Both Sides of the Border, page 5
The announcement of, “Ten-fifty bus for Monterrey, all passengers to the terminal,” blasted over the speaker in Spanish and then in English.
Eva handed the attendant her suitcase to be loaded with the others under the bus and presented her pre-purchased ticket to the bus driver. She squeezed down the narrow row of seats holding her travel bag so that it did not accidentally hit anyone sitting in aisle seats along the way. The bus seemed nice enough. Cushy chairs in plush, royal blue fabric and air conditioning running full blast. She noticed the restroom in the back and felt at ease. She didn’t know how long the ride to Monterrey would take. Her passport purse with all of the documents was tucked inside her jacket. Everything was in place.
With all of the passengers on board, the bus wobbled through the city streets a short distance past the rows of duty-free shops to the Brownsville International Bridge. Before it moved across the bridge, she saw groups of barefoot children on the riverbank below extending their hands out to the people walking across the bridge. Occasionally, a pedestrian would toss a coin over the bridge to the children, so one lucky child could catch or find the coin along the riverbank. Other children then followed the person who tossed the coin as they cried out for more money.
Eva’s heart broke for these children in tattered clothing running under the bridge with their hands reaching out for coins. She hoped another kind person would soon toss a coin. She would later learn that some of these children lived on the street.
She was energized as the bus began to cross the International Bridge. Traveling out of the United States was something new to her. She had believed all of her life she was meant to be a world traveler, and she had gotten her first passport years ago, but it had not been used until today. As she rode into Mexico, she knew this would be her first of many trips to other countries.
Within minutes, the bus entered a parking spot on the other side of the bridge. The bus driver, speaking only Spanish, instructed the passengers to leave the bus, and he gestured to Eva to come along with the group. Everyone stood outside the bus and presented their papers. Eva reached into her purse and pulled out her travel visa the agent had given her, and she gave her passport and the papers to the official.
Another officer motioned toward the bottom of the bus and instructed the driver to open the hatch and unload the bags. One by one, the luggage was removed from the bus as the officer inspected each parcel and suitcase. After several minutes, the luggage and parcels were loaded back under the bus, and the passengers were directed to re-board the bus. As she followed the group, Eva wondered if unloading the complete bus and searching each piece of luggage was standard routine or if the officials were looking for something specific, but no one on the bus seemed concerned. She watched as the bus driver shook hands with the officials and returned to the driver’s seat.
Eva settled back into her chair and looked around. A few passengers were speaking very rapid Spanish. Others gazed out the window or read newspapers. She looked out the window as the bus negotiated the nearly deserted narrow streets of Matamoros. Sand bags were stacked around the corners of the road, and there was a military presence of Mexican federal authorities. A sand-colored tank was at the end of one of the roads. A passenger across the aisle noticed Eva’s worried look as she surveyed the streets. He leaned toward Eva and said in a very thick accent of broken English, “No worry. Es safe. Safety for you. Safety. Cartel.”
“Oh. Thank you.” Eva gave him a grateful smile.
She felt on edge. Once again, she questioned herself. What had she done? Would this trip be her end? Was her mother, heaven forbid, right? No, she coached herself, I can do this. I can do anything I decide to do.
She realized she was now on the outskirts of Matamoros. Don’t think I’ll visit this city again. She hoped Monterrey and the other towns would be more tourist-friendly.
About an hour and a half later, the bus parked in the Reynosa station. Several passengers left the bus and were replaced by new passengers. The woman sitting next to Eva slept. Concrete buildings; pitted, rough, dirty streets; and a few people moving about were all that Eva could see outside the bus terminal. The larger, unattractive industrial buildings, scarcity of people, and nonexistent landscaping depicted a city victimized by crime and high rates of poverty. She did not see anything that would attract her to return to this city.
A mere thirty minutes later, the bus was back on the road headed south to Monterrey. The landscape outside Reynosa, in the state of Tamaulipas, was flat, dry, and overrun with cactus, mesquite trees, and yucca plants. The scenery was about as unfriendly as anyone could imagine. The terrain didn’t improve as the bus entered the state of Nuevo León. Eva thought about the thousands of individuals who must have crossed this land on foot throughout history, looking for a better life either in Mexico or the U.S. How hard those trips must have been.
The bus continued southwest for some time and then slowed down to a halt. Out the window on the other side of the bus, Eva saw what appeared to be an outpost. The bus door opened, and a man in military attire, sporting a machine gun, stepped on board the bus. He walked down the aisle, eyeing the passengers. Eva’s heart raced. Being the only Anglo on the bus, she was not sure what to expect. The man with the machine gun walked to her row of seats and looked her directly in the eye. He walked back to the bus driver and said a few words in an authoritative-sounding voice. The driver responded, “Sí, sí,” and showed him a list of what Eva figured was passenger names. The man checked over the list and the papers. He looked up and looked straight at Eva again. He spoke Spanish to the bus driver as he stared at Eva. Her face turned red. A sensation of unexpected panic came over her, and she thought she might faint. He returned the list to the driver and stepped off the bus. The door closed behind the man, and the bus began to roll forward.
