Malasuerte en Tijuana

"I'm sick of having guns in my face" one of my co-workers commented. "No kidding" another seconded, "the military has this whole hill surrounded".

I wanted to get out on Saturday, do some things. The rain slowed us down. Even light rain makes the dirt roads in my neighborhood impassable and fills and overflows the potholes of the paved ones. I settled for a trip to Comercial Mexicana, Tijuana's Wal-Mart, which is not far from our house. And has some pretty cool stuff. As Alec and I emerged from the store, loaded down with bags, we noticed that the road was blocked off by police officers and sirens were wailing in all directions as more arrived on the scene. We took a taxi instead of the bus home.

I really needed some Expo markers for school, so we decided to hit the papelería too. A man with a rifle stood on the sidewalk that lead to the store. Alec and I both stared at the ground and tried to give him a wide berth. "¡Buenas tardes!" he greeted us "Where are you from? ¡Bienvenidos a México!" The guy really seemed to be trying to be friendly, not to freak us out. I guess I am getting a little sick of having guns in my face too.

We got curious. What happened while we were in Comercial Mexicana? A cop got gunned down. In traffic. In the middle of the street. The street we have walked up and down a million times. He was headed for work at the police station next to our house. "Four murders in one hour!" the Frontera newspaper blared.

I haven't been to Casa del Migrante in a while. The bus driver didn't notice that I was getting off behind another guy and started driving. I jumped out of the moving bus while carrying a ten pound block of processed ham and headed down the street. I could hear music from far away. What was going on? A street party for Casa's church! I went inside and greeted everyone, I was pleased that they seemed happy to see me. "Let's go eat!" Raquel said happily, grabbing me up and taking me to the street with Gabriel and Rogelio. A little stage was set up and music was thumping, all of the songs I've heard a million times here sounded new and good. Tamales, enchiladas, elote....all for sale for some San Felipe church money.

...con las espadas desnudas a abrir aquellos cuerpos desnudos y delicados...

I had a smile permanently plastered to my face. Our lovely semanarista friend from Casa was dancing and slapping his own booty, then breaking into giggles. The horchata servers spontaneously broke into a line dance, take it down, bring it up, hold it there, keep it going...a kid ran by in an orange hoodie with a pumpkin face on the front and a stem rising out of his head, chasing a dog that was as big as a horse.

...como la flor, tanto amor, me diste tú....

Didn't they know we were all going to die?

I went to mass with the migrants again. I wanted to. My head was swimming. I tried to pretend like I was going along with the whole thing; I didn't want to be disrespectful. The migrants seated behind me took communion and came back to their benches behind me and remained on their knees. They were engulfing me. I normally would hate something like this, weird human proximity, but it oddly made me feel good. Until I heard the sniffles, the crying. My bones started feeling heavy, like a physical pulling and I was sinking into sand. My head was swirling and I looked straight up, pulled my chin up and tried to fixate on a single object, which unfortunately happened to be a bloody crucified Jesus on a cross.

I found La Doña outside of the church and asked her if I could help her cook next Sunday. "Of course" she said "of course".


*Brevísima relación de la destrucción de las indias, Bartolomé de las Casas
*Como la flor, Selena