Suddenly the water carries parasites and amoebae and is unsafe to drink. Raw sewage flows through the streets during heavy rains. Children clamber onto hoods to wash windshields of cars waiting to cross the border, or simply hold out their hands hoping for spare change. Homeless kids wander in gangs through the underground sewer tunnels, terrorizing the local residents. Homes made of packing crates, cardboard, scrap lumber and corrugated tin, hugging the sides of the steep ravines, stand so close together you can reach from one to another.
Most city streets are narrow, rutted dirt paths winding up the sides of the hills.
Early morning air hangs thick in the canyon, the car exhaust and wood smoke from home heating seeming to conspire as they move slowly north up the canyon and across the border. Children roam the streets for at least half the day, often unattended by the time they are 7 or 8 years old. Their parents sew women's underwear, prepare surgical prep kits, assemble electronic computer boards or power supplies, sort coupons, or perform a myriad of other tasks in foreign-owned factories. Their jobs are connected with every aspect of our lives here in the United States. In 1987 I came to the border as a Presbyterian mission volunteer to help found BorderLinks, and to help North American people understand the complexities of the border.