Mexico Border

On the Border

Mexico Border Fence, Douglas AZ

US Border fence, Douglas, AZ. 2003

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Los Ninos Perdidos De La Senora

(The Lost Children of Senora)

Jim Bartlett

(Naco, Mex) "Pepe" had been provoked into a tantrum once again. "It's easy to make him cry," the older boys said as he screamed, shouting back in Spanish as the other boys laughed. The son of illegal immigrants, he was found in the desert in April. The group his parents were traveling with had scattered at the approach of the Border Patrol. They have not contacted authorities or the orphanage since. His fate is but one in a series of abandonment's that have occurred along the contested, desert line in S. Arizona.

At first, we were informed that there were no children from parents who crossed. But after a while, a volunteer at the Casa Hogar Orphanage in the northern Sonora town of Naco let it slip that well over half of the children were there because of separation during crossing. “It’s not something the government likes to admit to. It’s a pride issue,” she said, insisting we not use her name. Naco is a rough, dusty border town where murder and disappearances are not uncommon. With rates for smuggling both aliens and drugs skyrocketing due to increased pressure from the US Border Patrol and civilian watch groups, organized criminal gangs rule the town.

Immigrant orphans, Naco Mexico

“Bad things happen here,” she concluded in hushed tones, out of earshot of the children and the director. Nearby, some of the boys played with a blown out Daisy BB gun and plastic handcuffs. Not exactly cops and robbers, the boy in handcuffs was dispatched in a mock execution. Already, the casual cruelty of the border was seeping in. Afterwards, the gunman, a boy of 12 named Christian, strutted around as the girls showered attention on him. A young “Heffe” in the making.

At the three orphanages we visited, the problem was much the same; children abandoned. Some, we were told, came from abusive families, victims of the severe drug abuse in the region. Others were the children of parents who have succumbed to AIDS, another grave problem. Many, however, had been turned over to local authorities by the USBP who had picked them up in the desert, separated from larger groups when the crossers scatter at the approach of border agents. The facilities ran the gamut from the well-run Casa la Providencia, run by a Jesuit nun from Wisconsin, to one that apparently fronted a child prostitution ring.

Escape from Prieta

It hadn’t been 5 minutes since leaving the Brasa Amour Orphanage outside of Agua Prieta when three SUVs with black tinted windows sped past the gas station we had parked behind, careening down the dusty access road a kilometer away. My translator, Ramone, commented that this was not good, sweat beginning to appear on his brow. My internal threat meter kicked up another color.

When we had driven into the facility, located in the desert several kilometers outside town, we were greeted by a twelve foot high security fence with barbed wire topping. Junk cars, falling down sheds and free roaming animals completed the scene. The director was not in, an agitated middle aged woman told us. No pictures and we had to leave immediately, she informed us in rapid Spanish. Her hands were shaking and she looked almost terrified, as if our presence was a threat to her existence. It may well have been.

Immigrant orphans, Agua Prieta

We had not received this sort of welcome at any of the other orphanages we had visited. While most were reluctant to discuss the border crosser issue, all had allowed us to move freely, talk with the children and photograph. This place had the hair standing up on the back of our necks. The children were withdrawn and sullen, a distinct change from the swarming glee that had greeted the alien visitors elsewhere. “We need to go right now,” Ramone had snapped. I was in complete agreement.

Gun Play, Orphans, Naco Mexico

Two kilometers down the road, I ducked behind the gas station to gauge any response to our presence and work out a back up plan in the event it started to look like we were going to be pursued. West of Prieta the border fence was a simple, cattle wire affair. The rental car would crash it with little problem and we agreed that profusely apologizing to US authorities and fixing their fence was a far better alternative to what may have been a much rougher time at the hands of god knows who. Later, in Douglas, AZ, the neighboring town on the US side of the line, further light would be shed on the Brasa Amour situation. In any event, we made it through Prieta via a circuitous route and cut the line, greatly relieved to be through the Port of Entry.

“We’ve been curious about what was up over there,” a Border Patrol Agent told us as he peered into Mexico with powerful field glasses. “Cars come and go all night. We thought it might be a staging area for drugs or aliens.” The compound was easily visible only 2000m south of the old copper smelter slagheap in Douglas. When we told him it was an orphanage, he shook his head sadly but didn’t seem surprised. (END)

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