Before I discovered blogging, when my writing was with pen, typewriter or computer (Atari to start), I still wrote many of the same kinds of ideas as I do today-- the sole difference being back then nobody but me read my words except now and then a publisher (if they read the words before rejecting them). In going through my current computer, I came across some observations from a trip to California in 1997.Background for this essay: we had flown into San Diego, California, on a Saturday morning; so that my husband could have a series of business meetings while I enjoyed the art galleries and beaches of Del Mar. As soon as we got off the plane, we headed our rental car to Tijuana to buy prescription drugs which were much cheaper there. The law at the time allowed up to $300 worth and 6 month supply-- no prescription required (naturally no narcotics nor addictive drugs were included).
The memories of what I saw that day and later felt are still strong in my mind--
February 8, Saturday, 1997
To enter Tijuana, we cross a bridge over what is today a dry wash with only rats running in it. Our destination of tourist shops is only a short walk. The bridge is lined with tiny, Indian women, babies in their arms, toddlers at their sides. They sit patiently holding out drink cups for someone to put money into. I have seen this at any Mexican border crossing. I glance at them but don't give the women anything. I think I am embarrassed for them.
I put money in a woman's cup, not waiting for nor expecting thanks. The next goal is a little girl who earlier had been playing a small guitar and singing. She is still there, just as loud and just as off key. People who pass smile, but there are but a few bits of change in the cup held by her sister or friend. Perhaps the children take the money out as quickly as it is put in. I add a quarter. Another girl, perhaps a bit older is selling small candies and becomes more persistent as she sees that I have proven a soft mark. I give her a quarter without taking the candy.
I keep walking, but am quickly surrounded. I have never seen so many children come from nowhere in my life. It reminds me of a scene from a movie. They are small and pushy, demanding. Possibly they disappear when they receive a coin, possibly they pocket it and try to see if they can get more.
Finally I am out of money and show the situation by holding out my open palms. Their persistence has been humorous but disturbing all at the same time.
One dark-eyed, handsome boy, smaller than the rest, continues to follow, determined to get his bit of change. He says nothing, probably speaks no English, perhaps not even any Spanish; but he knows an international language as he keeps his cup firmly out staying at my side. I finally ask my husband for something to give him before he either gets lost from his family--assuming there is a family--or he ends up trying to cross the border and go home with us. I have brought home cats and dogs from walks, not yet a child. When he receives his change, he too disappears and I pass out no more money.
I feel grateful I hadn't given any money on my initial way across because it would've been a nightmare coming back. Those little children showed every other adult who crossed why they wouldn't want to give money to any. It also made me wonder how they signaled each other that money was there. I had to have had at least 15 bits of change from pennies to quarters. It all went out to kids I hadn't even seen a few moments before. How did they get the word out? I guess, they must learn to be very alert as a means of surviving their precarious physical situation.
Going back through American immigration takes a long time. Blame Bill Clinton for whatever you want, but under the Republican administrations, you could walk across that border. Now documentation is checked for every crosser--at least at the legal points. At least half the people in line are Mexican legals.
Later after having settled into our inn, we go driving in the hills above Del Mar, exploring back roads. Flowers are bright and colorful on the hills, the sky above is turquoise blue, the air warm. The homes are rich, the people we see jogging look well-to-do, educated--the beautiful people.
As we leave behind a stretch of dirt road and enter a housing development, I see a little girl learning to ride her bike with her parents behind and in front of her. Her blue eyes meet mine as we drive past. Her hair is long and blond, clean and shiny, a helmet protects her pretty little head. The expression on her face is alert and trusting, happy, and I cannot help but contrast her life to that of children of that morning only a few miles south and hundreds of years apart.
An accident of birth made that beautiful, dark-eyed, little boy grow up in a world so different from the pretty little blond girl that if they meet someday, they will barely have any experiences in common. Nobody can know for sure what will happen in life, but the probability is she will never have to humiliate herself by begging on a dirty street with rats running underfoot. She'll have an education, loving parents, who even if they separate, will always support her. She won't have to face the fears a child of the streets knows all too well.
