Tuesday, August 14, 2007

Sanchez. Pedro Sanchez.

Last night we delivered fencing for the border near Yuma, Arizona. Arriving well after one in the morning, the area was eerily quiet with the only movement being the sand blowing in the wind. The air was oppresively hot and heat lightening was creating a glow in the distant sky. The wind formed wavy ripples in the sand and it felt as if we were in a science fiction movie, set on another planet.

To get to the drop off location, we had to snake through a live munitions area on the Barry M. Goldwater Air Force Range, on a single lane road designed for dune buggies and humvees. The wind was blowing so steadily at this point, it had created a sandstorm which was impossible to penetrate with headlights. After about ten miles, we came to a crossroads lit up with stadium like brightness by four free-standing generator driven lights and were able to determine whether we were actually still on the road before being plunged into darkness once again. About ten minutes later, we came to clearing ablaze with the same lights, bustling with activity as truck after truck unloaded their steel fencing.

While waiting to unload, we watched the Mexican trucks in the distance, their lights glowing on Highway 2 in Sonora, just two miles away on the other side of the border. As we sat there looking at the steel posts in the ground, spaced about two feet apart, I joked with Ed about how I could just picture some Mexican guys standing in the openings, taunting the Border Patrol with "nah nah nah nah nah nah. Fence, schmence!"

Honestly, the job of building that fence has got to be a miserable one; and slow, apparently. According to a recent newspaper article, as of June, they have only built 13 miles of fence. Gee, only 357 more miles to go. And once that is up, there will still be 1,630 miles of unfenced border. Way to waste money, guys. Thanks.

An article written by
John Barry of speakout.com aptly summed up the crux of the whole fence situation saying, "it makes American citizens feel protected, and gets people elected, without actually stopping the flow of migrant workers." Precisely. Which makes articles like this one a fairly realistic possibility in the future.

That said, I was joking with Ed about how ironic it would be if, after we dropped off our fencing, a Mexican slipped through the steel posts and made a run for our trailer; stowing away on the back or underneath, undetected by us in the inky night and subsequently being hauled across the military range, past the Border Patrol agents and into town, where he would blend seamlessly with the other Mexicans that already live there.

Ed, being a guy, had a whole scenario worked out as to how he would actually do it; part James Bond, part McGyver. The funniest thing about his whole imagined scenario? The name he gave the wily immigrant attempting to be the first Mexican James Bond.

Double Oh Siete.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

OMG, that is so funny.
Your descriptions of Yuma are very good. I did feel like I was on another planet. The only things you're missing are all the old people and all the damn mobile home parks in Yuma. Hopefully your next deliver will be in Alaska or Canada.