Vandalism and Being Lost in the Desert

Today I went out on another water station run with Humane Borders, this time to an area near Arivaca, with Gene, Felipe, Adan, and Memo. As we approached the area of the first station, we did not see the blue flag flying on the horizon as we expected. Rather, upon arriving, we found the flag poles bent and thrown in a tree, the flag ripped, and the barrels drilled with holes to drain out the water. I scanned the immediate area, a little nervous at the thought of vandals, while the guys set to replacing the barrels. As I retrieved the bent flag poles from the trees, I said to Memo “I can’t believe some people are so mean.” I was both angered and saddened that there are people who would rather let human beings die in the desert than provide them with life-saving water. I don’t care about political persuasion or what one believes about “illegal immigrants” - denying someone water in this desert is a death sentence. It is murder.

Today was particularly difficult for me, not because of the vandalism, or the heat, or the motion sickness from driving (or bouncing and jerking) through the desert. Rather, it was because of the two young men who traveled with us. Adan and Memo arrived in Tucson on Tuesday morning from LA. They are here looking for Adan’s brother, Carlos Vasquez - a son, a brother, a brother-in-law, and a dad of 4-year-old daughter, Carla. Carlos left Nogales with a group and a “smuggler” on Thursday. Adan spoke to him on a borrowed cell phone on Saturday around midnight as he was being left in the desert by the smuggler. The brothers spoke again on Sunday about 4:00 p.m. Carlos indicated he was in physical distress and lost in the desert.

Adan showed me a picture of Carlos and his daughter, Carla.

There has been no word from Carlos since Sunday. It’s now Thursday. Today the temperature is 104 degrees. Adan and Memo are frantic. They’ve been to Border Patrol, the Sheriff’s Office, hospitals, the Medical Examiner. They’ve called the cell phone company to try to locate him through a signal on the phone – but the phone is off, probably a dead battery. No sign of Carlos – alive or dead. As Adan says, it’s the not knowing that is so difficult. His mother in LA is distraught. His family has been through this before. His cousin died while crossing and was found three weeks later barely recognizable and with all four limbs missing.

This time, it’s his brother. Adan and Memo are staying in the room next to me at First Christian Church. Each day they search, they wait for phone calls, they contact various agencies, they pray. I pray, too. The men and women crossing this scorching, harsh, vast desert to feed and provide for the basic needs of their families are no longer images on a movie screen or people I read about in books. I’ve been with Adan and Memo, the family of one lost in he desert . . . I’ve seen a picture and heard stories of Carlos (and Carla) . . . I even helped them look for him today. Please, God, let him be alive . . .