Apologies for being gone so long... I need to post about the recent trip to Israel/Palestine, the international summer camp that's about to start that i'm directing, and grad school plans in fall 08. The problem is none of these things are in Tucson and this blog is from Tucson. Hm.

Last week, I walked over 75 miles through the desert from Sasabe, Sonora, Mexico all the way to Tucson with a group of 50-something people for the 4th annual Migrant Trail Walk event (in that link, click on my face to see the slide show!).  Although it wasn't an authentic migrant experience for many reasons, it was still an arduous (yet delightful) trek.  

I know this is kind of strange and I don't want to get all Jesus-y on you or anything, but all week, I couldn't stop thinking about the 23rd psalm.. my mom used to tell me to say it to myself when I couldn't sleep, and there were a couple nights that was true... and how perfectly it fit with our adventure.  "How?" you say?  I'll show you!

The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want.

[Federico and Brother Martin holding our sign as we turned out onto the highway]

He makes me lie down in green pastures,

[resting in the shade made by tarps after a 13 mile day]

He leads me beside still waters,

[water tanks to refill our nalgenes and camelbacks -- we really weren't migrants]

He restores my soul (/sole). 

[Father Bob washing my feet as part of a ceremony at the end of the walk]

He leads me in paths of righteousness for his name's sake.

[sunrise walk towards Baboquivari Mountain on one of our longest days... we carried crosses all week with the names/ages of migrants who have died]

Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,

[blessing ceremony before we left Sasabe; we carried 3 coffins the 1st day to represent the men, women, and children who have died in the desert]

I will fear no evil,

[Border Patrol detaining a family]

For you are with me;

[our Buddhist monk friend who joined us to walk (and bring Thai food) and Brother Adrian (from Ireland)]

Your rod and your staff, they comfort me.

[Maren and I sang the "Guide my feet while I run this race" African-American spiritual a lot, adapting it to things like "Guide this pole while it holds this tent" (see picture above) and "Guide the chollas while they stand in place"..]

You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies.

[snacks are really, really cool.  yum.  every 3 miles we had a "full stop" with snacks.]

You anoint my head with oil;

[sunscreen = a welcome treat in the hot hot sun!]

My cup overflows.

[getting up between 3 and 5 every morning to walk a lot of miles really makes you want a cup of coffee... tastes like heaven.]

Surely goodness and mercy will follow me all the days of my life,

["Goodness" and "Mercy" are the Port-a-potties after days of smelly bucket toilets "hidden" behind scrubby little bushes : )]

And I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.

[I love my tent(and house)mates.  And the convenient "cooler hole" in our tent.  And the adventures, comraderie, and life we share.]

We aren't migrants.  We brought along 4 or 5 vehicles full of our stuff so we could camp along the way and ride if we were too tired to continue, people from Tucson brought us delicious meals twice a day, and we drank enough water that our pee was always clear (hooray!).  We did see first hand the destruction and militarization of our border and our desert -- a BP helicopter chased us with spotlights at 3:30 am, multiple military convoys with over 15 vehicles passed by full of men with camo and hard hats, we observed one of the new crazy tall towers with cameras and sensors and alarms, and we watched a detention of 6 or 7 people on the highway.  We also laughed, sang (a LOT), got blisters, and treated them.  We can't figure out how anyone ever makes it across the border without water stops every 1.5 miles and those magical port-a-potties.  We will be forever changed by what we experienced and feel more ready to continue our work with increased joy and understanding.

Tuesday, we went to Nogales.

I thought it would be just Luis and me, but that was not the case.  Here's who went:
Maren and I,

Carrie Berry (ok that's not really her, that's Jose, but with the sunglasses and French Revolution book, it looks like her, doesn't it?),

Luis, who is always mad at everything ("Reporters? They suck! Teachers? They suck! Sonoran hot dogs? They're the only reason for my existence. But they suck!"),

Our new friend Greig from England, who may or may not be a terrorist, who we met merely minutes before we brought him with us to a foreign country,

And a class of 15 boys from a Jesuit school in Phoenix, and their very nice teacher.  (ok I'm not really a class of Jesuit boys, but I'm sure you can imagine them.)

  When we got to Nogales, we hung out at the repatriation center and ate chilaquiles, talked to migrants, and crocheted/knitted for a little while.  [One guy told us he had lived in Phoenix for 12 years (without papers, but he worked that whole time), and one day he ran a red light and was sent to a detention center for 3 MONTHS until he was deported Tuesday.  Ugh.]

  We brought with us some shoes and socks and other donations for the migrants, like blankets and stuff.  [However, we did not bring any pink ruffly shoes, because those are impractical.  Other people, however, often think that high heels and other such shoes are helpful donations for people who are about to walk across the desert.  Untrue.]

 Maren wore like 8 jackets, scarves, etc, because it was a little chilly in the morning.  And we brought a bunch of jackets for migrants.  And blankets.  Bringing the blankets was a bit of an adventure, because we had to walk them across the border cause we had a bit of a hard time flagging down Carrie Berry in the big blue truck.

 After we hung out at the No More Deaths tent and oriented the class of boys to the situation on the border (and watched a guy unsuccessfully try to cross the border in front of a whole bunch of Border Patrol and National Guard people, which was very exciting), it was time to take them to the other port of entry to show them the border art on the wall over there.  (Maren isn't really the wall, but you get the idea)

 This is where things started to get confusing.  Carrie Berry didn't want to come with us to the other port, so before we left, we made a plan to meet her in a couple hours, and off we went...

None of us knew that she had no cell phone, no money, no gas, and no contact numbers for any of the rest of us, so she was basically alone and pretty much stuck.

 Next, a funny thing happened.  We looked around as the class was about to cross back in to the US, and realized we had LOST one of the students and had NO IDEA when the last time we saw him was!  

 So we ate some popsicles.

 And tried to get back across the border with our friend who may or may not be a terrorist (which was successful).

 And the teacher found the lost kid!!  He was at the McDonalds in the US.  Thumbs up for that!

 And we went ahead and gave Jesus a visa, although that probably didn't go over well with BP or INS since he is Middle Eastern.

 Then, we got in the car (more than an hour and a half AFTER our previously set meeting time with Carrie Berry), and discovered that she was no longer at the border.  We assumed she was okay (which she was, but only barely, and only because John Fife is such a nice fatherly figure and had left us some cash in the glove compartment, thank the Lord).  This picture depicts how squashed my legs were, because apparently Luis thinks he is a gangsta (which is not true).

 Then we drove home.  Hooray Jesus!

The end.