Updated: November 27, 2019
Originally Published: November 27, 2019
“Por favor, Señora, para mi bebé,” a young girl, no older than 17, implores as she holds what appears to be her one-year-old child. The sweat from the scorching sun mixes with sunscreen on my forehead, causing my eyes to sting. The four bags of Pedialyte I’ve brought feel increasingly cumbersome.
“Good morning, how old is this little one?” I ask in Spanish.
“She’s two and a half,” the girl replies. In that moment, several unsettling thoughts cross my mind: (1) how can that tiny child be two and a half? (the answer: malnutrition); (2) what circumstances led this young girl to be a mother? (the answer: rape is a distinct possibility); and (3) how do I explain that this Pedialyte is intended for babies under one? (the answer: I don’t — I quietly hand it to her, hoping the other volunteers don’t notice).
It’s midday on a blistering Tuesday at the Gateway International Bridge in Matamoros, Mexico, adjacent to the Rio Grande. My mother and I, weary of the headlines detailing the border crisis, decided it was time to see the reality for ourselves. Leaving my own children with my husband in Seattle, my mother and I embarked for Texas, intending to volunteer at humanitarian shelters across the border. However, due to the Trump Administration’s “Remain in Mexico” policy, thousands of migrants now reside in makeshift, perilous encampments mere feet from our southern border.
In mom-speak, this means that mountains of donated supplies — diapers, wipes, clothing, medical and legal aid — are just a short distance away in U.S. respite shelters, waiting for families who desperately need assistance but can’t access it. I watched birds soar freely over the border fence, wishing I could entrust my own children to them, to carry them to safety.
That Tuesday, my mother and I joined a group from Texas Impact’s Courts and Ports initiative. We parked near the bus station in Brownsville and crossed the bridge into Matamoros. Mexican authorities permitted us to bring only what we could carry, so our backpacks were filled to capacity with supplies to distribute. Upon arriving at the bridge’s base, we encountered a sprawling tent city stretching out before us.
I was unprepared for the reality of an international humanitarian crisis. My heart raced as I absorbed the stench of unwashed bodies and human waste, the throngs of children clamoring for scraps from volunteers, and the hollow expressions of parents resigned to their fate. Approximately 2,000 individuals live in this encampment, with about 100 new arrivals each day. There’s no standard NGO presence or oversight; food and water are scarce, relying solely on the efforts of volunteers like Team Brownsville to bring in supplies from across the border. Imagine the most frustrating customer service experience you can fathom, where every step feels like an uphill battle, but now the stakes are your family’s survival, compounded by exhaustion, trauma, and the requirement to navigate it all in a foreign language. I couldn’t endure that for long.
Yet, everywhere I looked, mothers were demonstrating resilience. A woman swiftly pulls her toddler from the street, another scrubs clothes in the Rio Grande, and moms line up for scant rations. One young mother gently sings to her sweaty baby, while an elder shares a piece of fruit with her grandson. A sick child lies limp in his mother’s arms, and a pregnant woman seeks shade. A mother assists her three children with bathing by the river’s edge, and a young indigenous mom walks the tents, nursing her infant swaddled in a makeshift carrier.
Consider the desperation these mothers felt to undertake such a treacherous journey, seeking refuge in a country that imprisons migrants and often separates families. Yet, their actions are entirely lawful — these refugees are presenting themselves at a port of entry and seeking asylum, a right protected by law. One mother fled Cuba after being jailed for not removing birthday decorations from her home. Another left Honduras following the murder of her son by gang members. A third carried her 14-year-old daughter with cerebral palsy from El Salvador after their home was destroyed. These mothers view the U.S. as a beacon of hope, a place where they can escape violence and find safety.
However, what I observed was not a system of justice, but rather a continuation of the persecution faced by these migrants, forced to wait in one of the most perilous cities globally (the U.S. State Department’s advisory for Matamoros is “Level 4 – Do Not Travel,” the same designation as Syria and North Korea). We learned from a group of parents that a seven-year-old girl had recently been kidnapped from the encampment by a cartel, subjected to rape before being returned. Violence and kidnapping are rampant in this area, starkly highlighting the irony of fleeing violence only to be ensnared in it once again.
Acts of kindness abound, with mothers who possess passports crossing the border to assist. Our volunteer team included a pediatrician from Oregon who dedicated her week to providing medical care in the camp. With motherly compassion and patience, she treated countless children and adults, purchasing necessary medications from a nearby pharmacy. Lawyer mothers tirelessly advocate for asylum seekers through organizations like Project Corazon and Al Otro Lado, while a retired teacher from Michigan offers help in memory of her late daughter. These women have become my role models in embracing hospitality as a form of resistance, welcoming and protecting those in need.
Mothers across the border, regardless of their origin, share a fierce love for their children. This truth is both comforting and deeply inconvenient: if their love is as profound as mine, then the suffering I witnessed resonates personally. In the whirlwind of motherhood, work, and daily chores, I often compartmentalize my experiences. However, by allowing vulnerability and love to guide me, I’ve discovered new reservoirs of energy beneath my routine. The stories of these mothers have expanded my heart, transforming passive empathy into actionable support.
Mothers seeking refuge at the border continue to navigate systems designed to break them down while pursuing a future of democracy, freedom, and justice for their children. Heartbreaking? Indeed. Inspiring? Absolutely. For more insights, you might want to check out this blog post that delves deeper into these themes.
In summary, the experiences of volunteering at the border provide a stark reminder of the resilience of mothers everywhere, confronting unimaginable challenges with determination and love. The plight of these individuals underscores the urgent need for systemic change and empathy in our society. The stories of these mothers inspire us to take action and advocate for a just world where every child can thrive.
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