Enrique
!A SAD PARTING" In Tegucigalpa# Honduras,MariaMarcos,74,sadlyrecallstheday she pleaded with her $( year)old grandson not to attempttheharrowingjourneythroughMexicoon freight trains& But Enrique had made up his mind# ÒGrandma,IÕmleaving.IÕmgoingtoÞndmymom.Ó ShegaveEnrique$7.00-allthemoneyshehad.
T
he day’s work is done at Las Anonas, a rail-side hamlet of NIUQTQM[QV\PM[\I\MWN 7I`IKI5M`QKW_PMVIÅMTL hand, Sirenio Gomez Fuentes, sees a startling sight: a battered and bleeding boy, naked except for his undershorts.
Enrique hobbles down a dirt road into the heart of the little town. 0MMVKW]V\MZ[IUIVWVIPWZ[M+W]TLPMPMTXPQUÅVL\PM mayor? “That’s me,” the man says. He stops and stares. “Did you fall from the train?”
It is Enrique. Again, Enrique begins to cry. He limps forward on bare feet, stumbling one way, then another. His right shin is gashed. His upper lip is split. The left side of his face is swollen. He is crying.
!STOWAWAY CHILD" Denis Evan Contrarez# $% left Honduras % weeks ago& He has only his mother's San Diego phone number# and courage that belies his age& After aÞtfulnightonthistraininsouthernMexicohesaidhisdreamsarealwaysthesame:Ò... Þndmama,gotoschool,learnEnglishandhelpotherchildren.Iwouldhelpthestreet children because I walked the streets and they die in the streets&"
Enrique’s Journey: Chapter Two
Badly Beaten, a Boy Seeks Mercy in a Rail-side Town
BY SONIA NAZARIO, TIMES STAFF WRITER TIMES PHOTOGRAPHS BY DON BARTLET TI
Near this spot in Las Anonas, Mexico, Sirenio Gomez Fuentes was startled to see Enrique, bleeding and nearly naked, stumbling toward him.Gomez hears him whisper, “Give me water, please.”
Mayor Carrasco dismounts. He takes Enrique’s arm and guides him to his home, next to the town church. “Mom!” he shouts. “There’s a poor kid out here! He’s all beaten up.” Carrasco drags a wooden pew out of the church, pulls it into the shade of a tamarind tree and helps Enrique onto it.
Lesbia Sibaja, the mayor’s mother, The knot of puts a pot of water apprehension on to boil and !SOARING"ÒthepilgrimtrainÓMexicanauthoritiescallfreightscrowdedwithmigrantsÒEl in Sirenio TrenPeregrinoÓorÒThePilgrimTrainÓ.Treatedaslaw-breakingforeignersinMexico,undocumented sprinkles in salt Central Americans have made cargo trains a major migratory route north to the U&S& border& Gomez melts and herbs to clean into pity. He his wounds. She runs into his brings Enrique a \PI\KPMLP]\ÅTT[IK]XIVLOQ^M[Q\\W-VZQY]M JW_TWN PW\JZW\PÅTTML_Q\PJQ\[WN UMI\IVLXW\I\WM[ “Do you have a pair of pants?” Enrique asks. Gomez dashes back inside and fetches some. There are holes in the crotch and the knees, but they will do. Then, with kindness, Gomez directs Enrique to Carlos Carrasco, the mayor of Las Anonas. Whatever has happened, maybe he can help.
He spoons the brown liquid into his mouth, careful not to touch his broken teeth. He cannot chew. Townspeople come to see. They stand in a circle. “Is he alive?” asks Gloria Luis, a stout woman with long black hair. “Why don’t you go home? Wouldn’t that be better?” ¹1IUOWQVO\WÅVLUaUWUº-VZQY]M[Ia[Y]QM\Ta
Mother Jones
24
!HIDEOUT" Burn) ing with fever# Ermis Galiano# $* holds his throbbing head after an attack by street thugs& The bad luck forced he and his Honduran schoolmate Edin into this culvert hideout under a NuevoLaredo,Mexico highway& Another boy lightsaÞreinsidethe pipe.Theyrode1500 milesthroughMexicoon the trains to reach the border city& Ermis knows his mother is somewhere in the US
NIGHT RIDER" Denis Evan Contrarez# $%# catnaps atop a tank car& The Honduran boy knowstohookhislegsohewonÕtrolloȔthe speedingMexicanfreighttrain.
He is 17. It is March 24, 2000. Eleven years before, his mother had left home in Tegucigalpa, Honduras, to work in the United States. She did not come back, and now he is riding freight trains ]X\PZW]OP5M`QKW\WÅVLPMZ Gloria Luis looks at Enrique and thinks about her own children. She earns little; most people in Las Anonas make 30 pesos a day, ZW]OPTa _WZSQVO\PMÅMTL[;PMLQO[QV\WIXWKSM\IVLXZM[[M[ 10 pesos into Enrique’s hand.
