Last year, I spent time at the border and worked in a respite shelter for those processed by Border Patrol. I had a short taste of the routine of so many undocumented who get to our borders. People who I could recognize from my time in the barrios and fincas of Nicaragua, pueblos of El Salvador, and in restaurants and neighborhoods here in Houston. My friends. The Violetas, the Hector and Lydias and their daughter Ana, the Sofias and Hermindas, the Ramons and Don Davids. People who have taught me how to speak Spanish, to cook, to plant seeds, to understand the quiet languages of both people and plants, to stand up for myself, to bend rebar and make angled cuts and, really, how to put in perspective the privilege and responsibilities of what it means to be a citizen versus not having any papers, the random circumstance of being born in one place versus another.
If you didn’t know, the farm permeates a lot of what I’ve learned from these friends and continue to learn from those of them who are still in my life.
To think that the problem is there is a great oversimplification of the grave situation that’s been created for so many people on both sides of the border and not just for the undocumented. Both sides of the political divide could benefit from taking some steps closer to each other. There’s so much more that can be done in our city and individual communities and if you’re like me and are looking for ways to do more or take a step closer please reach out: tgarciaprats@smallplaces.org
Our farm wants to be a part of that story in our community. Of carving out ways to be closer. I want to be a part of creating welcoming places for friends whose names I already know and those whose I have yet to learn.