- and people- and their well-being. I think I came here to actually do something- rather than buying a catchy little bumper sticker and talking about it. And it actually sucks, and I can honestly say that I have cried about every single migrant we have come across (a number that is getting pretty high), even the migrants that are with BP- that we don't even get to talk to (other than esta bien? & suerte!). And it gets pretty dang hot here too- uncomfortably hot. Today we were commenting on how cool it was, and realized it was 90 degrees. The rains have cooled it down to that, but added some humidity. But it's also beautiful to get people the care they need- when the odds are they wouldn't have made it if us and them hadn't been in the right place at the right time. It's these times when I feel useful. It's beautiful except for when we get them to the hospital and they are deported the next morning, then I feel like we've betrayed them.
I think we nourished some migrant's souls (who had just been deported to Agua Prieta) last week when I went and got them McDonalds. I had mixed feelings about even entering the establishment, but I imagine it must have meant something to them that some bleeding heart gringo was willing to shell out $26 on 4 super value meals and a 10 piece chicken nuggets. It was kind of an interesting display of privilege though- they had lived in the US for 5 years- I was in Mexico and in 25 minuets crossed into the US and returned with fast food.
There's other beautiful things down here too- more than the work but the land. It didn't really take me long to fall in love with the chorus of things that crawl- and then mesquite trees that make us bleed. It smells so good, especially after the rains, and things are turning green, and the ocatia are blooming!
A couple days ago we came across a group of 25 migrants in Jalisco canyon. They were all relatively healthy but still dehydrated and hungry. We didn't talk to them much, we gave them food, water and socks and let them go on their way. That group has been really hard to get out of my mind.
So occasionally while I'm down here, I desperately try to understand what made me drop everything and come down to camp in the desert for the whole summer- patrolling migrant trails in 110 degree weather and shouting out things in Spanish that I hardly understand.
Obviously I came because I care about the issues surrounding immigration- and people- and their well-being. I think I came here to actually do something- rather than buying a catchy little bumper sticker and talking about it. And it actually sucks, and I can honestly say that I have cried about every single migrant we have come across (a number that is getting pretty high), even the migrants that are with BP- that we don't even get to talk to (other than esta bien? & suerte!). And it gets pretty dang hot here too- uncomfortably hot. Today we were commenting on how cool it was, and realized it was 90 degrees. The rains have cooled it down to that, but added some humidity. But it's also beautiful to get people the care they need- when the odds are they wouldn't have made it if us and them hadn't been in the right place at the right time. It's these times when I feel useful. It's beautiful except for when we get them to the hospital and they are deported the next morning, then I feel like we've betrayed them.
I think we nourished some migrant's souls (who had just been deported to Agua Prieta) last week when I went and got them McDonalds. I had mixed feelings about even entering the establishment, but I imagine it must have meant something to them that some bleeding heart gringo was willing to shell out $26 on 4 super value meals and a 10 piece chicken nuggets. It was kind of an interesting display of privilege though- they had lived in the US for 5 years- I was in Mexico and in 25 minuets crossed into the US and returned with fast food.
There's other beautiful things down here too- more than the work but the land. It didn't really take me long to fall in love with the chorus of things that crawl- and then mesquite trees that make us bleed. It smells so good, especially after the rains, and things are turning green, and the ocatia are blooming!
A couple days ago we came across a group of 25 migrants in Jalisco canyon. They were all relatively healthy but still dehydrated and hungry. We didn't talk to them much, we gave them food, water and socks and let them go on their way. That group has been really hard to get out of my mind.
Sunday, July 8, 2007
Weeks three and four from Rachel
Apparently two weeks have gone by since I last wrote, if I'm counting my days correctly...there's this wonderful lack of concern here when it comes to knowing the day or time, and I love it.
Since I wrote last, we've spent more time hiking the trails, leaving water and finding people, but the importance of our work seems (in my head) like it increased. We've run into so many migrants these past days, as the weather grows hotter and the monsoon rains have not yet replenished the land (a few showers just started a day or two ago). So how do I convey what I'm thinking to you all? I'm going to try, forgive my falterings.
The weekend before the fourth of July was the hardest for me yet, most likely because we met so many people in just a few days, all with their own stories to break your heart. And honestly, as I'm trying to piece this together and put it out there for you to read, I'm not sure which day was which or which person we met first or if this woman was really a week ago and that man was actually two days prior. In the end though, it's not the timing that matters...
