Reality

Expression

I struggle with expressing my thoughts. In the mind, I probably wouldn’t hesitate to sometimes consider them profound. Spoken with words, or written, as the case may be, there always seems to be a lack of a certain something. This often leads to the thoughts being left in the mind. This is maybe the main reason why I don’t tend to keep up with my blog, or even do my daily examen in my journal, as I should be doing.

I also struggle with knowing where I am, sometimes. On average I might be crossing borders about 4 to 5 times a day, in to the USA and out of the USA, in to Mexico and out of Mexico. I know I’m crossing into the USA when I’m interrogated by customs and immigrations officials: Are you really from Missouri? (Yes.) How did you become a US citizen? (I was born there.) What brought you in to Mexico? (I live there.) Where are you going? (To Tucson.) On your bike? (No…) What are you bringing back with you today? (Nothing from Mexico.) Are you a missionary? (Well…….. yes.) Humanitarian? (Yes.) What brought you all the way down to Douglas and AP from Missouri? (It’s a long story. Do you really want to hear it all?) What do you do here on the border? (That’s a long story, too. It’s sort of…. complicated.) And complicated, everything seems to be. Heading the other way, it’s a different story. Never have I showed identification while entering into Mexico. I simply ride over this supposed line and bam, I’m there. Change in atmosphere– change in people– change in language (but only sort of, or actually, not really). The men at the taxis stare, many whistle, many let me know I’m a guerita (blondie). Traffic laws become a bit more nonexistent. My bike and I take deep breaths and embrace the attitude of “less think, more do.” I ride about 39 blocks toward my apartment in Agua Prieta alongside a wall constructed to separate US territory from Mexican territory.

Or does it have anything to do with territory? Construction of the wall… further implications, perhaps?

No doubt.

This wall is also something I struggle with sharing about. For certain, it brings about a deep sorrow, but in a way that not even I can understand yet, let alone share about. It’s tall. It’s pointy in some places. At some spots one can see through bars into the United States, at other spots, total separation. At night as I ride back to go to my apartment, I watch the border patrolmen on the other side of the fence, sitting in their fancy patrol mobiles, engines on, lights turned low, waiting… just waiting, as far as I can, until the wall no longer permits me to see what’s on the other side. Farther out into the desert, the wall stops. But then it begins again. And in a year, the gap will be less evident.

I know my cardinal directions in Agua Prieta and Douglas because of the wall. Look north from AP: wall. Look south from Douglas: wall. If the case were that we saw people instead of a wall, what might life here on the border look like?

“It’s complicated.” A phrase I hear all the time, and find myself beginning to say it, too. Because it’s true. Everything is complicated. To say I understand what goes on here would be a lie. I don’t see how anyone could understand it, no less accept it.

According to customs and immigrations officers, it’s OK for me to be a missionary, but not a humanitarian. Humanitarian is apparently a 4-letter word, something that signifies my doing something that’s “not right.” How it got to that point, for them, I’m not sure. And I’m not even sure I want to know.

Everyone watches you. Everyone watches me. US side, Mexico side. People take my license and type in information into a system. Something shows up on the screen, but they say they can’t tell me what. It’s a secret of the government. And that’s supposed to make me feel safe?

English and Spanish become confused, confusing. Riding through Douglas, I’m not sure how to greet people I meet on the street. Is it buenos dias, or good morning? Hola, or hello? Maybe a simple knod of the head, or a wave of the hand.

There’s a tall, old man with long hair and raggedy clothing who walks the streets of Douglas at night w/ the very few items he can call his own, on his back. I wave to him as I ride by him. Sometimes he waves back. I don’t know his name, but I’d like to know. I’d like to stop and talk to him. I’d like to know his story. And there’s a woman who walks the streets at night, too– mostly in Agua Prieta, but I saw her the other night in Douglas for the first time since I’ve been here. She has a little dog on a leash and a big purse she carries around. I know her name. I know where she’s from. And I know she’s a drug addict and in an abusive relationship. My attempts, however, to make conversation with her to learn the “rest of the story” fail as she sees me as merely a resource for possibly getting whatever she wants at that very moment: a burrito, a glass of water, a paper towel, a toothbruth, …..

Life and work. Work and life. Life IS work. Work IS life. No separation between the two. It’s always something. And it’s almost always something difficult.