KTW\PQVO_QTTJMN]\QTM+IZZI[KW\PQVS[QN PMKIV¼\ÅVL[WUMWVM with a car who can get the boy to medical help. Adan Diaz Ruiz, mayor of San Pedro Tapanatepec, the county seat, happens by in his pickup. Carrasco begs a favor: Take this kid to a doctor.
Several other women open his hand, adding 5 or 10 pesos each.
Diaz balks. He is miffed. “This is what they get for doing this journey,” he says. Enrique cannot pay for any treatment. Why, Diaz wonders, do these Central American governments send us all their problems?
Mayor Carrasco gives Enrique a shirt and shoes. He has cared for injured immigrants before. Some have died. Giving Enrique
Looking at the small, soft-spoken boy lying on the bench, he reminds himself that a live migrant is better than a dead one. In 18
months, Diaz has had to bury eight of them, nearly all mutilated by the trains. Already today, he has been told to expect the body of yet another, in his late 30s. Sending this boy to a doctor would cost the county $60. Burying him in a common grave would cost three times as much. First, Diaz would have to pay someone to dig the grave, then someone to handle the paperwork, then someone to stand guard while Enrique’s unclaimed body is displayed on the steamy patio of the San Pedro Tapanatepec cemetery for 72 hours, as required by law. All the while, people visiting the graves of their loved ones would complain about the smell of another rotting migrant.
!GIFT FOR A NORTHBOUND MIGRANTÓ Hands of Central American migrantsandaMexicanfoodgivermeetas the train passes through Fortin# Veracruz# Mexico.ThekindnessofpeopleinVera) cruz state is legendary among train riding stowaways& From his family's tiny trackside market# Fabian Gonzalez Hernandez# $( often gives food to northbound stowaways&
!FRIENDLY SIGHT"AMexicanboy and girl race alongside the freight train in southern Mexico.Asmigrantsride northintoOaxacaandVe) racruz# displays of kindness become more frequent&
¹?M_QTTPMTXaW]ºPM\MTT[-VZQY]MÅVITTa He turns him over to his driver, Ricardo Diaz Aguilar. Inside the mayor’s pickup, Enrique sobs, but this time with relief. He says to the driver, “I thought I was going to die.” )VWNÅKMZWN \PMR]LQKQITXWTQKMIXXZWIKPM[QVI_PQ\MXQKS]X-Vrique cranks down his window. Instantly, he recoils. He recognizes JW\P\PMWNÅKMZIVL\PM\Z]KS
T
he day’s work is done at Las Anonas, a rail-side hamlet of NIUQTQM[QV\PM[\I\MWN 7I`IKI5M`QKW_PMVIÅMTL hand, Sirenio Gomez Fuentes, sees a startling sight: a battered and bleeding boy, naked except for his undershorts.
Enrique hobbles down a dirt road into the heart of the little town. 0MMVKW]V\MZ[IUIVWVIPWZ[M+W]TLPMPMTXPQUÅVL\PM mayor? “That’s me,” the man says. He stops and stares. “Did you fall from the train?”
It is Enrique. Again, Enrique begins to cry. He limps forward on bare feet, stumbling one way, then another. His right shin is gashed. His upper lip is split. The left side of his face is swollen. He is crying.
!STOWAWAY CHILD" Denis Evan Contrarez# $% left Honduras % weeks ago& He has only his mother's San Diego phone number# and courage that belies his age& After aÞtfulnightonthistraininsouthernMexicohesaidhisdreamsarealwaysthesame:Ò... Þndmama,gotoschool,learnEnglishandhelpotherchildren.Iwouldhelpthestreet children because I walked the streets and they die in the streets&"
Enrique’s Journey: Chapter Two
Badly Beaten, a Boy Seeks Mercy in a Rail-side Town
BY SONIA NAZARIO, TIMES STAFF WRITER TIMES PHOTOGRAPHS BY DON BARTLET TI
Near this spot in Las Anonas, Mexico, Sirenio Gomez Fuentes was startled to see Enrique, bleeding and nearly naked, stumbling toward him.Gomez hears him whisper, “Give me water, please.”
Mayor Carrasco dismounts. He takes Enrique’s arm and guides him to his home, next to the town church. “Mom!” he shouts. “There’s a poor kid out here! He’s all beaten up.” Carrasco drags a wooden pew out of the church, pulls it into the shade of a tamarind tree and helps Enrique onto it.
