Accompaniment with migrants in Tijuana, January 8 to 17, 2019

January 2019

McManamy family in San Diego Jan. 2019

Several of us in my family went to Tijuana and volunteered for a week, providing accompaniment to migrants waiting to present their cases at the US border. This post will not detail facts available elsewhere, such as the following: Migrants and immigrants are an infrequent source of crime, with fewer such reported than for the population at large. The current migration caravans and other groups of migrants are generally not bringing drugs either. Most drugs interdicted arrive by car or boat, at our northern as well as southern borders, and the Coast Guard is underfunded. A wall across the rural miles will do nothing to reduce drug flow, and will only increase the unknown numbers of deaths daily as migrants on foot are pushed into the deadly hot and dangerous desert crossings. Many drugs arrive by highway, the 24-hour auditory backdrop to our time in Tijuana and its neighboring US city, San Diego (This crossing is one of the top heroin interdiction sites in the US.) 

The Trumped-up immigration “crisis” does not conform to reality either, as the largest numbers of migrants was in the 1970s. There have been reduced numbers since then. What is new is that larger numbers of families, not single men, have been coming north out of desperation, trying to avoid having to join the gangs, pay extortion money, or be killed. What is new is Trump’s effort to discourage further immigration by cruelly and illegally separating families and even losing family members permanently.

Weekly prayer service both sides

I will not spend time making the case that we all know, that US policy since the 1950s has successfully broken any progressive governments in Central America, leading to the breakdown of economic and political organizations in those countries and providing a vacuum into which gangs and drug cartels, fueled by demand for drugs in the US, have rushed, making life untenable for many in Central and South America.

I won’t review the fact that US law allows for people to legally request asylum, presenting themselves ANYWHERE at that country’s border, and making a case that they have a credible fear of persecution in their country and cannot return.

Instead, I’ll focus on providing a first-hand account of my experiences at the border. We

were lucky to spend a week’s vacation there: John (medical experience), Evan and Laura (Spanish, and Laura had lots of background working with immigrants already) and me (Spanish, French and Creole language experience). We each gravitated to the organization that seemed most appropriate to us. Some prepared food at World Central Kitchen, some provided emotional support to migrants through the temporary Sanctuary Caravan, and I focused on legal (and emotional) support at Al Otro Lado.  Its name means “to the other side”. It is a very impressive non-profit that has been working since 2012 offering legal support to migrants. They have been open every day since Thanksgiving. In that time period they have completed 1200 private consultations, currently running a daily workshop, with 30 - 50 volunteers per day.

Not being a lawyer, I wondered at first how I would be able to be of assistance through this organization whose main mission is helping migrants prepare for their Credible Fear Interview with an ICE judge. This is the first hurdle that migrants must pass in order to be allowed to request legal status as refugees.

I should not have worried. The goal of the work is to help migrants represent themselves at the border. Surprise: no lawyers are provided. Many lose their documents or have them stolen or destroyed by rain. So they must be able to summarize their case, from memory, in this interview. An excellent curriculum has been created, with a mnemonic of a hand to remember the 5 points that must be made. My job, and that of most of the volunteers, was to help individual migrants organize their traumatic experiences and fears of future

persecution into a synopsis that they could present to the immigration judge. 

Officially, I helped to plug a gap in the services for French-speaking and Haitian-Creole-speaking migrants. Unofficially, I helped to provide the “glue” frequently needed to keep a volunteer organization running. I roamed the building, bringing people to medical or legal areas, addressing new minor issues as they arose, and mostly being available to hold a hand, say a prayer when one was asked for, or simply listen.

Here are some pictures:

 

End of a long day at Al Otro Lado.  Taken from the roof, a hub of activity all day long. This open area serves as spillover interview space. I generally brought migrants here for their introductory lecture about the process, the intake interview (basic demographic data) and credible fear interview preparation. It was easier to converse in French or Haitian Creole here than in the crowded Spanish classroom space below.  I love the view across Tijuana to the mountains beyond. Behind me is the data room where cases are typed up every afternoon. They are then uploaded, along with photos of the person’s documents, to a private folder accessible only to the person and those whom they share it with (generally family members).

