Crossing with the Virgin: Stories from the Migrant Trail

Story Twenty-eight

Story Twenty-eight Child’s drawing found on trail in desert. P h o to g ra p h b y K a th ry n F e rg u s o n L ittleJessicastoodwithhermother and eight other migrants on a bareareaofroadside.Hermother appeared much more frightened than four-year-old Jessica. The others squatting on the ground just looked tired and discouraged. The Border Patrol agent in charge gave us permission to hand a toy to the child. Her eyebrows lifted just millimeters and the hint of a smile curved the corners of her mouth. We handed granola bars and peanuts to the others while Holly, our Spanish speaker, talked with the young mother. She was very anxious . She and Jessica had been separated from her husband when the group was apprehended, and she did not know if she would even see him again, so she told Holly. While we stood there with the tired group, a huge Blackhawk helicopter landed in the middle of the road. A group disgorged from the giant bird, and Jessica’s father headed in our direction, plastic bands locking his wrists, like handcuffs. Tears ran down the mother’s face. It was a reunion of relief rather than one of joy. The three of us, all women, wondered at the stamina not just of the children, but of the parents who bring them. It is no easy task taking care of babies and children in the most foreseeable conditions. How do they manage the unpredictable journey through the harsh desert? The previous week there had been children on the Homeland Security bus, but I was never allowed to see them. That day we pulled over and asked 150 stories from the migrant trail the bus driver if we could give the migrants food and water. “No,” he said, and then added: “We don’t have many here. Just a woman with two kids and two other men.” The driver was friendly. He chatted with us and said the children were probably five and eight years old, a girl and a boy. “They are with the mother,” he said, “but their father is back in Mexico.” Did he really believe that? The father was most likely already in the Unites States, in Oregon, Florida, or North Carolina. Who knows how long he’d been separated from his family? Since it has become so arduous and dangerous to cross back and forth across the border, circular migration has diminished. Now migrants come north for jobs and then send for their families. Many more women and children are coming now than in the past. A Samaritan told of a woman who crossed with her eighteenmonth -old son. The two were unable to keep up with the group, and, after much begging by the mother, the coyote agreed to take the toddler along. Then, in remorseful reconsideration, the mother went to the highway and flagged down the Border Patrol, weeping, and asked them to find her child. Meanwhile, the coyote had become impatient with the burden of the young niño and left him under a tree. The Border Patrol caught the coyote, who was able to recall the exact spot where the child had been left. The toddler was rescued. The children you see crossing tug at your heart. The children who die break your heart. Just months ago a three-year-old child died of dehydration while crossing the Tohono O’odham Nation land. The young mother was trying to reach her husband in California. He had begged her to bring their young son to the United States so they could be reunited as a family. Now the child was dead. The grief-stricken mother was inconsolable and lashed out in anger at her husband, blaming him for the loss. Unsympathetic authorities considered charging the mother with child abuse. Fortunately the consulate, in compassionate intervention , was able to nullify such action. Children crossing tug at your heart. Children who die crossing break your heart. ...