Eva took slow, deep breaths to calm herself down. She had no idea who the man was or what he was doing. The passenger who had reassured her before was now asleep. She couldn’t ask anyone on the bus because she didn’t know how to ask. She felt helpless and vulnerable.
Eva looked out the window and continued to calm herself. The wilderness stretched on for miles. She saw a tiny village in the distance and wondered about the people who lived there and how they lived in such stark terrain away from populated areas. Based on her observations of Reynosa and Matamoros, perhaps living in a desolate village was safer than living in a city.
A few hours later, the bus slowed to a stop at a gas station. A new passenger entered the bus. The driver took the ticket and motioned to the entering passenger to have a seat. Slowly, the bus angled back out to the highway.
The trip to Monterrey took longer than she expected. With all the stops and starts, it had been more than five hours since the bus left Brownsville. The travel agent mentioned that if Eva drove her own car, it would probably take three to four hours of actual drive time from Brownsville to Monterrey. But traveling by bus required additional time to cross the bridge, undergo inspections, and make additional stops along the way. Unbeknownst to Eva, the trip would take more than seven hours.
She settled back in her seat and looked through the front window ahead. Eva could now see mountains climbing up from the flatlands. The late afternoon sun surrendered to spectacular colors of early dusk. Oranges, pinks, even a slight purple tint were displayed around the edges of the mountain range. Incredible, Eva thought.
The bus neared the large city as the lights twinkled from the mountain sides. Once in the city proper, the bus entered a freeway and soon exited toward the city buildings. The bus struggled through the smaller roads to the very large bus terminal.
Eva checked her papers and noted the bus line number she would take to go across town to the travel agency. She felt a slight wave of dread as she exited the bus and retrieved her luggage. Maybe the driver can help me, she thought. She showed the bus line number to the driver, and he motioned for her to go inside the building.
Inside the massive station, there were posted signs, all in Spanish. She couldn’t ask for help. Feeling scared and distressed, she worried about making her connection on time. What if she missed it and was stuck in the bus station? Her mother’s words were ringing in her head, “You are crazier than your crazy uncle Fred. Now, he was crazy, certifiable. But you are downright insane! Don’t you know it’s dangerous there?”
She stood there, not knowing what to do when a small, older lady with red hair approached her and, in broken English, asked, “I help you?”
“Oh, thank you so much.” Eva showed the lady her bus connection.
The lady attempted to answer Eva, but mostly Spanish came out, so she simply motioned for Eva to follow her.
The bus station terminal was a combination of concrete, motor oil spots, and exhaust fumes. Yellow-tinged lights provided little assistance to passengers reading their passes and looking for their buses. People talked loudly and bumped into each other. A man was asleep against the wall. The little lady with red hair stepped carefully around the sleeping man and scurried past, then stopped in front of another bus.
The lady motioned to the door of the bus as she said, “¡Rápido!”
Eva knew what that meant. She rolled her suitcase quickly to the bus.
“Thank you again, uh, gracias,” Eva said.
“De nada,” the lady replied and sped away to another bus.
Eva was grateful that the woman had noticed her worried look. She wondered if the lady with the red hair fully understood how helpless Eva had felt standing in the bus station alone and unable to talk to anyone. She typically could figure things out on her own, and eventually, she probably would have found the right bus. She was certain of that. But she was grateful for the help.
The driver for the designated city bus took Eva’s ticket and waved her on board. She surrendered her suitcase to the attendant, who stowed it under the bus. Most of the other passengers had no luggage and instead only shopping bags, brief cases, and other items that were evidence of daily living in the city. Eva supposed most of the passengers were just going home after work or going to another part of the city.
Exhausted, she found a seat near the front. She was ready to get to the other travel agency to board the final tour bus with fellow travelers.
The bus sped down a large freeway to the other side of the city and then exited and turned into a parking lot of what appeared to be a shopping center. A group of people in the parking lot were talking to each other. Each one of them had at least one piece of luggage.
At last, I’m here.
Chapter Five
DOLORES WOKE BEFORE THE OTHERS. She sat for quite some time thinking about home. I wish I could let Mamá and Papá know where we are and that we’re okay, she thought, knowing they were worried. She watched the sun getting lower in the sky. Such a vibrant display of God’s work. I wish I could be watching it from my home in Honduras with all of the family together. Her heart was sad.
Dolores couldn’t think of the past. She needed to stay strong for her brothers and think only about the future. What would it be like in the United States? Do people really get to eat every day? Do they have warm clothes? Do they live in nice houses? Does everyone have shoes? Does everyone get to go to school? Does everyone get to work? Is everyone protected from gangs and violence? Dolores had heard so many fascinating things, it was difficult to believe all of these things could really be true. Her thoughts were interrupted by Emilio.
“When will we start to walk?” he whispered.
“Soon. We should wake the others. It’s getting dark,” Dolores said.
Olivia then stretched her arms and legs. “Oh, my legs are sore,” she said.
Ernesto awoke. He shook some dirt off his pants. He took off his shoe and examined his blisters.
“That looks bad.” Dolores frowned.
“This one is pretty sore,” Ernesto said, pointing to the large, open blister on the bottom of his right foot. “And red.”