Entering via the pedestrian crossing.

 Turning off our cell phones in case we were asked to share the contents.

Below, the enormous shopping mall on the US side of the border, seen from the pedestrian transit area.

  

Dawn – daily pedestrian commuters to the US.

Site of the awful tear gassing incident in December. People got tired of waiting (perhaps forever) and tried to cross the border at other than a “legal” point of entry. Remember that it is legal to cross anywhere to request refugee status. This is a river bed, also encampment sites under the bridges. When it rained for several days, it became a fast-flowing river. The inhabitants spent the rest of the week trying to dry out their belongings under the highway bridge.

For obvious reasons, very few pictures of migrants or volunteers.

This is the only one I took.  It is a man from Honduras who was resting outside, waiting for interviews to begin for the day. He is wearing a woolen hat, one of a number that we found on sale nearby for $2 each and donated.  It was cold last week in Tijuana.

We are working in an oppressive system that requires people to relive trauma they have experienced, over and over, in order to receive protection in the US. Some trauma was experienced at home, and was the impetus for leaving. Other trauma occurred nightly in Tijuana. Not just young men, but middle-aged women and older couples report being threatened or robbed in the city. They come in each morning with fresh injuries and fearful stories.

As one of the few French speakers available last week, I worked with a large number of Africans and Haitians. However, the largest numbers of migrants were from Central America, and especially from the Northern Triangle where drug cartels have nearly overshadowed the governments: El Salvador, Guatemala and Honduras. One way for me to process this experience, and to honor the people who have been forced to face this journey, is to tell some of their stories. I hope you will join me in holding these individuals in your prayers, in the Light, or in whatever way you choose to remember that our fellow humans are going through this hell. As Luis, one of the leaders at Al Otro Lado, said, “We run off anger and love here.”

Some stories:

The very first day, as John and I arrived at Al Otro Lado, a woman was brought in by a volunteer from another non-profit. A middle-aged woman traveling alone from Honduras, she had no place to stay the night before and nothing to eat. She had knocked on a door and been allowed to sleep on someone’s floor, wearing her sweatshirt but with no bedding. She was a diabetic, and her first complaint was that she might be having an insulin reaction. We brought her to the medical clinic area and her story spilled out of her. She had not taken her insulin medicine because she lost her pocketbook. She lost it when she grabbed the wrong bag while escaping from thieves who had held a gun to her head. They had tied her up and she was finally able to escape. She quaked and cried as she repeated her story over and over. This was our first experience at Al Otro Lado, before we got a chance to take the volunteer training.

This often happened. A piece of the story would come out, followed by another and another. Emotional trauma makes it harder to order one’s problems. And in fact, the diabetes WAS the biggest problem of the moment. Until I sat down with her and held her hand, at which point I heard the bigger problem. As to why she left home in the first place, we didn’t even get to that.

Her medical crisis over, she was invited to take a nap on the couch in the sunshine. It was warm and quiet there. When she awoke, she told me that she believed in God and that God would take care of her. I sensed that she wanted to pray, and we prayed together, my mind expanding into the verbal prayer that is foreign to me but seemed to be comforting to both of us, praying aloud in duet form.

I also worked with G., a journalist, youth educator and a politician in the opposition party from a country in Africa. He was thrown into jail and tortured, and his brother was killed because of G.’s political activities. Forced to flee, he went first to another country in Africa where he was not safe, then to Chile and finally to Mexico, where he planned to seek entry to the US under the UN Convention on Torture. He has not ever met his two young twins, since he has been in hiding since 2011. He was able to quote from memory the exact dates and names pertaining to his case. He has collected extensive files that will help him tremendously. A friend in the US has contacts with an immigration attorney. He will need one. 

