La Frontera: The Border

I stepped out of the van this morning at the comedor, and a young man in a bright red shirt immediately asked me for food and possibly money. He spoke very little English, and so I struggled to understand his request.

“They will not let me into the comedor for food…I am very hungry.” Looking freshly shaven and sporting a clean Izod shirt, I was having a disconnect here. The scruffiness of the migrants just wasn’t evident with this fellow.

Humanitarian aid is never a crime

Milling around the shelter were men and women with babies scoping out the bags of clothing and supplies in our van. It was the usual mayhem and confusion and desperation—people asking for toothbrushes, soap, blankets, jackets.

I ask Rodrigo, a priest-in-training, “…How come this man isn’t allowed to eat with the others?” Fr. Rodrigo takes me aside and tells me, “This man is a ‘coyote.’ (a guide for those crossing into the USA) The women are afraid of him. He is recruiting. It is complicated. We cannot allow him to come into this shelter…”

Border desperation

So I busy myself with sorting piles of clothes, finding the toothbrushes, and generally doing my best to avoid the man in the bright red shirt.

Five minutes later, I see Fr. Rodrigo carrying out a steaming plate of food for the red-shirted “coyote.” He sits on the sidewalk in the midst of the mayhem around him and devours the beans and rice and vegetables. He consumes a glass of milk. Rodrigo places his hand on the fellow’s head—a sort of blessing. Neither one speaks.

I ask Rodrigo about this later in the day.

He just remarks, “…even coyotes need food.”

~ by Peg Bowden on October 25, 2011.

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