One group had two young girls, 11 and 15 yers old; the older girl had just turned 15 in the desert (keep in mind that 15 is such an important birthday for a girl from Mexico, and she passed it in the desert, sick). The father was accompanying the two girls, and they had paired up with two other men at one point or another. When we come across men or women, the emotional impact is always there as we consider what they are going through, but to see two young girls trying to cross the desert is an entirely different wave of emotion. No part of me can imagine being 11 or 15 and making the journey through this desert with little water or food, unable to understand completely why it's necessary to do so. A little rest and food improved their health and such, which is always a good way to leave things, but I'm still figuring out how much those girls impacted me (or perhaps I should say, the knowledge of those girls, as I hardly met them...)
Just yesterday we met a woman in the desert who absolutely floored me. The only reason we came across her is because we randomly decided to go off trail, and after three or four impulse decisions to take this turn or go up this hill, she responded to our calls about having food and water. She was sitting alone on a hillside under a mesquite tree, with a half-full jug of brown water from a cattle tank. Bri, Cyril and I walked up to her point and began to ask questions in the little Spanish that we had collectively. 23 years old, she had been alone for four days after her group left her (that's where the danger lies, when individuals get left behind), had not eaten for somewhere between four and six days, and have been in the desert for somewhere around 12 or 13 days. Her feet were blistered all across the toes and on the heels, she had bruises on her legs from falling so much because of her cramping legs, and fireants had bitten her lips in the middle of the night. And yet, she proved to be such a resilient woman, cracking jokes with us as we began to clean her blisters and give her food. Honestly, she may be one of the strongest women I have ever met (and keep in mind, I have grown up around a ridiculous amount of very strong women). She had such a spirit, and I am positive that such a soul can do nothing but succeed, no matter how difficult her journey is.
I have no concrete conclusion for this post, because that would mean I've come to some sort of resolution in my mind about all that I'm seeing and doing, and that's simply not the case.
Shalom.
Since I wrote last, we've spent more time hiking the trails, leaving water and finding people, but the importance of our work seems (in my head) like it increased. We've run into so many migrants these past days, as the weather grows hotter and the monsoon rains have not yet replenished the land (a few showers just started a day or two ago). So how do I convey what I'm thinking to you all? I'm going to try, forgive my falterings.
The weekend before the fourth of July was the hardest for me yet, most likely because we met so many people in just a few days, all with their own stories to break your heart. And honestly, as I'm trying to piece this together and put it out there for you to read, I'm not sure which day was which or which person we met first or if this woman was really a week ago and that man was actually two days prior. In the end though, it's not the timing that matters...
One group had two young girls, 11 and 15 yers old; the older girl had just turned 15 in the desert (keep in mind that 15 is such an important birthday for a girl from Mexico, and she passed it in the desert, sick). The father was accompanying the two girls, and they had paired up with two other men at one point or another. When we come across men or women, the emotional impact is always there as we consider what they are going through, but to see two young girls trying to cross the desert is an entirely different wave of emotion. No part of me can imagine being 11 or 15 and making the journey through this desert with little water or food, unable to understand completely why it's necessary to do so. A little rest and food improved their health and such, which is always a good way to leave things, but I'm still figuring out how much those girls impacted me (or perhaps I should say, the knowledge of those girls, as I hardly met them...)
Just yesterday we met a woman in the desert who absolutely floored me. The only reason we came across her is because we randomly decided to go off trail, and after three or four impulse decisions to take this turn or go up this hill, she responded to our calls about having food and water. She was sitting alone on a hillside under a mesquite tree, with a half-full jug of brown water from a cattle tank. Bri, Cyril and I walked up to her point and began to ask questions in the little Spanish that we had collectively. 23 years old, she had been alone for four days after her group left her (that's where the danger lies, when individuals get left behind), had not eaten for somewhere between four and six days, and have been in the desert for somewhere around 12 or 13 days. Her feet were blistered all across the toes and on the heels, she had bruises on her legs from falling so much because of her cramping legs, and fireants had bitten her lips in the middle of the night. And yet, she proved to be such a resilient woman, cracking jokes with us as we began to clean her blisters and give her food. Honestly, she may be one of the strongest women I have ever met (and keep in mind, I have grown up around a ridiculous amount of very strong women). She had such a spirit, and I am positive that such a soul can do nothing but succeed, no matter how difficult her journey is.