Two sisters from a small town in El Salvador whose family had a small business. Because they were unable to pay extortion demands from the gangs, three family members were killed. They posted notices around town and sought help from the police to find their niece’s body but received no help or information. They had to abandon the business and head north.

J., a young man from Honduras who lived with his parents and was attending university. His brother had been forced to join a gang and when he was put in jail for his activities, he was forced to continue to provide services for the gang from prison. Eventually he was killed by the gang. J. and his parents were forced to leave their home which they owned and flee to another city, where they rented another home they could not afford. J. had to leave university to support his family. He was attacked and threatened by a gang member with a machete when he went to secure his house.

G., a political prisoner from Central African Republic. He fled, leaving his wife and two children in hiding. He reminded his fellow migrants to ask the immigration officer for asylum without fear, as it is his right. He suggested avoiding looking at the officer in the eyes but to look elsewhere so as to claim his story and not to lose his nerve.

A 21-year old man I met in the medical clinic was very cold, shaking. He was traveling alone, and said he could trust no one. We found him a hat and helped him to change into donated dry socks and boots. He told me he was looking for a job as a cook in Tijuana. I sat down with him and helped him with a to-do list, to work towards this seemingly impossible task.

Every single one of the migrants I met had experienced, and were experiencing, trauma. I asked people “How are you doing?” and immediately I saw tears spring to their eyes. They opened up to me, telling me their case. Why were they so willing to trust, having been hurt so much? I think it is because people crave community, they need love more than anything else.

Guarded faces collapse into tears when a hand is held, a smile is offered. A couple from Africa was stony-faced until I showed them the bulletin board that offered “Welcome!” in many languages. I asked them to write it in their language, Wolof. They smiled and carefully wrote on the board, “Dendale”. Then they began to trust me with their story. Sitting on the roof overlooking Tijuana to the south and San Diego to the north, they told me their experience of racism, forced marriage and death threats from a brother. We worked together to order the facts into a coherent, true story that even a border crossing guard might recognize as worthy.

Some people hold their stories tightly, not ready to share their pain with me. Two men from Haiti are traveling together, and I describe how it might be that certain categories of people receive protection under US law. I mention protected classes including race, nationality, religion and social groupings such as homosexuality. In hearing the process they were likely to experience if they decided to try to cross the border and ask for asylum, one of the two progressively lost his energy and finally leaned back on the couch, almost asleep. Is he tired, sick or just discouraged? His partner seemed ready to cope, mentioning a friend in the US and a ready understanding of the requirement to prove their need to enter the US for safety. I provide the best information we have as to the trip ahead, and I can see him and his partner weighing silently the risks of going ahead or staying back. I tell them that they will likely be separated from each other at the border.

Those from Central America mostly reported suffering from gangs, threats, cartels stronger than governments. The Africans are more likely to report government corruption: abductions, being thrown in jail with no trial, torture. We can offer the hand of friendship, support and some information, of unknown reliability, of the path ahead. “If you make it past the first interview, you will be put in a cold detention center for an unknown period, allowed to keep only one layer of clothes.” Is this true? We don’t know, but that’s what we hear. Single men are often detained for long periods, while families might be dropped off before midnight at a McDonalds in San Diego.

Knowledge is spotty among both volunteers and migrants. I asked a woman from Africa who had traveled up from Brazil, “Did you come to join the caravan?” “What caravan?” she asked. We volunteers know little about the shadowy organization of the number system, “the list”, by which households are chosen to cross the border. It was apparently created by a group of Haitian migrants in 2016, and is now managed by an organization connected with the Mexican police. It makes sense, to avoid a riot. Even so, migrants wait 6 to 8 weeks at the border, trying to stay safe and warm while checking at the desk frequently to make sure they do not miss the call. Once they are called, they are put in a bus and driven to the automobile crossing, a couple of miles away. 

Waiting for the bus is agonizing. Evan and Laura befriended a family with two children and spent the morning offering piggy back rides, and otherwise entertaining the children so the parents could have a few moments’ peace. Later, Laura received information via Facebook that the family had been released and were headed north to their sponsor family member, someone with papers living in the US. Evan did some research on ICE records and found that a woman he had worked with was in detention. These are the only people we were able to receive information about on the other side.