The media catches on from time to time

Group holds vigils to honor immigrants who died in Cochise County

By Jonathon Shacat
Herald/Review

Published on Thursday, October 11, 2007

DOUGLAS — Nobody knows who Juan Jose Ontiverosi was. But that doesn’t mean his life should be forgotten.

Each Tuesday evening, Healing Our Borders holds a vigil in Douglas to pray for families of immigrants who have died in Cochise County.

 

Tommy Bassett raises a cross containing the name of an illegal immigrant who died in the deserts of Cochise County. On Tuesdays, participants of the Healing Our Borders group hold a vigil along the Pan American Highway in Douglas. (Mark Levy-Herald/Review)

Participants walk along Pan American Highway and place scores of small white crosses on the edge of the sidewalk. They start at the intersection of Fifth Street and end near the Mexican border.

The wooden crosses bear the names of a person and the date of birth and death. Some of the crosses do not contain complete information.

“We do it to remember the people,” said Aaron Boeke. “Until people stop dying, this is what we do.”

The name of one individual is highlighted during the end of the vigil. If someone died that particular week, then that name is chosen. Otherwise, a person is selected randomly, he said.

“We pray for all travelers. And, we say that those who are hungry would have food and that people who have food would hunger for justice. Lastly, we always say we return home to our friends and family and leave none of our brothers and sisters behind,” Boeke said.

The vigils are held on Tuesdays at 5:15 p.m. He said turnout varies. Anywhere from two to 50 people attend the events, but there are about 10 core people who attend regularly.

Raul Saavedra Cinta, deputy consul with the Mexican Consulate in Douglas, said the volunteers are dedicated.

“They feel very strongly about the social issues,” he said.

Boeke said the vigils have been held since 2001.

“For the most part, for over six years, there has always been someone here at the vigils every week,” he added.

According to Boeke, the group has crosses for nearly 190 immigrants who have died since 2000. Names and other information about the people who have died are supplied by the authorities.

For more information about Healing Our Borders, call 364-9257.

Herald/Review reporter Jonathon Shacat can be reached at 515-4693 or by e-mail at jonathon.shacat@bisbeereview.net.

Remembering the Sabbath

I’ve been fortunate enough to be in a position to take time to just be the past few Sundays I’ve been in the Douglas/AP area. Last Sunday, I spent my afternoon laying on a blanket by the tree my bike was leaning on, in the park right across from the First Presbyterian Church of Douglas, only about a block and a half from the Frontera de Cristo office/house. I did some reading, some journaling, some walkie-talkie-ing back and forth with Dad and other family members, and talking w/ Grandma, as well. And, the best of all, just laying there, under the tree, on the blanket, w/ no particular plans as to where I’d be going or what I’d be doing the rest of the evening. The epitome of lovely, right there. One week later I find myself in a similar position in that park, only this time under another tree, and w/o a blanket, but instead, w/ the Two Flags Music & Arts Festival in the Park going on around me: a stage w/ live music (I bet you’re jealous you didn’t get to hear old men cranking out songs like “Crazy Little Thing Called Love” and “Can’t Get Enough of Your Love, Baby” …. ), two big tents w/ used books (fill a bag for $1!), homemade jewelry and afghans, and all the horchata/tacos/elote/Mexican cuisine for relatively cheap that a person could possibly ever want. The sun was shining brightly, making Douglas a great place to be, w/ an ever so gentle wind passing through. At one point I just leaned against the tree, shutting my eyes, just resting in peace for a few moments. I then opened my eyes, got out my new cell phone, and decided to share my moment w/ Mom and Grandma.

It seems so simple, really, perhaps not even a big deal to anyone else except me, and that’s ok, it shouldn’t be. I just know the struggle I had in college with always being busy and never having that time to just sit and be. Life during the week here in Douglas/AP can be rather similar– many nights I arrive home past midnight (sometimes as late as 2AM) after having been caught up in serving at the Migrant Resource Center after getting work done at the office– the day is already gone before one realizes, oh, I’ve been working for the past 14+ hours, maybe I should get some sleep before I get up and do it again. Here, there’s no separation of work and life.  Life becomes work– work becomes life. And to an extent, I’m OK w/ that, and in some ways, I don’t know any differently. But I do know that the time to just be on the Sabbath sure puts my heart and mind in a different place, energizes me, refreshes me, and prepares me for the week to come.

