1/23/24
By Sue-Ann DeVito
๐๐ผ๐ฟ๐ฑ๐ฒ๐ฟ ๐ฆ๐๐ผ๐ฟ๐ถ๐ฒ๐: ๐๐ฎ๐ป๐๐ฎ๐ฟ๐ ๐ฎ๐ฌ๐ฎ๐ฐ ๐๐ถ๐๐ต ๐ช๐ถ๐๐ป๐ฒ๐๐ ๐ฎ๐ ๐๐ต๐ฒ ๐๐ผ๐ฟ๐ฑ๐ฒ๐ฟ, ๐ช๐ผ๐ฟ๐ธ๐๐ต๐ผ๐ฝ ๐ณ๐ผ๐ฟ ๐๐๐๐๐ถ๐ฐ๐ฒ
Thursday January 11th
With only one day left until the conference, we were determined to return to the wall and offer assistance to asylum seekers.
This day we were joined by Ixchel, the manager of the family-owned restaurant La Indita (a petite indigenous woman) from Tucson. We loaded up with burritos and water to serve.
Stopping once more at the store in Sasabe, we found ourselves the only vehicle there. Suddenly, several vehicles appeared, as if they knew of our arrival (remember the camera in the tree). Among them were men dressed in camouflage, also on their way to the wall. It became apparent that we did not share the same agenda.
Today, we knew we needed to venture further along the wall than the previous day, approximately 18 miles. Here, we expected to rendezvous with other humanitarian aid workers. A break in the wall led to an encampment called Little Havana, where humanitarians provided food and water to asylum seekers. We were informed that they had encountered a woman in labor the previous week.
As we drove, the skies darkened, and construction trucks and border patrol vehicles passed us in the opposite direction. The sight was unsettling due to the rough terrain and narrowness of the dirt road. A light rain began to fall. Just a few miles from our destination, a border patrol agent warned us of a fast-approaching lightning storm. This explained the departure of construction workers and border patrol agents. He informed us that the humanitarian groups were also pulling out.
Concerned about the potential for flash flooding to wash out the dirt roads, we made the difficult decision to turn back. It was too dangerous for us in a vehicle, but we couldn't shake the worry for those gathered at the steel wall in a lightning storm with no protection from the elements. Our hearts weighed heavily with concern.
It's crucial to note that despite seeing numerous border patrol vehicles, not one had picked up an asylum seeker, including the agent who warned us about the weather.
As we departed, we were greeted by a double rainbow that seemed to end near the encampment. I couldn't help but think of the people seeking safety, hoping they would find their "pot of gold."
Throughout the day, our companions proved extraordinary. We gleaned invaluable insights from them. Ixchel shared about the Tohono Oโodham Nation and her family's ongoing fight for justice.
The installation of the border wall had cut off access to tribal land, preventing Native Americans from reaching their hospital without crossing the border. The Tohono Oโodham Nation occupies a vast territory, spanning from Nogales to Rocky Point (the ocean), making it the largest indigenous nation by land in the country. Despite this, there are still 7000 people in Mexico who are part of the nation.
Ixchel, along with her parents Josรฉ and Marรญa Garcรญa, established a foundation named after Josรฉ's mother, an indigenous woman who suffered under apartheid in the desert. They founded Escuela Himdag Ki in Magdalena, Sonora, Mexico, teaching language, culture, and food sovereignty to preserve their traditions.
When we returned to the restaurant, we had the privilege of meeting Josรฉ and Marรญa. Upon introduction, this determined social justice advocate immediately grasped my hands, urging us to collaborate in helping others. At 93 years old, Mariaโs determination was palpable. I felt her passion in her grip and sensed her urgency to continue her mission as her years waned. It was an honor to be in the presence of a woman whose unwavering fight for social justice had brought many successes for her nation.
As we drove away, I recalled Ixchel's words: "Oโodham means people; we are all just people. We are all earthlings living on this earth and connected. It's not about tribes. If we all unite as human beings of the land, we are all connected in some way or another."