"Do not forget to show hospitality to strangers, for by so doing some people have shown hospitality to angels without knowing it." - Hebrews 13:2
This summer, I, alongside much of the nation, was appalled at what we were seeing on the news about parents and children being separated and detained upon arrival to the US. In this first-world country, how is anything as horribly inhumane even imaginable. My dear, take-action friends, Mollie and Rachel, decided to do something. They decided to take action and visit McAllen, Texas, one of the epicenters of immigration into the US. I was in awe of their tales, so when the opportunity came to accompany Rachel to McAllen, I jumped at it.
I will tell you what I understand, what has been pieced together from what others know. People, primarily young families from Central America, are traveling by foot, and whatever means possible to get to the border in McAllen (and many other legal border crossings). People crossing in these legal places are immediately taken to a detention center where they are “processed” by ICE. ICE will sometimes reject immigrants, turning them away immediately, sometimes sending them to a long-term detention center, or sending them on through. Some of the people coming into the country are given ankle bracelets, but sometimes the government runs out, or for whatever reason, some people are not given one.
In order for ICE to allow a person into the US at the border, that person must have a sponsor in the United States (typically a family member), who answers the phone when ICE calls and agrees to purchase a bus ticket for the refugee. Then, ICE, who has a working relationship with the Catholic Respite Center, will alert CRC as to how many people can be expected that day. Those people are put on a bus to go the ten miles into town where a volunteer meets them at the bus station and walks them to the Center.
Once inside the Center, people are given a warm bowl of chicken noodle soup, water and tortillas. They are given the opportunity to shower and to see a nurse if necessary. A clothes room helps people to obtain a change of clothes, then, they wait. Several paid staff and interns work with each family to call the sponsor and arrange bus tickets. Each family is given an envelope with their bus itinerary clearly stated and a sign that says “Please help me, I do not speak English.” Then, when it is time for their bus (which may not be for a day or two), they are given a bag of snacks and they are escorted back to the bus station by a volunteer. Here, they depart to whatever corner of the US they are headed to.
The Catholic Respite Center is doing this for three and four hundred people A DAY. While it is an amazingly well-oiled machine, operating in an organized chaos sort of fashion, it is not set up for this influx of people. Nor is it a facility with beds or cots, so people that are staying there for twenty-four hours or more are sleeping in blue plastic chairs or on mats on the floor.
That’s what I understand of the process, but now, I want to tell you about my experience there, a touching experience I hope to repeat. My emotions before the trip varied from pure excitement to anxious worry. I trust Rachel with my whole heart, and although I knew really very little when I said “yes” to the trip, I knew all would be okay. That’s not what I was anxious about. It was more the worry of would I fail, or would I make a situation worse? I speak no Spanish, will I be in the way? What if I unknowingly make one of the refugees feel uncomfortable or unwelcome?
On Saturday, we walked into the Center, thankfully following Rachel who had been there before. No where did we sign in, nor make our presence known. Megan, a regular volunteer, showed us where the washer and dryers were in the shower trailer out back. Several times on the first day, I could be found in that small closet washing, drying and folding clean towels. It was while in this small closet, I had one of my first interactions with a refugee. A young girl of six or seven, had just gotten out of the shower. I expected her to be apprehensive or even fearful of people as I can only imagine I would have been had I been through what she had been through, and yet, she looked at me with one of the brightest, widest smiles I have ever seen and waved to me. What sweet, precious innocence.
There were times we swept and mopped throughout our stay, because when there are that many people coming and going in a rather small space, well, it gets dirty. We made ham and cheese sandwiches until the fridge was completely stuffed with them, well over 200, but we did this each day.
I worked with some local middle school students in need of volunteer hours to work to stuff snack bags with bottles of water, crackers, pretzels, goldfish and granola bars. Some of the group helped to ladle soup and serve it for lunch. I must admit that I was eager to work, and truly interact with the refugees, but all of this needed to be done and my time was yet to come.
Saturday afternoon, I ended up in the clothes closet, and it was this work, that for some reason, I enjoyed the most. A couple of refugees would come into the room, about the size of a small bedroom, and here a volunteer would equip them with essential clothing items. Sure, knowing Spanish would have been helpful, but I could easily tell their sizes by looking at them, and their pleasure or sometimes displeasure at my choices based on their facial reactions. Each person got a shirt, underwear and socks. If their pants were in bad shape, they also got a pair of pants.
Even in the clothes room, there were heartbreaking moments. Like when we had to cut someone’s pants to help her get them over her ankle bracelet, or find short socks to fit underneath the horrid device. Or when we realized that absolutely no one had shoelaces because ICE had confiscated them to prevent them from running away. Or when we noticed the women and girls had used small pieces of the metallic emergency blankets from the detention center to tie up their hair. Or when I helped a pregnant woman to find shoes to fit around her tired, swollen feet. Or even those moments when sadness overwhelmed me, and I realized that the only thing these people had was the family around them and the clothes on their back.
