South of the Border... Slightly

          Being upset over illegal immigration has never made much sense; the thought process had never gone much further until I visited Tijuana to play a show this last summer. The thought of playing in Mexico was exciting, even though Tijuana lies right on the border, touring state side has grown increasingly stagnant over the last few years.

            The band walked into Mexico after parking our van safely in the U.S. and we brought no gear out of fear of being robbed.  Well in the know that no one would want to pay for anything we had to offer, a backpack was stuffed with CD’s and T-shirts to give away to the crowd.

            From the moment we crossed the pedestrian bridge into foreign territory, an alien world in which we were technically now aliens in, my heart began to sink.

            Mass amounts of people had set up tent cities along a bayou that contained what looked like anything and everything but water, the “chiclet” joke, I so often heard growing up in Texas, was no longer a joke to me but a sad reality that defined so many children’s lives.

            As the journey to the venue continued the experience became more and more sobering as our guide told us stories of his high school days.

            “When we were underage TJ is where we came to get loaded… go to a strip club and get free tequila shots. We didn’t care at the time but about half your shot was rubbing alcohol rather than booze.” He then warned us “Don’t drink anything that isn’t out of a bottle that was opened in front of you.”

            We finally made it to the venue which was a bar on Revolution Street called Mi Pueblo; the front door was not a door but two swinging pieces of wood much like you would see in an old western movie. The floors were slanted and covered in filth, most likely from the bathroom that was constantly over flowing from patrons doing their business or faulty plumbing, either one could have been the culprit.   

            The stage was past the bar, behind the god awful stench of the bathroom and through a door frame which led to an open area the size of a large barn.

            I looked up to find the roof had collapsed, most likely many years before our visit to Mi Pueblo, but none the less none existent. 

            We played and then kept playing when the crowd insisted on an encore; we felt it wasn’t very wise to be rude since we were clearly Americans.

            Walking back to the border, accompanied by numerous packs of stray dogs, I saw row after row of whole families sleeping by carpets that displayed their merchandise.

 They were open for business even while they were sleeping, all you had to do was stand around for a few seconds and they would wake up and start their sales pitch.

            I then realized why illegal immigration never got me up in arms as it does to so many Americans; people are literally doing whatever it takes to feed their families and survive.

            If it means sleeping on the sidewalk and selling souvenirs to foreigners, or leaving home and illegally crossing a border to find work, they were in it for the long haul.

            Many Americans may feel illegal immigrants are bleeding this country dry while taking advantage of our education and health care systems, but It would be nice to think anyone who wished to better themselves or support a family would go to such extreme lengths. Borders will be crossed and laws will be broken, after all that’s how this country was started.