The list is a shadowy project: volunteers and most of all, migrants are governed by it, yet to participate in it is an acquiescence to an unfair, cruel system. An unpredictable number of families is called each day; the number is much smaller than the need and seems intended to discourage those seeking immigration. Volunteers from Al Otro Lado observe the process every day and report back the important facts: how many numbers are called, who is separated and who is allowed to travel together, what is the final number reached each day. If a household is not present on the day their number is called, they may have to start again with a new number. Maybe there will be a second chance for those who missed their number. Or maybe not, as those who are present each day complain that others are given two chances and they are given none.

Similar to the capricious information at the Tijuana border, the border fencing is made up of many different structures cobbled together. A three-story building topped with accordion wire like a jail. A huge spiral staircase outdoors, an open-air zig zag stair on the other side. A chance to be seen and evaluated by the cameras everywhere. A labyrinth of one-way  doors, hallways, new and old together. Rules change every day. One minute no line for pedestrians to cross, then the next minute there are 20 on line as a new form must be filled out. We are in a stream of travelers, most of whom seem to make this transit daily to go to work. We are among the lucky ones with permission to cross the border at will.

So many people are committed to this work. It was an honor to be among them for a few days. Here I am in front of the office of Deported US Veterans. There are reported to be

about 3000 deported US veterans in other countries in total. The man running the office had raised a family in the US after serving in the military. A dozen years ago, he was picked up on a minor marijuana violation and deported. He says he will be welcome to go back only in a coffin, when he will be buried with full military honors. 

Too bad this story does not end on a happier note.

BOOK IS AVAILABLE TODAY!

Hello faithful Cuentos del Camino followers!

I wanted you to be the first to know that our family has published a book about our Big Trip. It is called "The BIG Trip: a Family Gap Year". What it's about:

Taking a year off from the rat race is an idle dream for many, but the McManamy family, including their three teenagers, decided to make it happen. The Big Trip: A Family Gap Year tells how they put high school, college and work on hold while they learned Spanish in Spain and volunteered in Bolivia, Guatemala, and Kenya. Choosing home stays and local transportation over hotels and rental cars, they undertook a deeply immersive journey of “slow travel,” living simply and experiencing life as the locals do. The teenagers contributed their own creative poems and stories to The Big Trip. A vivid account full of adventures and lively observations, the story also offers a template for anyone yearning to undertake an intellectual, emotional and spiritual journey of discovery. It is possible for families to take a Big Trip and enrich their lives without breaking the bank, losing a job, or falling behind in school. This compelling travel memoir motivates us all to follow even the wildest of our dreams.

Here is where you can order it, hot off the press:

http://www.lulu.com/content/paperback-book/the-big-trip-a-family-gap-year/14944643

Enjoy!!!

Martha

Undercurrents of Violence

Before going to Guatemala, I wondered what it would be like to offer non-violence workshops in a country where violence is continually present as an undercurrent, and state-sponsored violence is rampant. Notably in this context, we had two police officers among the participants. The national police force is vastly underpaid and carries a history of violence against the people that was a legacy of US imperialism and was strongest during the genocide of indigenous people in the 1980s. In current days police are seen as either impotent or dangerous, or both. To say there is a lack of trust is a major understatement. There are reports of police involvement in petty as well as organized crime. Stories of police stealing from citizens during traffic stops are rampant. One friend told us that when he was stopped by the police he called his lawyer and told the police, “my lawyer is on the phone and is recording what happens here”, after which the officer sent him on his way without further questions.

I feared that personal safety would be a major issue. Guatemala continues to suffer from a high level of violence, related to the drug trade and to poverty in general.  The history of the Guatemala in the 1980s continues to hang over the country, which has yet to bring the perpetrators to justice. This violence, referred to as the Civil War or the Genocide, depending on one’s point of view, resulted in 200,000 killed, and 40,000 – 50,000 disappeared. Of these, the UN-sponsored Historical Clarification Commission (CEH) stated that the state was responsible for 93% of the human rights violations committed during the war, the guerrillas for 3%. We were told that the region where we would be spending most of our time, the eastern city of Chiquimula, was afflicted by drug-related violence.