I have no concrete conclusion for this post, because that would mean I've come to some sort of resolution in my mind about all that I'm seeing and doing, and that's simply not the case.
Shalom.
Much to Tell~
These last two weeks have gone by fast and there is so much to share.
Rachel and I mobilized the mobile camp and went to hang out more in the middle of no where: right at the base of the Cierro Colorado Mountains, with the full(ish) moon. Camping out here would enable us to reach places faster in the morning. We mapped many new trails, which will be rated and then allow volunteers to know which ones to patrol in the future. Our last morning out we rose at 4:30 to finish before the sun got too harsh but ran into a man who was in desperate need of help. The entire ball of his foot was skinless. Once border patrol arrived they lectured us for about 45 minutes on... I really don't know what, how to give a person directions who doesn't know how to read maps. He claimed they needed to get these migrants out fast to get the medical care they needed. When I suggested we stop talking so we can get him out fast, he turned to me and said "he's fine."
Yesterday myself Rachel and Cyril went out on patrol and what ended up happening was a slew of serendipitous events. At a point where we would soon turn back we realized our hike that morning was going to be disappointingly short, so Cyril suggested we explore the wash a ways up. As we continued it became that situation where you turn one bend and see the next, and keep going just to see what's around the corner. When it was time to turn back Cyril, for no logical reason proposed we go out of the wash and in a bush whacking manner climb over the hill. Once we got over, he yelled out (Hola Amigos, Somos Voluntario de la iglesia, tenamos agua y comida.... apologies for my spelling!). The day before we had just been talking about how no one ever returns those calls, but sure enough this time, about a half mile off the trail, up a hill we hear a yell. Margarita had been out in the desert for 12 days (in that time, deported once to Nogales, but headed right back out), she had been alone for 4 days, hiked during the days and hid at night (fear of rape), she was 23, had a baby back at home, and her toes were raw. She wanted to keep going, but that just wasn't an option. After considering all the options, she got back to our camp and we called 911 (she was a strong lady, she walked out- even faster than some of us, we thought we'd have to get a helicopter right there on that ridge). In the end she was airlifted to Tucson to get the medical attention she needed.
So something I've been thinking about a lot is how many people claim that immigrants are using up all our tax money. It's true, tax money does go to these things, but in the last three weeks, four individuals have had to been airlifted out of the desert in emergency situations, the first time, two ambulances and a helicopter showed up- a plethora of vehicles that defiantly was not necessary, especially because in all the time it took to figure these things out, we could have had them in our cars and driven them to the hospital ourselves, with our money and faster! (we can't do that though, that's why those two were arrested in 2005). The other huge thing to think about is that it would be cheaper to fix the trade agreements than to have this much enforcement. In addition, these huge towers have recently been put up to monitor the border, costing our country billions of dollars.
Friday morning we came across Jose. He wanted to go home, and never come back, concluding that even if you are living near poverty, it is still far more important to be near your family, than a country in which many clearly don't value fundamental human rights. We called border patrol and waited with him. Four phone calls and five hours later, the BP officer arrived and Jose was on his way home. What use are these towers when we are staring straight at them, calling BP, begging them to pick up this man and deport him, and they dont show up for 5 hours?
Privilege is also something that comes up quite a bit (white, American, economic class, etc.). I pretty much have it all. One night last week three guys stayed with us (I was actually begging to feel like we were running a B & B). They were some of the sweetest people I've ever met, very chipper and chatty! We had a good time and got them plenty of food, water, and clean clothes so they could continue on their journey. It's weird how attached you can get to people in only 24 hours, when you can't even speak the same language. When it was time for them to continue on, we all stood around and stared at each other for a little while, they prayed for us, hugged us and waved as they walked off. After they left it felt so weird to me, these people who we had just been eating and laughing with were going off to take on the desert at night, and we were off the Gadstens to listen to music and drink smoothies.
One last thought (I wish I had time to write about more of our experiences)- I'm ashamed of myself. While me and Rachel sat with Margarita waiting for Cyril to bring back a Spanish speaker, we could listen to her talk, watch her cry and try to understand what she was communicating to us. I am so ashamed that I can't speak the language that our neighbors speak.