But the moments I relished were the smiles, that universal language. I loved the smiles of the adults when I chose the “perfecto” top. The laughter when I held up a clothing item that was obviously way too large. The passing out of hair bands to women and girls who were thrilled for this simple, tiny bit of femininity. I even enjoyed the picky teenagers who, with a smirk on their faces, turned down choice after choice of clothing options. I took children one at a time into the “shoe closet” where we would dig for shoes of the right size, then they’d put their well-traveled foot up on my knee as I fitted the new shoes, tying them up and being rewarded with beautiful white smiles framed by sun kissed skin. My favorite moment came when a young girl, of two or three, was upset, fussing with tears streaming down her face, and all it took to change her expression to a toothy grin was a sparkly bow for her hair.
I spent many of my hours in the clothes closet sorting new items and outfitting people. We also spent hours in the supply closet sorting new donation items and making hygiene kits.
We also spent hours outside of the center, shopping for items. McAllen was having a cold spell when we arrived, and so we went to search for items rarely needed here like hats and gloves. Even though we bought well over 100 of each, I’m guessing that as I write this, those have already been distributed to chilly migrants, including the young girl whom I helped put gloves on. Her awe with them was mesmerizing and joyful, as she has probably never experienced chill nor the need for such an item. She was unsure of how to get them on, and kept getting multiple fingers into the same spot. Once they adorned her hands, she giggled as she clapped her hands back and forth, amazed by the nuance of a pink and white stripped glove.
There were lots of volunteers who came and went over our time there, volunteers of all ages. There were young ones there in need of hours for classes and regular volunteers who thankfully knew how things should go and helped to guide us. I don’t know how the regular volunteers do this work, day after day. I was so emotionally and physically exhausted each evening, and yet, their large hearts continuously poured out daily: coordinating dinners, cleaning the bathrooms, arranging donations, and being surrounded by heartbreaking tales daily. But some of the people we enjoyed the most were the nuns. These lovely, humble, generous, funny older women were an absolute delight to be around. Their lives have been devoted to service of all kinds, including acting as a nurse in prison, high school drama teachers, immigration lawyers, and everything in between. On Sunday, I wore my “In Pursuit of Happiness” shirt, and so even after Sister Nancy learned my name, she called me “happiness.” There was the Sister who talked of protests at the border and her dislike of the current administration. There was Sister Pat, who well into her 70s, continuously stepped into the tall trash can to pack down the garbage and who joked with the young volunteer coordinator about how he looked familiar after she explained that she had worked in a prison in Key West.
Some of the other people that I worked side by side with, whom I assumed were volunteers, were in fact immigrants who had been at the Center for an extended period of time, and showing their gratitude jumped right in to help in any way that they could.
Each day, whether at lunch or in the evenings, we struggled to leave. It wasn’t because someone was pulling on us nor that a coordinator had asked us to stay, but simply because we felt our work was unfinished. No one likes to leave a project undone, and looking at the dozens upon dozens of people that remained in the Center each evening, it was hard to simply walk out. I can only imagine the true exhaustion of the volunteers that are there day in and day out. Their job is truly never complete. There were lulls, and slower times, but there was always someone in need, and always someone new arriving. The work they are doing, the good deeds and generosity being shared continuously is never ending.
Today, in our final hours at the Respite Center, I walked a group to the bus station. I waited in line with a young mother, holding her bag for her as she cradled her year old son. He was sick, and no doubt at the point beyond exhaustion, yet as his eyes closed, he would not let the pink rubber ball slip from his hands, trying with every fiber of his being to stay awake and ensure the new toy stayed in his possession. Sleep finally did win, and I placed the ball into his mother’s red bag, a reusable grocery bag, something smaller than my carry-on for this weekend away. My eyes filled with tears realizing the horrors, the treachery, and the many miles that this young mother, in fact all of these families went through to get their children to this country.
I don’t know how or why I was so lucky that my spirit was born into a loving family, in a safe environment with abounding opportunities around me, but I hope that I will forever be grateful. And I hope that I can share that message with my students, and the generations that will follow me. Maybe one day, with thoughtful, bright, grateful, humble people leading our world, people will no longer go through these hardships.
How can you help? In so many ways! Of course the problem is a deep-rooted, systemic one that is in great need of change, so be an activist and speak up for those that may not have a voice. Perhaps one day, we can live in a world with no borders, or at least in a country that has a direct, manageable path to citizenship. The Catholic Respite Center could certainly use your donations! Financial donations are crucial, but so are the so many other things they pass out on a daily basis (remember 300-400 people daily). Things we noticed were in great need were: deodorant, shoelaces, belts, hats, gloves, jackets, men’s and women’s underwear, and clothes for young children. Used clothes are a wonderful donation, but please no tank tops, dresses, skirts or pajamas. Remember that the items these people are receiving are their only items, so they should be practical. You can ship the items there on your own, or through Amazon. And you can go and volunteer! They need people for all sorts of jobs, and as long as you are willing to jump right in, you’ll be helping!
The Humanitarian Respite Center
1721 Beaumont Ave
McAllen, TX 78501
But mostly what you can do is love. Love freely. Love those that are different from you. Love those that come from different places than you do. Love your neighbor, and welcome him with open arms, remembering we are all God’s children, and we are all immigrants.