So what does all that mean? I don't have the foggiest. It's just an observation. People who believe in reincarnation would say the poor child chose his lot before his birth. The Christian could say the rich child might do her suffering in hell for a selfish life brought on by too much excess, and the poor child will be rewarded someday in heaven (assuming he has said the right words first). Liberals would say we should do something about it. Libertarians would say mind your own business. Mexicans might say my even observing such is a typical Norte Americano's attitude of pridefulness. Conservatives would assert it's the price the dark-haired one pays for bad economic practices of his people and certainly not the fault of the light-haired one.
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It's now been over ten years since that day and I have no more solutions today than I had then. If they both lived, those two children are in their teens. I haven't been to Tijuana since that trip, but I would guess women still wait along that bridge hoping to sell something or get money. I have learned to give more when I see women in that situation-- if I decide to give at all. It doesn't really help them nor me to do it; but it's hard to walk past knowing it could be just an accident of birth as to which woman I am...
7 comments:
Your observations are incredibly sharp and soulful. I am pretty sure the scene is very much the same. Roger and I drove down to Escondido a few years ago, and I remember the return trip over the bridge was a nightmare. The traffic was snarled for hours, and the mothers and children were there begging. Tijuana is as far from San Diego as the moon.
Your descriptions are so thought provoking. I have never been to TJ but been to many other parts of Mexico. I have been told by Mexicans not to give anything to the begging Indians because that only encourages them to keep doing it. They have programs down there to help them become economically viable, maybe not by US standards but there are other things they can do to become part of the mainstream Mexican society.
It is very interesting that two children so close geographically can be so far economically. The thing about Mexico is there are plenty of Mexican children that probably live just as close as the American girl you saw that have lives much closer to the US lifestyle than the beggar lifestyle. Mexico is definitely a country of haves and have-nots.
In Tibet I was told not to give money to the begging children or anyone. They did not have much self esteem I could see from their body language. I drew drawings of them and gave them their picture telling them sincerely that they were beautiful. In cities this was succesful but on our treck the children mobbed me all of a dozen young kids wanting a picture all at once. In Lhasah an older boy wanted me to pay him for allowing me to draw him.
I don't know the answer either.
I have not been to TJ but have been in Los Algodones. I have also met a few Mexican businessmen there, through my cousin who lives in Yuma. Ingineer66 is right in that Mexico is a country of haves & have-nots.
I think this is most of the problem with our illegal immigrant problem. Those Mexican businessmen are not becoming illegals- they can cross the border at will with no problem. The people who are coming here illegally for the most part are those with nothing and no education. If they have either they can live better in Mexico than they can here. They come here for the welfare. Mexicans I have talked with down there feel most of their Indian population is lazy and does not want to work. If so, there will probably always be beggars.
We hear that the illegals are coming to work in our fields and there are indeed some who do. If we had a good seasonal work visa that was available to them, it would allow those who want that to come, work, then return to their families in Mexico after the season. I think that is what we need.
What a wonderful peice, Rain....I love your "observations" and thoughts on this. And iy is so true---An accident of birth puts people where they are---there is no choice involved with that happenstance. What those lives will become....? Hard to know, isn't it? And where are those two children today, ten years later, now what 16, 17, 18, or so....Now THAT wouild be really fascinating to know, too, wouldn't it? And it might be surprising. Or not.
Your writing is really lovely, my dear Rain.
I've been to Nogales and also Acapulco and observed exactly what you described. It can be heart-wrenching with the children.
But...just a couple of weeks ago, I witnessed the same thing on the streets of Paris. And the thing is...in Paris, there's no need to beg. Everything is provided for them. BUT....I give to the first few I pass and then...I'm almost ashamed to admit it, but it's like I don't "see" them anymore. I think sometimes it's very easy to become immune to such scenes.
I understand what you're saying though, Rain....I see the horror of war, etc. on TV with children and I always think "it's simply a matter of birth"....Why must all those poor children suffer and I never had to. I have no answers either.
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