Our experience on the ground was mostly very peaceful. People walk and drive around day and night in Chiquimula without worries, and our hosts frequently left their door open during the daytime. Many participants said they have no violence in their homes, and indeed most of them are lucky not to have had anyone killed in their families. But all of them experience the effects of living in a country weighed down by a history of violence, from abroad and from within, including its colonial history of oppression by the light-skinned Spanish and continual oppression of its Mayan peoples, who constitute 50% of the population. In 2011, Guatemala’s attorney general was assassinated. The current president, Otto Pérez Molina, is a former general during the time of the genocide, and he denies that genocide took place. He was elected on a platform of law and order, and indeed there are reports that violence has declined under his administration. But reconciliation has not yet taken place, and random violence is still common. We observed some of the effects of the society-wide violence on our last day in Guatemala. On our way to the airport in Guatemala City, traffic was paralyzed as a result of the murder of two police officers elsewhere in the city.

There are efforts to clean up the police force and one of these is called “Valor y Servicio”, valor and service. This branch of the force is working to change the police force from within, and the volunteers for our workshops came from this branch. They participated in both the first and second level workshop over two weekends, with the result that the group became familiar with them. Strong societal differences between police officers and citizens broke down, and we all saw them as individuals.  I noticed this most clearly on the last day, when we offered an exercise called Human to Human. In this exercise participants form pairs and one member of each pair closes his/her eyes, while the other one looks at his/her partner in compassion. When we first began the exercise, some of the participants had a hard time keeping their gaze on their partner. However, at the end, when both partners open their eyes and continue to gaze at each other with the acceptance of universal love, the faces had softened considerably. Many participants were teary. It was a remarkable experience.

Our workshop took place in a church in a tough neighborhood, where teen parenting and unemployment was rampant. The air was acrid with the smell of burning garbage, since the inhabitants cannot afford the fee for garbage removal. The concept of non-violence in personal communication would have been very foreign to most of the church’s neighbors. Our workshop participants came from the wider community, and they were very open to looking at the connections between violence in their personal communications and making peace in the larger world.

But what does non-violence mean in the context of a society nearly paralyzed by violence on a larger societal level? Can we really ask people to try to take a stand to make for a more peaceful nation, when they cannot trust the justice system? Or should we show people tools for communicating more peacefully in their personal lives and hope that this has a larger impact? As one observer visiting another culture and nation, I would not presume to tell anyone how to use the tools we offered in the Alternatives to Violence workshops. I can only offer the tools and pray that they will be useful in some way.

AVP among Friends in Guatemala

This is the first time that the Alternatives to Violence Program (AVP) has been offered to Quaker participants in Guatemala. My experience with AVP had been mostly in prisons, but in these workshops the participants were members of the evangelical Friends community. The curriculum is set up to be non-religious, though it has spiritual elements in the same way that the 12-step program does. The core of the program is to discover how to call on “transforming power” to shift and resolve conflicts. In these workshops where most of the participants are practicing Quakers and strong Christians, I wondered whether they would follow our lead to be inclusive in their language, or whether they would refer to their Christian values which are an enormous part of their lives. As it turned out, they generally seemed comfortable using non-religious language in the program. Some of them told us that they appreciated this more inclusive language and felt that it would be useful in non-Quaker groups that could use the AVP program: universities, workplaces, and police departments.