Lesbia Sibaja, the mayor’s mother, The knot of puts a pot of water apprehension on to boil and !SOARING"ÒthepilgrimtrainÓMexicanauthoritiescallfreightscrowdedwithmigrantsÒEl in Sirenio TrenPeregrinoÓorÒThePilgrimTrainÓ.Treatedaslaw-breakingforeignersinMexico,undocumented sprinkles in salt Central Americans have made cargo trains a major migratory route north to the U&S& border& Gomez melts and herbs to clean into pity. He his wounds. She runs into his brings Enrique a \PI\KPMLP]\ÅTT[IK]XIVLOQ^M[Q\\W-VZQY]M JW_TWN PW\JZW\PÅTTML_Q\PJQ\[WN UMI\IVLXW\I\WM[ “Do you have a pair of pants?” Enrique asks. Gomez dashes back inside and fetches some. There are holes in the crotch and the knees, but they will do. Then, with kindness, Gomez directs Enrique to Carlos Carrasco, the mayor of Las Anonas. Whatever has happened, maybe he can help.
He spoons the brown liquid into his mouth, careful not to touch his broken teeth. He cannot chew. Townspeople come to see. They stand in a circle. “Is he alive?” asks Gloria Luis, a stout woman with long black hair. “Why don’t you go home? Wouldn’t that be better?” ¹1IUOWQVO\WÅVLUaUWUº-VZQY]M[Ia[Y]QM\Ta
Mother Jones
24
!HIDEOUT" Burn) ing with fever# Ermis Galiano# $* holds his throbbing head after an attack by street thugs& The bad luck forced he and his Honduran schoolmate Edin into this culvert hideout under a NuevoLaredo,Mexico highway& Another boy lightsaÞreinsidethe pipe.Theyrode1500 milesthroughMexicoon the trains to reach the border city& Ermis knows his mother is somewhere in the US
NIGHT RIDER" Denis Evan Contrarez# $%# catnaps atop a tank car& The Honduran boy knowstohookhislegsohewonÕtrolloȔthe speedingMexicanfreighttrain.
He is 17. It is March 24, 2000. Eleven years before, his mother had left home in Tegucigalpa, Honduras, to work in the United States. She did not come back, and now he is riding freight trains ]X\PZW]OP5M`QKW\WÅVLPMZ Gloria Luis looks at Enrique and thinks about her own children. She earns little; most people in Las Anonas make 30 pesos a day, ZW]OPTa _WZSQVO\PMÅMTL[;PMLQO[QV\WIXWKSM\IVLXZM[[M[ 10 pesos into Enrique’s hand.
KTW\PQVO_QTTJMN]\QTM+IZZI[KW\PQVS[QN PMKIV¼\ÅVL[WUMWVM with a car who can get the boy to medical help. Adan Diaz Ruiz, mayor of San Pedro Tapanatepec, the county seat, happens by in his pickup. Carrasco begs a favor: Take this kid to a doctor.
Several other women open his hand, adding 5 or 10 pesos each.
Diaz balks. He is miffed. “This is what they get for doing this journey,” he says. Enrique cannot pay for any treatment. Why, Diaz wonders, do these Central American governments send us all their problems?
Mayor Carrasco gives Enrique a shirt and shoes. He has cared for injured immigrants before. Some have died. Giving Enrique
Looking at the small, soft-spoken boy lying on the bench, he reminds himself that a live migrant is better than a dead one. In 18
months, Diaz has had to bury eight of them, nearly all mutilated by the trains. Already today, he has been told to expect the body of yet another, in his late 30s. Sending this boy to a doctor would cost the county $60. Burying him in a common grave would cost three times as much. First, Diaz would have to pay someone to dig the grave, then someone to handle the paperwork, then someone to stand guard while Enrique’s unclaimed body is displayed on the steamy patio of the San Pedro Tapanatepec cemetery for 72 hours, as required by law. All the while, people visiting the graves of their loved ones would complain about the smell of another rotting migrant.
!GIFT FOR A NORTHBOUND MIGRANTÓ Hands of Central American migrantsandaMexicanfoodgivermeetas the train passes through Fortin# Veracruz# Mexico.ThekindnessofpeopleinVera) cruz state is legendary among train riding stowaways& From his family's tiny trackside market# Fabian Gonzalez Hernandez# $( often gives food to northbound stowaways&
!FRIENDLY SIGHT"AMexicanboy and girl race alongside the freight train in southern Mexico.Asmigrantsride northintoOaxacaandVe) racruz# displays of kindness become more frequent&
¹?M_QTTPMTXaW]ºPM\MTT[-VZQY]MÅVITTa He turns him over to his driver, Ricardo Diaz Aguilar. Inside the mayor’s pickup, Enrique sobs, but this time with relief. He says to the driver, “I thought I was going to die.” )VWNÅKMZWN \PMR]LQKQITXWTQKMIXXZWIKPM[QVI_PQ\MXQKS]X-Vrique cranks down his window. Instantly, he recoils. He recognizes JW\P\PMWNÅKMZIVL\PM\Z]KS