For those of you who experience “go, go, go” syndrome in your own lives: when’s the last time you took moments for yourself? When’s the last time you remembered the Sabbath?

And the Lord said, go, and be…

To Those Who Have Died in the Desert

In memory of those who went to look for a better life, yet only encountered death…

In memory of those who risked everything and lost everything…

Of those who went with hope in their eyes and challenge in their souls…

The sun burned them and the desert devoured them

And the dust erased their names and faces

In memory of those who never returned…

We offer these flowers and say with the deepest respect…

Your thirst is our thirst,

Your hunger is our hunger,

Your pain is our pain,

Your anguish, bitterness, and agony

Are also ours.

We are a cry for justice that no one would ever have to leave their land, their beliefs,

their dad,

their children,

their parents,

their family,

their roots,

their culture,

their identity.

From out of the silence comes a voice that speaks…

So that no one will ever have to look for their dream in other lands,

So that no one would ever have to go to the desert and be consumed by loneliness.

A voice in the desert cries out…

Education for all!

Opportunity for all!

Jobs for all!

Bread for all!

Freedom for all!

Justice for all!

We are a voice that will not be lost in the desert…

That insists that the nation give equal opportunity to a dignified and fruitful life to all its children.

–Othon Perez: Summer of 2004

YAV Newsletter #1: September 2007

Surprise… Leisha hardly posts on here… well, for starters, here’s the newsletter she came up with for September…

Dear friends and family,

“¡Presente!” There I was, my first couple of hours in Douglas, Arizona, standing on Pan-American Highway at the tip of the city, leading directly to the port of entry at Douglas and Agua Prieta, Sonora, Mexico. “Mª Jesús González,” the person next to me shouts from the sidewalk into the street, to everybody and nobody at the same time. “Presente!,” those around me respond in unison, myself included. It’s my turn. I grab a splintery white cross from the shopping cart, carry it to the next spot on the sidewalk, and take a thoughtful look at what the cross has written on it in black marker faded by the fate of time:

28-09-75
A G U S T I N A L O P E Z V .
12-7-02

And so it goes. I share, “Agustina Lopez.” In response, all cry, “¡Presente!” And then a moment of silence, a time for me personally to consider the life of this young woman, only 4 years older than myself at the time of her death, crossing the desert in Cochise County, Arizona. I consider how her story is so far from my own personal reality, yet so in line with the stories of so many others, so many without a name, without a face. NAFTA. Economic crisis. The need for jobs. Separation of families. Construction of a physical border; a fence, a wall, a barrier between “them” and “us.” A migration to the “outskirts.” Hope found, hope lost. Rising numbers of deaths in the desert. Hence, this prayer vigil every Tuesday evening on Pan-American, and a part of my new reality. All human beings deserve a face. All deserve a name. With this belief, my year as a Young Adult Volunteer (YAV) through the Presbyterian Church (USA) begins.

I have wanted to be a YAV for as long as I can remember. Mostly having considered the PC(USA)’s Latin American sites, during my junior and senior years of college I felt what might be considered a calling toward the US/Mexico border. So close to home, yet still so far, one might say. The Tucson/Borderlands site provided that opportunity to be connected with both sides of the border. Immediately taken in by my first conversation with site coordinator Brandon Wert, I became a part of the YAV family now considered to be “Team Tucson.” Eight young adults passionate about sharing God’s love with one another and with those living on the margins of society today, coming together in covenant community focused on simple and ecologically-friendly/sustainable living, the sharing of resources, and serving those in greatest need: this has become my family for the year. One of my families, anyway. I make up the eighth person, the “binational.” This means I live in Agua Prieta, Sonora (Mexico), just over the border from Douglas, Arizona, and work on both sides of the border. Many times during the year I will be returning to Tucson for our Volunteers Exploring Vocation (VEV) sessions, with our spiritual director, Teresa Blythe. We’ll also be having various retreats during the year, an opportunity for reflection upon our year of service and to allow room and space for continued discernment and personal growth/development, as well as an opportunity to discuss the various aspects of living in covenant community with one another.

