La bestia dentro de mi cabeza

 I have been thinking about Las Patronas since we left on Monday evening. I hope I never lose the steady thumping sensation of the rushing freight train that I still feel each time my heart beats.  As I move about my days, slight motion sickness disturbs the remnants of nausea that I felt in the high altitude and glaring sun. I know the nausea I felt that day was not just a physical response to the heat but an emotional torrent pushing and pulling and grasping at my gut—still stirring in the pit of my stomach.

Cordoba is a small pueblo approximately 3 hours by bus from Mexico City and home to Las Patronas, a group of local women who offer food, water and shelter to people migrating by train.  Unsure what we might experience during our encounter with ‘la bestia’ (the beast) or “el tren de muerte” (the train of death as it is called by many people who ride the trains), we arrived in the blazing Veracruz sun, unprepared both physically and emotionally for what was to come.

We started the day being introduced to Las Patronas.  This small group of women grew up watching increasing numbers of people traveling from Central America and southern Mexico on the freight trains that pass through Cordoba multiple times a day.  Central Americans are often scapegoats for the increased violence and economic issues in Mexico; yet, despite limited resources and the risk that comes with helping migrant persons, Las Patronas continue offer what they can and to stand in solidarity with the people who pass by in search of….well, many things…

Next, we met 6 young men who arrived to Las Patronas just days before from El Salvador. They described to us parts of their recent journey, having left El Salvador just 10 days before. The terror of la bestia we had read and talked about became more real as we listened reverently to unfathomable stories of violence and fear experienced by men younger than I. These young men all expressed a desire to find employment in order to improve their lives and the lives of their families. They expressed a strong belief that this journey was their only way to a better future.  Mexico City was their next destination with hopes of eventually heading to the United States where each of the men already had some family. 

After hearing first-hand accounts of the violence, death and fear that the train carries, we awaited the afternoon train. As we prepared bags of food and bottles of water to distribute as the train passed we heard the first alert, “the train is coming!” Quickly, we gathered our provisions and carried them to the tracks. The women and regular volunteers warned us of the dangers of the train and showed us how to hold the bags of food and bottles of water in order to be most effective and efficient. I was in a daze. My heart began to thump as the train came into view.  The small group of people on the train was given food as the train passed—maybe 5 or 6.   We returned to preparing food bags—slightly disappointed, my heart still pounding. 

The second alert “the train is coming!”  We ran to the tracks and watched as English spackled barrels carrying petroleum and a few armed guards raced north. False alarm.  Return to work.

At this point, the thumping of the rushing freight trains pounded in my head and nausea set in. I decided that I needed to rest and focus on rehydrating because I was not in good shape. The reality of what was likely a combination of heat exhaustion and altitude sickness began to set in. The thumping in my head persisted. “The train is here!”  I ran to carry food and water to the tracks without a thought.  As the train approached, my heart and head were pounding.   I slung bottles of water tied together over my shoulders and brought as many bags of food as I could near my spot by the tracks.  I got my footing near the tracks, making sure not to stand too close.  This was it.   Car after car flew by as the freight train seemed to be another disappointment and then we saw them: hundreds of people riding the train, others leaning off the side of the speeding train and gathering up our offering.  I managed to hand off most of my supply of food and water before the last car had past. We waved as the people shouted “gracias!” in the distance.

“Este es que es ser vivo!” “This is what it means to be alive!”  said one of the regular volunteers at Las Patronas. I smiled still in shock and realizing slowly that I had just used the last of my energy on the adrenaline rush.   We returned the remaining supplies back to the shelter in disbelief of what we had just experienced. Tears began to flow from nearly everyone in our group. We were speechless. Javier, a professor who regularly brings groups from Ibero University in Mexico City, stepped in to support us as we debriefed.   He told us to remember that amidst the great tragedy that we witnessed so closely, there is something good in what we were able to do. He asked us to bring word to our friends and families in the U.S. that Mexico is not just filled with violence and corruption but with vibrant people who are working for justice and human rights.  He said that what was happening on the trains was “not simply a tragedy, but genocide.”

I had reached my limit.  I walked dizzily to our bus to sit down out of the sun and try to stay hydrated.  I felt sicker and sicker as the group shared a beautiful meal that I could hear was filled with laughter and true gratefulness. I couldn’t eat. I sat on the bus slowly drinking water and waiting for the sweltering heat to break for the day.  Since the train had passed I had felt my entire body inside and out begin to boil. I closed my eyes and began thinking about the way the dehydration can make a person delirious. I imagined the heat of the metal and unsheltered freight cars in the scorching sun. I thought of what it must take to drive a person to leave behind everything and everyone they know and love.  I thought of how so many people are forced to take such risks in hope of a better future for their families. I thought of Drew, my family, my friends and how I would likely never have to make such a journey.  I breathed in and out slowly to the beat of the freight car still thumping in my head.