Trinity University-Prassel 356

Better late than never. That’s all I’m saying about my upkeep of the blog right now…

So…I thought instead of bemoaning the mil y una cosas I have to do right now, I would write a blog about Reynosa, that trip I took oh-so-long ago.

My Relaciones Fronterizas class and our professor, Dr. Spener, went on a field trip down to the border of Texas, where McAllen meets Reynosa in the state of Tamaulipas, México. It was quite the action packed weekend – since we were driving around in a white, un-marked, 15-passenger van in a smuggling hotspot, we were pulled over twice. The first time the Border Patrol people we were with (they were traveling in front of us) were able to rescue us. The second time we were pulled over by the Mexican military at the bridge and everyone’s passport had to be inspected. It was frightening/exhilarating in a weird way…I guess. There’s no way to describe it, just entering México, there’s already a profound difference.

I say the military stopped us. Well, that’s because right now Presidente Calderón has moved the Mexican military to the border to help fight the war on drugs. The military men carried machine guns and some sat in tanks at the end of the line. We had specifically gone to Reynosa on the first day to visit the Albergue Guadalupe, a migrant shelter run by nuns. After two failed (and hilarious) attempts of our professor’s to park the behemoth that we were driving, we located a less-filled estacionamiento and started walking. We walked for a while before we found it because everyone we had asked for directions told us something else. When we finally located the shelter we found it to be a small building on a busy street. We were welcomed by about 40 men, two women and the nuns. They offered us chairs and we all sat down around the porch in a circle, with most of the men standing farther back. Dr. Spener invited them to tell us their stories, how they got to this point, where would they go now that they had been deported? At first, it was very silent. Most of the men didn’t know each other because most migrants stay in the shelter for only three days and were new to each other as well as us, this group of American college students. When they did start talking, we learned that a lot of them there at that time were not Mexicans, but Hondurans. One man told us that he had been in the United States for nine years and that his family, including his two children, were still there.

It was an intense conversation, made more so by the fact that we were constantly aware of where we were. There were old cars blaring past the shelter at odd moments and then, it was dark. We walked back in one big group to the plaza to eat dinner at one of the restaurants. The thing I notice most about walking in México is that the drivers are dangerous. There really are no road signs or perhaps they have ignored so long that they were taken away. Anyhow, as a pedestrian, be aware of cars coming at you from any possible angle at any possible speed.

The next day we met with las promotoras, the women who help educate maquila workers of their rights. Really, I didn’t know such a place existed. About 10 people lived in what can only be correctly described as a shack – there were no windows, no floors and no real walls. Yet, they took it upon themselves to serve others, to let them know what the Mexican constitution guaranteed them as workers because their companies didn’t see fit to do so. They were amazing.

I came back from Reynosa, not only with about $50 worth of jewelry and honey, but a broader sense of the world. While I am sitting here typing this, I know there is someone in Reynosa selling elotes on the side of a street, content that they at least have a job and can feed their family tonight.
Imagine that.

The crossing bridge from McAllen to Reynosa