Immigrant Tales

March 31, 2015

On the flight to Mexico City, I kept the company of a man on his first flight. We went over immigration forms in broken English and Spanish. Through the course of this exercise, he told me his story, or at least what he wanted to share. I will never cease marveling at how willing people are to share the most intimate details of their lives with complete strangers.

That being said, he was carrying a US Passport, which surprised me (judgment fail). The short version is as follows. In 1995 he was in high school in Mexico and during a fight in the school yard, his opponent fell to the ground, hit a raised surface with the back of his head and died. Fearing prosecution, he fled to an uncle in the United States. Of note, his father had been shot in the head in the street in front of their home. Unable to continue his education because he needed to work to cover the expense he caused of living with his uncle, he began to do construction work. He eventually went from that to a chicken plant and got into the business of killing chickens. From there to a slaughter house in Nebraska where the lack of entertainment led to alcoholism. So he moved to Dallas, got his proper papers through an immigration lawyer and got into the finer points of construction, tile work, counter tops, etc. He's traveled in Louisiana, Alabama, Texas and Oklahoma doing this type of labor. He met his wife on a return visit to Mexico (which he normally drives in over 19 hours) in 2005. They moved in together and in 2013 were married and now have a 2 year old who will be 3 in September. She still resides in Mexico and he in Dallas. He is flying due to the fact that his police friend warned him to stop driving his car that great distance alone as the cartels see this as an easy and accessible target. He is also driving a 2009 Corolla that has custom rims and sound system that shakes the windows. Subtle in the deserts of Mexico, I am certain. Furthermore, his dog was shot by the Dallas Police after the officer was bitten. Continuing in the light of dead dogs, his son's Chihuahua was eaten by a visiting Rottweiler. And the last detail is that he has another baby girl at 3 months that his wife knows nothing about. He wants to travel to Madrid and doesn't know what else he wants to see beyond that.

The point of this long dialogue is to illustrate 2 things: 1) The sheer amount of detail that was shared over 2 hours 2) The volume of death in this man's life. In that short time, there were a total of 4 deaths, the slaughter of chickens and cows and the potential to be murdered by the cartel. It was such a non-chalant conversation with such a grave thread weaving through it.

Once we parted at customs, I met my transportation. Watching Mexico City roll by, I saw hovels akin to Dhaka and Bhopal, men fighting in the street, policia everywhere, churches with doors flung open - their warm glows overpowering the night, busy taquerias, homeless and life going on as it will. It was one heck of a diverse 20 minute ride.

Here are a few images from the journey. These places surprise me repeatedly...