“Yes. It looks like it might get infected. When we get to some water, you should wash that off.”
Emilio asked, “Do you have any idea where we might find food?”
“I see some plants over there.” Olivia pointed. “There may be some jicama.”
The group made their way to the edge of an unkempt farm field. Ernesto and Emilio dug up large clumps of dirt with their bare hands under a jicama plant and pulled up the edible root.
“Ah, come here, you little delicious fruit,” Emilio said with a smile.
“Wish we had a knife.” Ernesto frowned.
“I have a small one,” Olivia said. “We can do it, I think.”
“Good,” said Dolores.
Emilio gave the piece of fruit to Olivia. She took a tiny, thin, bladed knife from her pocket and cut off a piece of the skin. She peeled the remainder of the piece of fruit.
“I don’t know if this knife will be able to cut it into nice pieces; but it might be able to cut some slivers, and we can eat those.”
The three stared at the fruit as Olivia worked. She handed each of them pieces of the fruit as she shaved off slivers.
“Oh, my goodness,” Dolores said, placing the moist piece of fruit in her mouth. “I did not know I was so hungry!”
Occupied from eating fruit, the others said nothing.
When the last sliver was eaten, Olivia said, “We should start walking in that direction.” She gestured northeast.
Step after step, the tired legs and blistered feet continued. No one talked. Each one scanned their surroundings incessantly as they plodded along in the dark. Sparkling stars contrasted the black sky. They walked far enough from the other larger groups, so they couldn’t see them. Nevertheless, they heard the others talking.
“We must keep our distance. It sounds like that group is growing,” Olivia said.
Without saying anything further, they moved away from the road several more yards and moved at a slow, tired pace.
* * *
The four travelers were walking as the darkness gave in to the morning light. They heard whispers and low voices coming through the trees and fields. In the distance, they saw people converging on the side of the road.
“There are many more people here this morning heading north,” Ernesto told Dolores. “It’s a crowd over there.”
“It looks that way,” Dolores agreed.
“Is that bad?” Emilio asked.
“I’m not sure. But it may help us to find our way,” Dolores said. “There’ll be plenty of people to follow.”
“I suppose so,” said Ernesto.
“Good morning,” Olivia said to the others. “Are you ready to walk toward La Bestia? We can get on the train in Tapachula. It’ll take us to Arriaga. From there, we’ll decide which route to take to the United States.”
Ernesto spoke first. “I know I’m ready to get on the train. We’ve been walking so much that I have sores on my feet.”
“We still have a walk ahead of us. You notice many more people have gathered?” Olivia asked.
“Yes,” replied Dolores. “We should all be very careful. Some of these people may not be travelers but criminals.”
“I wondered about that, too,” said Ernesto.
Dolores whispered only so Olivia could hear. “There are so many gang members in El Salvador, Guatemala, and Honduras. It might be difficult to distinguish the gang members from the people fleeing their own countries because of violence and poverty.”
Olivia agreed. “Yes. Better just to keep our distance from the group. You know, keep space between us and the group over there.”
They walked within sight of some of the other people from Honduras but kept watchful eye on people they did not know. There were as many people from El Salvador and Guatemala as from Honduras. There were a few others from undetermined countries.
Dolores, Olivia, Emilio, and Ernesto remained some distance from the road and scavenged for any possible fruit or other food to eat. They were all hungry. They came upon a house that was tucked behind some shrubs. They did not approach the house, but a woman opened the door and called out to them.
“Here. Come over here. I have something for you,” a small, older woman called out.
Olivia and Dolores went to the woman, and Ernesto and Emilio watched. The woman with a face full of tanned wrinkles looked to be of Mayan descent. She gave them a handful of tortillas and some fruit in a small bag.
“I will say a prayer of thanks for you and bless you,” Dolores said. She made the sign of a cross.
Tears streamed down Olivia’s face. Her heart was full of gratitude. She hugged the woman and said, “Blessings to you.”
Dolores and Olivia called out quietly to Ernesto and Emilio. They didn’t want anyone else to hear for fear they would take the food from them.
“Ernesto. Emilio. We have something. Come and see,” Dolores said in a hushed voice.
Dolores opened the bag so her brothers could see inside. Ernesto’s eyes opened wide. Emilio stood frozen, anticipating the first bite.
Dolores counted the tortillas. “One, two, three . . . there are four, one whole tortilla for each of us,” she said to Olivia. “And look at the fruit. Mamey, rambutans, pomegranates, and plantains.”
Ernesto asked, “Should we save a piece of the fruit for later?”
Emilio added, “We can eat half of a tortilla now and save the other half and eat that with some fruit later when we get hungry again.”
Olivia said, “I think that’s a good idea.”
They divided the food, and each one put a piece or two of fruit and their remaining tortillas in their pockets. They felt reassured knowing they would have something to eat later.
“Let’s find a place to rest while it’s daytime and then walk after it’s dark,” Olivia advised.
The four weary travelers looked for a place within the brush that wasn’t noticeable from the road. It was a typical hot and humid August day with off-and-on light rain. They decided to rest just a few hours, wake, and then discuss their plans.