My placement is with Frontera de Cristo (Christ’s Border), one of the seven Presbyterian Border Ministries on the US/Mexico border. I am serving as “encargada” (“person in charge”) of the Migrant Resource Center just behind Mexican Migration immediately after crossing into Agua Prieta. The Center provides food, water, coffee, socks, clothing, blankets, information about migrant shelters and resources in Agua Prieta, basic medical assistance, a place for temporary rest, and more, to migrants who have just been deported or repatriated back into Mexico. Most of the migrants who enter into the Center have never been to Agua Prieta and feel disoriented not only by a new place, but also tired due to a (more often than not) long journey through the desert and baffled by the question of where to go and what to do next. Volunteers from both sides of the border welcome the migrants as they pass through the little plaza in front of the Center, ushering them in, assuring them that all services are free and that we’re there to serve them.

Many on the US side, particularly in Douglas where the Frontera office is, are baffled by the idea of an American girl like me living on the Mexico side. Customs and immigration officers at the port of entry into Douglas enjoy drilling me with questions about why I’ve “really” been in Mexico, and what brought me here all the way from Missouri. And people in Agua Prieta have just as many, if not more, questions. They’re quick to question what kind of place I live in, if it’s a big house (no) or a really nice apartment (no; but it’s good enough for me). Many have also questioned why I might be spending my time at a place like the Migrant Resource Center in Mexico (as opposed to the beaches of Mexico?, I often am unsure as to the meaning behind this). And others in Agua Prieta, yet, have admitted to having their minds changed a lot about Americans just by working with them at the Center, or being served by them at the Center. Apparently not everyone supports a wall or a fence being placed between us and our neighbors; this is news. Apparently not everyone wants to beat migrants down, throw them into a truck, starve them, or leave them to die in the desert; this, also, is news to many. Hearing of this change in mind by some of my Mexican coworkers has been encouraging to me. For sure, it’s played off of a question we YAVs were asked by a young man, about high school age, we met at the Center for Repatriated Minors in Nogales, Sonora where he’d been sent after trying to cross into the United States to see his family: ¿Por qué no nos dejan entrar en tu país? or, Why won’t you all let us enter into your country? The “you all” in that question bothered me. To many, Americans, and American government, are one in the same. What good will it do to explain to this young man that it’s not us, it’s the government, when all his life, all around him, he’s only seen the contrary? Actions speak much louder than words; for all of us who remember this being told to us around first grade, it’s true. There are a lot of questions on the part of both sides of the border. I’m not sure how many I’ll be able to answer at the end of this year, but I do know that within that time frame I will be doing an incredible amount of learning.

September passed by too quickly, and saw me going from here to there and back many times. After a Borderlinks trip with the Hollywood and Tucson YAV sites, we took off on a road trip to Ghost Ranch in New Mexico for the National YAV Orientation. It was a time to meet and share time, presence, conversation, and worship with all the national YAVs, and gain a better understanding of the YAV Program as a whole, and the similar (and still different) in which we will all be finding ourselves. It was also an opportunity to begin to answer (or at least consider) the questions that we were charged with from the beginning of the orientation: “Why are you here?” “Where are you going?” I found it funny that, the more time and space I was given to consider these questions, the less I was able to come up with concrete answers. Hence, the beginning of a year of discernment. Seminary’s been on my mind a lot, but so have several other things. But I am learning to accept the question marks of life and be fully present in the everyday experiences I encounter.

To my friends and family, I thank you for your constant thoughts, prayers, and support. Financially, I am here because of you all, but it’s not just been through financial means that you’ve helped get me here. For every person who’s said “you can do it!” and “follow your dreams!” to me in the past 22 years of my life, I thank you. You are really how I got here. I pray infinite blessings upon each of you, that you are all finding peace and justice in your own lives, within your own selves, your families, places of worship and places of work. I also request continued prayers and thoughts for me here on the border, and for all the YAVs serving both nationally and internationally, in communities of need. Pray for understanding. Pray for endurance. Pray for open minds and open hearts. Above all, pray for peace; it’s something this world could really use a lot of.

