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The Promise of Peter Piper

February 18, 2009 | posted by Jon under mexico, updates | Comments (15)

As we left the relative comfort and security of the Casa Migrante on Monday morning, I had no idea what to expect.  We tried to ask many different people about the road from Nuevo Laredo to Monterrey, but it was difficult to get a concrete answer.  The general concensus was that the road was dangerous, mostly due to drug trafficking and the unofficial “lawless zone” that exists in the 40 miles leading up to the border.  Some people we talked to told us we would have no problem at all, that we shouldn’t worry about a thing.  One man we talked to gravely told us that he hoped we would make through the stretch of road alive at all…..so it was with his words running through my head that we headed out into the drizzle for Monterrey.   

The first 20 miles weren’t memorable except for the fact that I was overly jumpy, eyeing each car or truck with tinted windows with suspiscion.  I wasn’t at ease, and wasn’t inclined to trust anyone except God, Lars and myself.  It was a stressful time for me, and I felt alone. 

The checkpoint didn’t help matters.  They asked us for the form that we filled out when we crossed the border.  The problem was we never filled out a thing.  We had to be driven back to the bridge to fill out the form and pay the $18.33 in order to leave Nuevo Laredo.  Aside from wildly fishtailing due to the rain on the way there, it was an uneventful process, and we were glad to be spared the additional 40 miles of riding. 

After leaving the checkpoint, the buildings diminished into scrub brush and prickly pear.  It felt like we were truly vulnerable now, especially with the fog that limited our visibility.  As we were riding along, a car/truck combination slowed down to our speed and pulled up beside us.  I was scared, and gave the truck a wide berth.  Still moving at 12 mph, a man rolled down his window on the passenger’s side and asked me in Spanish if I wanted a pizza.  I thought I had misheard or misunderstood him, still slightly doubting my Spanish abilities.  But as we slowly rolled along he reached down and handed me a pizza box, full of 7 still-hot slices of Peter Piper Pizza, complete with sausage, bacon, and onion with crushed chilis on the side.   

The pizza was, not surprisingly, delicious, and Lars and I delightfully pulled off to the side of the road to partake of our precious pie.  As we ate, we discussed the random kindness of this act, and how it fed more than our stomachs.  This pizza was reassurance that no, not everyone was out to get us, and that people still exist that are willing to help out absolute strangers.  Moreover, it was assurance of God’s providence (how else do you get a hot, fresh pizza in the middle of a rainy Mexican desert??) and protection.  Suddenly (and I think I can speak for Lars as well) we felt at ease, more comfortable in this foreign land. 

The remaining 35 miles passed easily with a wind at our back and the wide shoulder of the toll road, even more encouragement for the day.  After being told that we didn’t have to pay the toll (as long as we went around their gates), we left the main drag to look for a place to stay for the night.  We pulled into Super Stop and Go (think very friendly gas station without gas and better food), and began talking with the owners - Maria and Iseo.  They immediately sat us down in chairs and served us two boxes of taquitos.  From that simple act of hospitality flowed many others (see pictures)- tamale making instruction, tamales, coffee, and fresh grapefruit for dinner, a “casita” where we could stay the night, and then to top it off, breakfast in the morning (huevos rancheros, more tamales, hot tortillas, avocado, and more citrus fruit).  

As we left (after buying a dozen more tamales for lunch), we felt limited by our Spanish, lacking the words of considerable thanks necessary for such an outpouring of one´s home, business, and resources.  That’s how I feel now as well.  Limited by language in my ability to express the transformations that occurred throughout that first day in Mexico.  The theft we anticipated turned into abundant giving, and the fear and distrust we had was replaced with reassurance and hospitality, allowing us to simply relax and experience this new place we now find ourselves in.    My hope is that we can find ways to engage the “pizzas along the road,” with the intention of returning some of God’s many unexpected blessings we’ve encountered throughout our journey.   

Migrantes al sur

February 15, 2009 | posted by Lars under mexico, updates | Comments (6)

These are excerpts from my recent journals.  While they’re not a comprehensive look at the past several days, hopefully they’ll at least be a picture for you.

February 12, 2009 (Thursday)
Freer, TX - Nuevo Laredo, Tamaulipas, MX : 68.5 miles

An early start helped us finish the day’s ride before the heat of the afternoon.  Sunrise and the morning light seems to re-enliven all the world - even the brush desert.

Sunrise -
even the tumbleweeds
bloom with freshness.

