Caught by the Mexican Border Patrol

One evening a month, we have a meeting with the moms and kids at a little church in Granjas. The word granjas means farms. Although there are still remnants of farm-life in this community, the majority has filled up with homes of varying shapes and sizes. And although it rests on the border, it has remained dilapidated with Third World characteristics. Granjas is located approximately 14 miles east of the Pacific Ocean, exactly where Clinton’s Operation Gatekeeper border fence ends. The visual is fascinating.

For the last couple of years I’ve craved the idea of standing at the fences’ end. Well, last night was the night—and I wanted to have proof! So I asked Carlos’s mother if I could borrow her son as my amateur freelance photographer. She gave me the A-OK, and chubby little Carlitos and I were off for the quarter mile trek up the hill to the U.S.-Mexico boundary line.

Upon arrival we met two “hopeful crossers,” male and female, L.A. bound. Both had potential hookups for work and lodging. As we were talking, a large chopper made its presence known through thumping sound waves. Quickly it surfaced up above the hill and made a powerful swoop down toward us. Hovering a stones throw above us, an agent threw up his arm, in what I decoded as a friendly international salute, not knowing I was his countryman. Amazingly the hopeful crossers were not phased. They sat on a chunk of concrete with no intentions of moving. The large, army-green chopper took off westbound paralleling the border, twirling a backwash of dust all over us. I asked our new amigos if they were scared. “No man!” the male replied. “They’re up above all day.” “And don’t they know you’re going to cross?” I asked quite perplexed. “Of course they know,” he responded. “And they don’t do anything?” “No, they know we won’t go till nighttime. So until then it’s all good.” Wow, I thought, this is an educational experience.

The whip of the blade once again made its presence known as the big green unit came back toward us along the fence. With it came ten youngsters running full speed on the U.S. side, hoping to make the U-turn around the fence to the “safe” Mexican side. The chopper hovered up above once again as the escapees congregated all around Carlitos and me. One of the agents threw out another salute, and the chopper pulled back up and over the hill. Job done. However, not two seconds passed when one of the kids shouted, “Here come the Federales (Mexican police)!” At once Carlitos and I were left alone as everyone else shot out of the blocks full sprint in wreckless fashion. Little Carlos’s face quickly turned jittery nervous as he began to whimper. “Don’t worry!” I assured him. “We’ve done nothing wrong. Let’s go.”

Together we walked leisurely down into a ravine and up the opposing side. I could see and hear the Mexican police running up an adjacent hillside yelling at the fleeing youngsters. Carlitos walked tight on my heels with sweaty nervousness. Although I continued to console the lad, I too began to think, You’ve made smoother moves, Ben. Yet a few footsteps later we reached the dirt road, giving me great assurance of safety. The meeting of moms and kids came into view down below. As we came within 40 yards of the church, a full-size, Federales Chevy Pickup rounded the corner, with a purpose! In seconds the truck had made it up to us on the pitted road. The driver threw it in park and swung open the door, and next thing I knew, Carlitos and I were being interrogated by the Federales!

Read Part Two

This entry was posted on Saturday, November 18th, 2006 at 7:41 am and is filed under Missionary Life. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed.