By Holly Gordon
In the summer of 2006, Holly Gordon went on an International Volunteer and Leadership Trip to Arizona/Mexico with Leaders Today. While in Mexico, Holly volunteered at a shelter for migrants attempting to cross the border into the United States. Upon returning home to Halifax, Nova Scotia, Holly wrote an account of one memorable experience:
He walked into the room without even a glance in our direction. His build was small—not much taller than my five feet. Though I later found out he was about my age, 22, his weathered skin and hardened eyes made him look many years my senior.
Art adorns the Mexican side of the United States-Mexico border.
Juan.
And where he was from.
Guatemala.
And if this was his first time going across the border.
No. He had already crossed six times. Tomorrow would be his seventh.
I simply stared at Amy. The seventh time? What in the world could bring him to make the three-day and three-night trek across the desert seven times?
And so I asked. And he told me his story.
Juan is the youngest of his brothers and sisters. He lives with his parents on their small farm, where they make tortillas. The money they make from the farm barely feeds his family, so Juan decided to try his luck at finding work in the United States to help. Without hopes of obtaining a work permit, Juan is forced to cross the border illegally.
Juan has crossed the border every possible way: alone, in small groups and in large groups with a coyote
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leading the way. Each time, the Border Patrol has crushed his dreams for a better life—but not for good. Juan will keep on trying because his family is depending on him to succeed and send them money. He is their only hope.
Holly looks out over Nogales, Mexico.
Guides paid by migrants to help them cross the border from Mexico into the United States.
On his last border crossing, Juan was robbed of all his belongings and his money. It’s been a month since he left home, and he hasn’t been able to call his mom to let her know he’s still alive. Juan has no money to buy a calling card and has spent the last few days trying to get a job to earn a few pesos so that he can buy one—with no luck.
As we sat talking that night, Juan still had no way to call his mom.
One dollar is all he needed to buy a calling card. One American dollar. How many of those did I have in my pocket at that moment? At least 10. After everything I had seen over the past few days, this was finally something I could do to make a difference.
Cecilia, a fellow volunteer, had a few calling cards in her purse, so she gave one to us and we pooled in a few dollars so Juan could refill the card if needed. Then three of us asked Juan to meet us outside so we could give him our gift.
As he walked toward us from the shelter’s front door, I started second guessing myself.
What if this wasn’t the right way to help? What if he was insulted? But I knew that at least I was doing something that felt right, so I forced my doubts out of my mind.
Juan was touched by our gesture. His previously expressionless eyes brightened for the first time that night. He told us how his relationship with was mother was so important and how much his call would mean to her.
One week later our group was in Arizona, sitting down together for the last supper of the trip, when I heard terrible news. Flash floods the night before caught 38 migrants in a drainage tunnel that runs from Nogales, Mexico and into the Santa Cruz River in Nogales, Arizona. Two migrants drowned and more were missing.
I couldn’t stop thinking about Juan. He could easily have been in that group. Was he captured? Did he drown? Or did he make it safely across and is working to help his family?
No one knows.
We can only hope for the best.
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