Desert Treasure
We creep along at 30 mph in our aging van through the most rugged desert I have ever seen. I am on a desert search. There are 4 of us, and we peer closely out the windows looking for “signs”—a jacket hanging on a branch, a water bottle, a backpack. This is wild, remote country, at least 8 miles from any sign of civilization, and it is hot out there. The air-conditioning is cranking on high and we are all drinking our bottles of water nonstop. I wonder how anyone can survive this kind of heat in this country.
Rugged beauty
Our Samaritan group leader spots something up an arroyo (a dried creek bed), and so we stop. Armed with plastic bags to pick up “basura”, or trash, we all hike up the arroyo calling out, “….Estamos Samaritanos”. We are Samaritans and we offer help. Food. Water. Medical aid.
A word about the “basura”. I occasionally receive anti-immigration emails from people with pictures of trash in our desert—-diapers, plastic water bottles, tattered clothing. The place looks like a dump. On my desert searches I have never seen this kind of decimation. Instead the basura has looked like dropped items that a desperate person has left behind—a treasure. A rosary. A plastic religious picture of the Virgen de Guadalupe. An earring, a scrap of paper with a phone number, a shoe. Sometimes an old encampment under some brush with a tattered sleeping bag. Empty cans of pinto beans and little sausages. Once there was a beautifully embroidered cloth used to wrap tortillas—I think about the worried mother who may have created this for her son who is trying to get to “el norte”.
desert treasure
Our group leader tells us that…”just because you don’t see anyone doesn’t mean they are not there.” We will only see migrants when they are in trouble. They know we are there to help. Migrants journey at night when the temperatures are more tolerable. They stay in the shade and rest during the heat of the day.
I have been on 4 searches for migrants. I have not encountered anyone in need of our help, but have seen where they walk and where they sleep. Always the night before a search I review once again what I would do if I found someone in trouble. What are the signs of acute dehydration, hyperthermia, diabetic distress, what if someone is comatose? I never sleep well the night before. Will I do the right thing? Will my nursing training kick in? Can I handle this? What am I doing here anyway?
It is a felony in Arizona to transport a migrant anywhere. I’ve thought about this a lot. This is another law that is just plain wrong. “Humanitarian aid is never a crime”—it is written in bold print on my Samaritan t-shirt. I would call “911” in an emergency, and if a response or help wasn’t there in 10 minutes, well, I guess I would have to test that law.
I spot a little makeshift shrine in the branch of an old mesquite tree, complete with a picture of the Virgen de Guadalupe and a cross. I am not Catholic, and I do not attend any church, but silently cross myself and whisper …”Vaya don Dios”. The desert does that to you.