I'll be spending next we at the immigrant resource center in Agua Prieta.
Odds are if you're reading this, I miss you. Thanks for your thoughts and prayers!
Rachel and I mobilized the mobile camp and went to hang out more in the middle of no where: right at the base of the Cierro Colorado Mountains, with the full(ish) moon. Camping out here would enable us to reach places faster in the morning. We mapped many new trails, which will be rated and then allow volunteers to know which ones to patrol in the future. Our last morning out we rose at 4:30 to finish before the sun got too harsh but ran into a man who was in desperate need of help. The entire ball of his foot was skinless. Once border patrol arrived they lectured us for about 45 minutes on... I really don't know what, how to give a person directions who doesn't know how to read maps. He claimed they needed to get these migrants out fast to get the medical care they needed. When I suggested we stop talking so we can get him out fast, he turned to me and said "he's fine."
Yesterday myself Rachel and Cyril went out on patrol and what ended up happening was a slew of serendipitous events. At a point where we would soon turn back we realized our hike that morning was going to be disappointingly short, so Cyril suggested we explore the wash a ways up. As we continued it became that situation where you turn one bend and see the next, and keep going just to see what's around the corner. When it was time to turn back Cyril, for no logical reason proposed we go out of the wash and in a bush whacking manner climb over the hill. Once we got over, he yelled out (Hola Amigos, Somos Voluntario de la iglesia, tenamos agua y comida.... apologies for my spelling!). The day before we had just been talking about how no one ever returns those calls, but sure enough this time, about a half mile off the trail, up a hill we hear a yell. Margarita had been out in the desert for 12 days (in that time, deported once to Nogales, but headed right back out), she had been alone for 4 days, hiked during the days and hid at night (fear of rape), she was 23, had a baby back at home, and her toes were raw. She wanted to keep going, but that just wasn't an option. After considering all the options, she got back to our camp and we called 911 (she was a strong lady, she walked out- even faster than some of us, we thought we'd have to get a helicopter right there on that ridge). In the end she was airlifted to Tucson to get the medical attention she needed.
So something I've been thinking about a lot is how many people claim that immigrants are using up all our tax money. It's true, tax money does go to these things, but in the last three weeks, four individuals have had to been airlifted out of the desert in emergency situations, the first time, two ambulances and a helicopter showed up- a plethora of vehicles that defiantly was not necessary, especially because in all the time it took to figure these things out, we could have had them in our cars and driven them to the hospital ourselves, with our money and faster! (we can't do that though, that's why those two were arrested in 2005). The other huge thing to think about is that it would be cheaper to fix the trade agreements than to have this much enforcement. In addition, these huge towers have recently been put up to monitor the border, costing our country billions of dollars.
Friday morning we came across Jose. He wanted to go home, and never come back, concluding that even if you are living near poverty, it is still far more important to be near your family, than a country in which many clearly don't value fundamental human rights. We called border patrol and waited with him. Four phone calls and five hours later, the BP officer arrived and Jose was on his way home. What use are these towers when we are staring straight at them, calling BP, begging them to pick up this man and deport him, and they dont show up for 5 hours?
Privilege is also something that comes up quite a bit (white, American, economic class, etc.). I pretty much have it all. One night last week three guys stayed with us (I was actually begging to feel like we were running a B & B). They were some of the sweetest people I've ever met, very chipper and chatty! We had a good time and got them plenty of food, water, and clean clothes so they could continue on their journey. It's weird how attached you can get to people in only 24 hours, when you can't even speak the same language. When it was time for them to continue on, we all stood around and stared at each other for a little while, they prayed for us, hugged us and waved as they walked off. After they left it felt so weird to me, these people who we had just been eating and laughing with were going off to take on the desert at night, and we were off the Gadstens to listen to music and drink smoothies.
One last thought (I wish I had time to write about more of our experiences)- I'm ashamed of myself. While me and Rachel sat with Margarita waiting for Cyril to bring back a Spanish speaker, we could listen to her talk, watch her cry and try to understand what she was communicating to us. I am so ashamed that I can't speak the language that our neighbors speak.
I'll be spending next we at the immigrant resource center in Agua Prieta.
Odds are if you're reading this, I miss you. Thanks for your thoughts and prayers!
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