Getting to the La Roca shelter took some doing. A steep street followed by sets of steps to get us to the rock on which the shelter was built. Francisco (Pancho) Olachea Martin loaded our group into his ambulance, named after his daughter Cristina, and drove up the street. He even used the siren for kicks. That’s the kind of guy he is. The ambulance was tight for nine people, a couple of benches and a stretcher. In the front, a few drawers with bandages and a bin labeled “Various Meds.”
The fun of the ambulance ride evaporated the moment we saw the first room at the shelter, reserved for women and children. It was a dim, narrow space, maybe ten feet across. It looked like it was occupied before it was ready. Some wiring hung loose. An old stove provided some heat. Bunk beds took up most of the floor space. The remaining floor space was taken up by belongings and blankets. If the ambulance was tight, this room was even more cramped. The women and their children spent most of their days in this cramped space waiting for their turn at the border. There was an outdoor rec space, but we were told it was unsafe because of cartel surveillance. Continue reading “Remain in Mexico”