We spoke with border patrol officers at a checkpoint 40 miles north of Laredo (there are checkpoints on every road north out of Mexico), at the border, and also called the USBP Laredo office in homes of getting a tour of a detention facility, etc. with no luck - apparently they don’t get the question much.  They were nice enough people, it just seemed like they were unwittingly caught as part of the gauze on the wound of someone who’s been taking anticoagulants for years.  They’re just not stopping the flow, not addressing the issue, and arguably making the situation worse by trying to clean the wound constantly.

We crossed the border, though (it wasn’t hard for us - no documents were necessary to leave the US) and made our way to La Casa del Migrante, a migrant hospitality house run by the Roman Catholic Scalabrinian order.  While we waited outside for the house to open, our bikes (and our gringo-ness) made conversation with the other men who were also waiting.  Some wanted to practice their English with us, others simply asked, “¿Qué haces?” “What are you doing here?” and others asked about the load we are carrying or the brands and costs of our bikes.  Generally, it seemed, we were seen as novelties, as curious aberrations from the typical migrant - we are heading south, after all - but as migrants, nonetheless.  In the midst of one of these conversations, a man from Honduras told us, “si eres un amigo a los migrantes, eres un amigo a Dios,” “if you are friend of migrants, you are a friend of God.“  From him, it was an especially poignant reminder of the upside-down kingdom, the politics of gentleness and love upon which Christ’s community is built.  Between moments like this and fielding questions about how much we spent on our bikes, we had plenty to think about before anyone even opened the doors of the shelter.

All of the men we spoke with on the street raved about the hospitality of the Scalabrinians (though they spoke of it as “La Casa del Migrante”) and assured us - without our asking - that they would also take care of us.  And they did, but not without a bit of to-do and the calling of superiors.  See, we are not your usual migrants who are forced to emigrate for economic reasons and do not have means to stay elsewhere besides the house, so we don’t quite fit in the center of the mission’s mission, one could say.  They did finally decide to host us - there was plenty of room in the inn - and made sure to tell us that we would be treated no differently from the migrants, to which we responded that we assumed nothing differently.  So, sure that we would not be displacing anyone who was heading north, we registered and joined the other men who were lounging about the interior patio, giving each other haircuts, and washing their clothes.  After supper, a man from a local newspaper came looking for workers for the next day, we were lectured about the house rules (there are many, thanks in part to the human and drug trafficking so closely linked to migration here), and after free time filled with casual conversation and our obligatory shower (it’s in the rules!), all 70-80 of us bedded down by 10:30, set for a 6:00 wake-up and 7:00 on the streets for the day.

February 13, 2009 (Friday)
Rest day in  Nuevo Laredo, Tamaulipas, MX

As we left the house for the day, I saw a woman in line to leave and this evening I saw another.  This may seem like an odd observation, but it’s quite apparent when you spend any amount of time in groups of migrants - here or in the Shenadoah Valley, for that matter.  Both appeared to be with their husbands; I imagine that very few single women travel north alone.  I have seen no children here at all, save for the young men on their first trip north.  I’m sure that some of them would still be in high school in the US.

We spent most of the day trying to find and unlock cell phones for use in Mexico.  This entailed riding our bikes from shop to shop - and there are plenty - and asking if they carried “celulares cuatribandas” and if they could unlock Jon’s cell phone.  Since just about every block in Nuevo Laredo’s downtown has a storefront for both of the country’s major cell providers, and each of these is independently owned and operated, we received any number of responses to these questions, from “¿Qué es cuatribanda?” to offering to unlock Jon’s phone if we left it with them until Monday, when we hope to be on the road to Monterrey.  Mostly, though, the quad-band phones are exorbitantly expensive and the stores don’t know what to do with Jon’s phone -it’s a bit of an anomaly, apparently.  Our search for Mexican cell service will have to wait until Monterrey, next week.

Back at the Casa del Migrante for the evening, we played Dutch Blitz with some of the guys, which was a hit.  We started playing with two others and soon there was a crowd gathered around the game being played on the cement patio floor.  We were called away from the game to hear from a Nuevo Laredo Public Works officer looking for people to help clean the city the next day.  We signed up with at least a dozen others, and though we won’t be paid, we’ll get lunch, and hopefully be re-admitted at the Casa tomorrow night wih the signature of our supervisor and a description of the work we’ve done, as is required for all the migrants.

It’s time for lights out - 10:30.  En punto.