Despite our shared Quaker background, cultural differences between us and our Guatemalan host community were apparent. One of those differences came up around corporal punishment of children. Most of the Guatemalans believe in spanking their children. So for me, the question arose: should I label spanking as violent, share my own viewpoint gently, or leave this unchallenged? My sense of integrity generally called for me to speak out my own viewpoint that physical punishment of kids is rooted in violence and is not helpful to building peaceful families. But when we visited a pastor, his wife showed us how she threatens to hit her three-year-old with a wooden spoon. She asked the older brother to “go get the paddle”, and she proudly showed us how the little guy immediately changed his behavior. I did not tell her I disagreed with this policy. Was it because I was in her home, and she was about to serve us lunch? I don’t know. Perhaps it’s not useful to call out all of our disagreements. Maybe more was gained by noting all the ways in which we agree, despite our differences.

Minga and I stayed with some wonderful Friends. It was a gift to get to know them, to share their lives, and to learn about their belief systems. Guatemalan Friends have three yearly meetings, occasioned by some disagreements in policy that led to various splits. The Santidad yearly meeting split off from the Nacional with a strong concern to return to practices of the early Friends: separate worship for men and women was among the changes they chose. The third yearly meeting, Embajadores, is very small. All three groups are evangelical Christian in orientation. Their worship services are programmed with pastors offering the service, unlike the unprogrammed tradition in which both Minga and I worship. The women generally wear skirts to meeting, and jewelry and dancing are frowned upon. In their personal lives, the Quakers we met call on their faith frequently, and many of them prefer Christian radio stations and entertainment. Music is a huge part of their services and I rejoiced to hear the beautiful harmonies of a mother and daughter pair, as well as the clear soprano voice of Karen’s nephew, who has recorded a CD to sing of his love of Jesus.

We left Guatemala with the satisfaction of having given out 55 certificates of completion, each for a 20-hour workshop. Our hosts and organizers, Celeste Gomez and Karen Gregorio, devoted incredible efforts to bringing people together and making the workshops happen. The participants each gave a full weekend to the work with positive energy and commitment, setting aside their other obligations to be there, fully present. Participants committed to continue the work, to pass the training on in other groups. We talked about the program on TV, in meetings and churches, and to individuals, all of whom showed an interest in using the program to try to bring peace to their communities.

Guns and Alternatives to Violence

To our surprise, two police officers signed up for our Alternatives to Violence workshop in Guatemala. I had never seen anyone come to one of the workshops packing a pistol, but they were on duty. Whenever there was any noise in the neighborhood, they explored it for us. Most of the time they were there as participants. They knew only one other participant, who had invited them to attend. But they opened up and shared their feelings, and soon we were all one community.

After the workshop one day, they offered to take us to a local hot springs. So off we went in the patrol car. The officers were on duty, so they wore their uniforms and black shiny boots and kept their firearms and handcuffs at the ready. On the way back to town, there was a church service which we decided to attend. They attended also, as they were Quakers. We were all invited: the swimmers with our wet hair and sandals, and the police officers with their uniforms, black shiny boots, firearms and handcuffs at the ready.  We made for quite a group. No wonder the congregation was interested in hanging around the church long after their usual departure time!

In Honduras, a respite from teaching nonviolence workshops

Gracias a Dios is the name of a town in the Lempira region of Honduras, in the mountains. The Spanish conquistadores gave it that name, praising God that at last they had found a flat bit of ground to place a town. It is a pleasant town, one that many travelers have given thanks to have found. Its cobblestone streets, ice cream shops, and bookstores create a quaint atmosphere that is quite different from the rest of the region which is generally poor and rural. After spending some weeks in Guatemala, we found our safety radar going down substantially in the Lempira region. The region as a whole is generally safe, with many joggers both local and foreign, and including women, running around the countryside by day and night. I went for a jog on a dirt road heading out of town, which led to the river. A woman was there washing clothes, and a young man with amazingly green eyes was enjoying the scenery with his young wife and their newborn baby girl.

We have been welcomed warmly into the Friends’ community in the Lempira region. The first evening we were invited to a special pastors’ celebration and met many of the local Friends in the community. The next day, we felt like locals, as we walked around the town and ran into many of our new friends. We visited Orlando Pineda’s bookstore, and were given a couple of his inspirational books to read.  We ran into the sister of our hosts in Guatemala, Mabel Henriquez, who invited us to a hot springs along with some relatives and friends.  Huge trees hung over the water, where steam rose from pools with stone floors. Since we were there on a weekday evening, we were among the only visitors. Swimming laps in the quiet pool was heavenly.



