Dotted Line

In Douglas, the Hispanic custodian of the local historical society wants to make sure I understand that the people of Agua Prieta made from their fence some "lemonade". That is, they painted a mural on their side of the fence. Peering through the layers from the U.S. one sees and certainly can hear how life lives right up to the edge "over there". She tells me that some activist nuns live in a convent across the street from the gas station. I leave the lobby of the Gadsden Hotel and the story of Pancho Villa's stay here during the battle of Agua Prieta. Three women cleaning vegetables, living communally welcome me into their kitchen. It's a sleepy afternoon. They tell me there is another vigil on Tuesday when they will carry another cross to mark the site of another migrant who died in this harsh desert. I might want to come back to document their town's Las Posadas. In Douglas, it is not Joseph and Mary but Jose and Maria that enter town on the back of a mule in search of shelter. In the borderlands, these rituals are not a metaphor. (December 2, 2017)