Migrant Story: Death in the Desert

*Note* We originally published this piece in 2017. We are sharing this story today because the policies that caused this tragedy are still in place today. As a result, we encounter migrants daily who face the same harrowing experience. Statistics have been updated.

A year-round tragedy, migrant deaths near the U.S.–Mexico border are a particular danger during the long Sonoran summer, where annual deaths in Arizona alone have grown alarmingly. Between 1998 and 2019, there have been at least 3800 such deaths. Over the last two decades, the group Border Angels estimates that about 10,000 migrants have died in their attempt to cross the U.S.–Mexico border. Here, KBI’s former Director of Mexican Programs, Father Samuel Lozano de los Santos, S.J. shares the story of one man’s heartbreaking loss.

Each year, hundreds of men and women journeying north to cross the U.S.–Mexico border die or go missing. Of the many stories of suffering shared with KBI staff members and volunteers, these are among the most tragic. Here, Father Samuel Lozano de los Santos, S.J., former KBI Director of Programs in Mexico, offers the experience of one man whose journey to seek a better life for his family took a horrific turn. What follows is Father Samuel’s testimony, in both English and Spanish.

ENGLISH:

One day in the month of December 2014, when I arrived to the comedor where we receive deported migrants and people in transit, one of the Missionary Sisters of the Eucharist asked me to speak with a migrant, and pointed out where he was. I looked toward him and he was sitting with his hands covering his face, as if he were praying, but in reality he was crying. I came up to him, and he looked at me with eyes full of tears. Between his sobs, he began to share with me his story.

He told me: “Father, a month ago my wife and I left our house. We had thought about it a lot, we spoke many times, and we made the decision to come to the United States. We have three kids, and we want to give them a better life. In my town there is not enough money for them to prosper. I make 60 pesos a day [US$3.23] Imagine, not even enough to eat. My in-laws don’t want to help us because they do not support our decision to leave the town, and did not want to take care of our kids. My parents said they would take care of the kids.

“We never thought that we would live this nightmare, because up to this point, that is the way I see it, I am living a nightmare.

“When we made it to the border, the coyote crossed us over and, after walking several days through the Arizona desert, abandoned us. We were a group of 12. My wife and I started falling back. They couldn’t wait for us and my wife was already feeling sick. After walking for 14 days in the desert, without water, without food and tired, my wife was feeling worse every single day. She could not speak nor walk and I could hear a rasping sound from her chest.

“The moment came when she no longer responded to me, and I started to be very afraid. I had to leave her to look for help. After walking for three hours, I found Border Patrol, and I told them that my wife was very ill, and they did not believe me. When they finally became convinced that I was telling them the truth, we went to the place where I had left her, and we found her dead.”

The young father and husband, 29 years old, could no longer speak, and he let out a wail. I only put my hand on his shoulder, and the tears began to run down my cheeks. Finally he was able to speak again and, while crying, he asked, “Why? Father, why? We only wanted to go to the United States to work, and give my children a better life. What am I going to say to my in-laws, my children? Why?”

This true story is one of thousands from men and women who come to the comedor and shelter, tired, humiliated, needy…

SPANISH:

Un día del mes de diciembre del 2014, al llegar yo a nuestro comedor donde atendemos a migrantes deportados y en tránsito, una de las religiosas Misioneras de la Eucaristía, me pidió que platicara con un migrante y me indicó donde él estaba. Dirigí mi mirada hacia él, estaba con sus manos cubriendo su cara, como si rezara, pero más bien, estaba llorando. Me acerqué a él, y me miró con sus ojos cubiertos de lágrimas, entre sollozos empezó a compartirme su historia como migrante.

Me dijo: “Padre, hace un mes salimos de nuestra casa mi esposa y yo, lo pensamos mucho, platicamos muchas veces y tomamos la decisión de venir a Estados Unidos, tenemos tres hijos y queremos darles una vida mejor. En mi pueblo no nos alcanza para sacarlos adelante, yo gano 60 pesos al día, imagínese, ni pa comer. Mis suegros no quisieron apoyarnos, pues no estaban de acuerdo en que saliéramos del pueblo y no quisieron cuidar a nuestros hijos. Mis padres dijeron que ellos los cuidarían.

“Nunca creímos que viviríamos esta pesadilla, porque hasta ahora, así lo veo, estoy viviendo una pesadilla.

“Al llegar a la frontera, el coyote que nos cruzó, después de caminar varios días por el desierto de Arizona, nos abandonó. Éramos un grupo como de doce. Mi esposa y yo nos fuimos quedando atrás, no podían esperarnos, mi esposa ya se sentía muy mal. Después de andar por 14 días por el desierto, sin agua, sin comida y cansados, mi esposa se fue sintiendo cada día peor, ya no podía hablar ni caminar y solo se escuchaba como un ronquido de su pecho.

“Llegó el momento en que ya no me respondía, yo sentí mucho miedo, y tuve que dejarla para ir a buscar ayuda. Después de caminar por tres horas, me encontró la migra y les dije que mi esposa estaba muy mal, no me creían. Cuando se convencieron de que les estaba diciendo la verdad fuimos hasta el lugar donde había dejado a mi esposa, y la encontramos muerta.”

El joven padre y esposo de 29 años ya no pudo hablar y soltó el llanto, yo solo puse mi mano en su hombro y también las lágrimas empezaron a correr por mis mejillas. Al fin pudo hablar de nuevo, y sin dejar de llorar me dice: “Por qué? padre, por qué? si solo queríamos llegar a Estado Unidos para trabajar y darles a mis hijos lo mejor. Ahora qué les voy a decir a mis suegros, y a mis hijos, por qué…..?”

Esta historia real es una de los miles de hombres y mujeres que llegan a nuestro comedor y albergue, cansados, humillados, necesitados…