Elida's family at breakfast



We stayed with Quaker Elida Rosa Sanchez and her extended family in Gracias. Elida is a teacher and is active in her monthly meeting and beyond. First thing in the morning we were greeted by one of the children in the family bringing a bucket of chicks and the mother hen from the front yard where they are protected overnight to the back yard where they spend the day. After breakfast the three youngest children, none of whom are over twelve years of age, washed the dishes, swept the yard and watered the plants.  Their quiet faith fills their lives.



Our next stop was San Marcos, another town two hours’ drive away. Elida and other Friends gave us a ride, as they were on the way to organize the Friends’ library in San Marcos. San Marcos is special in a different way. It is not on the tourist route, as is the case with Gracias Lempira. A small town in the mountains, with mostly unpaved roads, it is a relaxed place. It also feels very safe, and residents are free to stroll around the central square at night, admiring the stars.  

 

Dionel and Glenda's stove



 We went to sleep to the sounds of frogs in the hills and woke to the contented snorts of the horse grazing next door. Our hosts have electricity and fuel for the stove in the kitchen, but they prefer to use the outdoors kitchen where they cook with wood using a traditional oven and stove. They obtain the wood from a friend, freeing them from using their limited church salary for fuel. The sweet smell of burning wood fills the yard. We stayed with Pastor Dionel Mejia and his family, Glenda, Nayansy and Anita, age 5. We were invited to the women’s worship, a small group meeting in one of the member’s homes. One of the group members, the wife of the pastor who is also a pastor, offered a Bible discussion. They ended their evening with fried rice from the Chinese takeout!



Anita in a favorite spot





The Black Christ, Esquipulas, Guatemala

 Last Tuesday was the annual celebration of the Black Christ in Esquipulas, one of the main pilgrimage sites in Central America. Minga and I went by bus with lots of other celebrants to take in the sights of this huge Catholic celebration. Surrounding the cathedral were hundreds of plastic tarps, housing families who had come for the two-week celebration. Beans were cooking on the sidewalk over wood fires, and children played among the tents and around the visitors strolling in the park. The diversity of visitors was broad: wealthy urban couples from Mexico City with Gucci handbags and shoes, side by side with Mayan women wearing their traditional brightly-colored woven skirts and blouses. Buses were parked on the side streets announcing their purpose and origin: Pilgrimage to the Christ of Esquipulas from Veracruz, Mexico, read one sign.

Many mementos are on offer: postcards, amulets, and local items including cowboy hats with multi-colored pompoms. Mayan girls get their photographic portraits taken in front of the cathedral.

Unlike in other parts of Guatemala, restaurants abound, offering meals to the travelers. Around the cathedral were several lines of people waiting. One led to the nave, where for a fee and a long wait one can visit the main attraction, a statue of Christ made out of dark wood in the eighteenth century. On the way there, one can place a votive candle in the anteroom where there is a replica of the same statue. Worshipers prayed all around the replica, rubbing their hands and important documents on it. The anteroom was unbearably hot, with thousands of candles, and wax dripping all over the floor. Inadvertently, we found ourselves on another line, and soon received the blessing of a priest who sprinkled us with holy water.

The “main stage” in the park hosted curious events, including a dance by people wearing huge animal costumes. They minced around rather sedately on their sneakers, bobbing their oversized heads to the music. It was an endurance contest given the heat. On a signal, they all took off their costume heads and received water and towels from their families.

We never did experience the mass, but it was enough to visit the sanctuary and pay our respects. After a few hours in Esquipulas, I was ready to retire from the crowds and heat, wishing someone would towel off my brow and give me a cool drink. Instead, we joined the crowded bus and made our way back “home” to Chiquimulas, with a sigh of relief.