La Migra, La Migra!

It's a strange experience to live at the crossroads of two very different sets of cultures, governments, and languages. Whether Mexican, American, or something in between (actually, it's mostly in between) there are a few common experiences in the lives of everyone who calls this place home.

The first one is language. My friend Tommy says that everyone down here is learning at least one language. No matter how well you speak Spanish, you are trying to learn new words, and el otro tambien. Everyone speaks in some form of Spanglish that makes the whole place work on some semi-functional level.

Some of my favorite Spanglish phrases so far are:

Da me un ride (Give me a ride)
Pushame (Push me)
Parkear (The verb "to park")

The biggest constant for absolutely everyone is the border. Granted, the border operates in different ways if you are a white American vs. a poor Mexican vs. a Mexican-American vs. a Guatemalan, etc., etc. No matter who you are, however, the border influences how you live and changes the way you think.

Around here I commute by bike, which is no small task since about half the roads are like 4-wheeling trails, I live about 70 city blocks from my office, and no one really cares whether they run me over or not.

The other day I was on my bike visiting someone on the edge of Douglas when it occurred to me that I was only 20 city blocks away from my house. Well, 20 blocks and a big ass fence. Instead I rode the 100 or so blocks around through the port of entry so I could go home.

Traveling across the border is undoubtedly the biggest issue. When I cross into the U.S. they ask me my citizenship, which sometimes they accept as American without my ID, and sometimes not. When they ask me where I live, I tell them that I live in Aqua Prieta and have an office in Douglas. They don't really care that I live in Mexico illegally so long as I don't try to smuggle anything back in. That seems sort of odd to me really, but that's how it is.

When I cross into Mexico I tell them that I am visiting friends, even if it is my third day in a row seeing the same agent, even if it is 2 am and I am falling asleep. If I am taking something into Mexico, like furniture, or a plunger, or food (my three major trips so far) I tell them that it is a donation for the church. The basic rule with the Mexican agents is to never tell the truth ever no matter how innocuous it seems. Most of the time I just ride in and no one asks me anything at all.

I tell you this in part to help you understand some of what my life is like every day, and in part to try and explain the way the border changes you. If you want to live on the border you have to learn how to lie. Sometimes that means small lies to save time, like telling them that you are bringing ABSOLUTELY nothing across the border with you. Other times the lies are much larger, like pretending that you aren't illegally living in their country. And that's how the border operates for pretty much everyone. We tell the agents lies and they pretend to believe us. There's something about the truth that would make the whole thing cease functioning, which to me is highly indicative of a broken system.

I don't mind the lies on a daily basis, I suppose, but what is already starting to wear on me is the way in which your entire life becomes something which only sort of resembles the truth. When they ask you what you are bringing into the United States from Mexico I always tell them nothing, but the truth is that I am importing culture, I am importing language, I am importing a way of life that seeks to diminish the 20 foot fence that they have put up. That may seem like a silly or trivial thing, but for the thousands of people who cross daily it is vastly more important than whether or not they are also carrying milk.