OPPOSITE PAGE, FROM TOP: Didier Betofe and his
six-year-old son migrated from Central Africa to reach
Ciudad Acuña, across the border from Del Rio; Ciudad
Acuña high school students collect donations for the
Mexican Red Cross, which dispatched volunteers to
assist with Hurricane Harvey relief in 2017. THIS PAGE:
Swallows glide above the Rio Grande between Roma
and Ciudad Miguel Alemán.crosses over to work in Presidio and
then back again at the end of the day.
Five days a week, back and forth.
She doesn’t mind it, though. There’s
more to do in Ojinaga, and anyway,
she’s in love.
Miss you, Dad
TUESDAY, MAY 14
Hi Elena,
In Del Rio, we met a husband and
wife who were holding hands as
they walked across the bridge to
Ciudad Acuña to buy corn tortillas,
and right away we thought, Wow,
those must be some great tortillas.
We never found the tortillas
ourselves, but in Acuña we met
a father and his young son who
were from Central Africa. They
both had learned Spanish in just
the last three months. The father
cleaned windshields when cars
stopped at a busy intersection, and
meanwhile, the boy stood on the
sidewalk, asking people for “ayuda”
and jiggling a Styrofoam cup, a few
lonely pesos rattling at the bottom.
The father, when he thought we
might take his photo, removed his
baseball cap and smoothed down
his hair. The son wore thick glasses
and kept blinking like the glasses
weren’t helping. To get to Acuña,
they had fi rst migrated to Ecuador,
which means after arriving in South
America, the father and his little
boy probably traveled overland
through Colombia, Panama, Costa
Rica, Nicaragua, Honduras, El
Salvador, Guatemala, and fi nally
Mexico, where they were stopped
at the bridge because they didn’t
have permission to enter the U.S.
It seemed like such a long way to
travel only to be stuck cleaning
windshields and jiggling a cup. And
then suddenly walking across the
bridge to buy some tortillas didn’t
seem so far.
Love you, DadTHURSDAY, MAY 16
Hi Elenita,
We fi nally made it down to the
Valley, closer to where I grew up.
We’re just as close as we have been
to the river all week, but it feels like
there are more Border Patrol agents
everywhere. On the highways, in the
neighborhoods, at the Whataburger.
They’re looking for people—fathers
and mothers and sometimes
even kids—who come from other
countries, like Mexico and
Guatemala and Honduras, and cross
into the U.S. without permission.
Many of these people come because
they were living in a dangerous place
and thought someone could hurt
their kids if they stayed. They come
for work and to be able to feed theirfamilies. And some come because
they have been separated from their
father or mother and they want to be
a family again. The next morning we
went out to the country, where men
and women were picking melons. It’s
hard work, stooping over and over
to pick up the melons in the sun. But
this is the melon season, when the
farmers need someone to pick the
fruit so it can get to stores for the rest
of us to buy. These are the people who
do the work, the ones no one sees,
starting early in the morning so they
can pick faster. Melon by melon, row
after row after row. Joel took a few
pictures and then we left before it got
too hot.
Con cariño, DadFRIDAY, MAY 17
Elenita,
We visited a high school yesterday in
Los Fresnos, a little town just a shortTEXAS MONTHLY 81