Que la paz de Dios sea con Uds.,
Leisha Reynolds

Here I am

I’ve arrived safely to where I’ll be spending this year. The first several days were spent in Tucson with my new family for the year– the Tucson YAV family. There are seven others, most from the east coast area, all beautiful and blessed individuals in their own ways. More about them later, however. Tucson was hot– really hot. It felt like the days were packed full, likely because they were– intentional conversations about community life, cooking and sharing meals together, worshiping at Southside Presbyterian (greatest worship experience I’ve had, to date, I’d say), being welcomed into Sitting Tree Community with meals and conversation, Volunteers Exploring Vocation (VEV) sessions with Teresa, Samaritans/No More Deaths training at St. Mark’s Presbyterian, biking everywhere we go, joining Grad Group for a meal (a bunch of Presbyterian students from University of Arizona who meet together for potlucks, movies, studying, etc). The list could really go on. Our time as an entire family ended for a moment as we met with all of our supervisors for a meal (do you sense a trend?, everything revolves around meals!– and my, have they been yummy!) and then headed to our places of work for the year. That meant me leaving with my new supervisors, Aaron and Angel, and Angel’s wife, Maria Elena, with all my things, to head to Agua Prieta, about 2 hours away.

We spent some time in Douglas, AZ first– I got acquainted with the Frontera de Cristo office in Douglas, then experienced my first prayer vigil for migrants who’ve passed away in the desert in Cochise County– something I will be involved with every Tuesday evening here in Douglas. Intense. I spent my first night in my new home, an apartment built with the intention of housing volunteers like me. I had to laugh when I walked in, considering how much I’ve always wanted to live in a random little apartment in Mexico for around a year, and now it’s happening! Aaron, who’s been here a year already, and is just a year older than me, lives in the other apartment, where we share a common living space/kitchen/bathroom. Yes, those things are on my side as well, but the agreement that he and the past YAV who lived there had was that it wasn’t necessary to have double of everything for just two people, so the space would be shared. I respect the decision; it works out well, and that means there’s less to clean (and when you visit the apartment, particularly during summertime or the fall, you’ll understand the dire meaning of that statement…. try sweeping twice, mopping, then sweeping again as a “just barely clean” regime for the floors, if that gives you a better idea ).

After not much time in AP/Douglas, I headed back to Tucson for a VEV session, by means of the shuttle, which had some rather interesting means of driving in the rain. I got to stay the remainder of the weekend, which was a treat, and spend time with the other YAVs, use the solar shower more (there’s NOTHING like showering outdoors and feeling the breeze right on you from a hot end-of-summer day in Tucson, and knowing what a friendly means of bathing yourself it is, on the environment!), bike a bunch, get to know Tucson a bit better, eat some yummy organic food (food’s not something we’ve really “figured out” yet in AP… it’s a beef-lover’s haven… definitely not for me, so this will provide some neat challenges to healthy eating while trying not to miss out too much on the local cultural cuisine), worship again at Southside, and share an evening with a lovely couple from Southside at their house, utilizing their pool, hot tub, and picking their brains about the husband’s experience as a prisoner of conscience for a time in federal prison, sent there for “crossing the line” at the School of the Americas in Ft. Benning, Georgia. Fascinating. Only here have I met so many people so dedicated to their beliefs in justice, that they will willingly make a statement so bold, knowing that such a statement could land them a spot in federal prison. And so many people who’ve spent that time there, and would do it again without a second thought. Dedication.

I know I’ve much to learn from so many people around me this year, at this point I probably have no clue just how much. So, here goes. Stay with me as I log on to share with you my journey from time to time, and leave comments as you’d like!

Great news!

Thanks to YOU, I’ve officially met my $5,000 mark! I did a little happy dance as soon as I received the check that put me right at the mark this past week. Asking for money isn’t something that I necessarily enjoy doing, as some of you may know, but in a position like this, it’s what I’ve got to do. The Tucson/Borderlands YAV site made it necessary that all money be raised by the first day of YAV Orientation (September 1st), as you know, making summertime the time to raise. I thank God for the humbling response I have received from each of you, in amounts anywhere from a quarter to $1,000, each and every cent has gotten me to this point. It’s thanks to YOU that I’m leaving this Friday for this new and exciting journey. Receive warm, heartfelt thanks and lots of hugs, sent from me to you, wherever you may be as you read this!

¡Bienvenidos!

Welcome to Leisha´s blog– yep, you’ve come to the right place! This is the place I’ll be using as an outlet to share about my experiences on the border during my year as a Young Adult Volunteer (YAV), sharing in ministry with Frontera de Cristo, one of seven Presbyterian Border Ministries, found along the US/Mexico border at Douglas, Arizona and Agua Prieta, Sonora (Mexico).