Mexico Road: Brothers at the FM4

Originally posted for Teachers Latin America

The doorbell buzzes a bzzz-bzzzt as I move to open the small window in the large black door. I look through a window stenciled with the logo of the FM4 Paso Libre. We are here at a shelter for migrants and refugees in Guadalajara. The young man on the other side is asking if Enrique is inside. We don’t share details about the migrants inside our facility for their protection. The man seems anxious, his eyes darting past me to look inside. He says he’s looking for Enrique*. They had been there the day before and left together to catch la Bestia, the cargo train to the north. He must find Enrique, his brother.

I check the list of who is inside the shelter today and his information. His story makes sense so I open the door and let him inside. Together we will figure out what happened and locate his brother.

We sit on the white plastic chairs of the receiving area and Wilmer, our visitor, explains more. He and his brother traveled together from Honduras over the past three weeks. Their journey was harrowing; catching the trains and sleeping on the streets or the occasional shelter.  Now, Wilmer hasn’t seen his brother since the previous night.

When the brothers arrived the other day at the FM4 in Guadalajara, they were hungry and exhausted, like many other Central Americans making this difficult journey. At the FM4 Paso Libre, we provide humanitarian aid to migrants. At the FM4 they can get a hot meal, a shower, and a change of clothes. They can rest, receive medical attention and legal aid.  Our goal is to promote humans rights for migrants and refugees and to create a more dignified journey for those migrating through Mexico.

As Wilmer continues his story, Kevin, another Honduran migrant, steps out to the patio and recognizes our guest in the receiving area. Kevin was a part of the group that left to catch the train together the night before. He witnessed the brothers get separated and with his help, we put the story together.

“Yo lo ví, I saw him,” explains Kevin. “They took us in the same ambulance. The police saw the accident and called the ambulance for your brother.” Then points to his sling and he continues with details of his own injuries from the previous night. “I tried to pull myself up the ladder but lost my footing. I dislocated my shoulder.” He gestures to Wilmer with his good hand, then Wilmer takes over.

Wilmer and his brother Enrique left the night before with eight other catrachos, or Hondurans, to catch the train. They ran and jumped for the moving train under the cover of darkness. As they made for the ladder as the train sped faster and faster. Wilmer climbed on top only to find himself alone. He thought his brother might be on another car until word got to him about an accident. Something hurt someone, Enrique was not on the train. Not knowing where to find his brother, he jumped off the train and walked several hours back to the FM4.

At the FM4, we work together to pull the details together. After the accident, an ambulance took Enrique to a hospital along with Kevin, but then Enrique transferred to another location. In a city of over 4 million so we have hundreds of medical centers. We try calling hospitals but no one answers the phone on a Saturday. Another volunteer and I even drive around checking the public hospitals matching Kevin’s description. Each one is understaffed and unable to help us. I scan the whiteboard behind each nurse’s station for Enrique’s name or someone matching his injuries, but we get nowhere. We can’t find him. After each stop, we call back to the FM4 to keep Wilmer updated.

Fluctuating between frustrated and panicking, Wilmer is losing hope. “¿Donde estás?Where are you?” He asks aloud, looking to the sky. I want to believe we can locate his brother. Inside, I know we’ll find a breadcrumb of information at the next one, or the one after that. But Wilmer is struggling. I can hear it in his voice, trying to show confidence with shaking uncertainty beneath. He’s worried about his brother and he’s anxious about the phone call he will need to make to his parents back in Honduras.

It’s moments like this that I cherish my two years as a volunteer at the FM4. The people I’ve met and the stories I’ve heard affect my life daily in my perspective on life and in the connections and interactions I have with friends and family. I value every moment I can support a migrant on their journey and any time I can make their day better.  Sometimes it’s a cup of coffee during the registration process, a tissue and a kind word during a difficult interview, a smile to make someone feel welcome when they’re far from home, sharing a meal and talking together, a card game of Conquian on a slow day, a conversation on the patio. Today, it was accompanying Wilmer in his process to find his brother.

We search into the evening, but, our shift ends and we must return to the FM4. We find Wilmer sitting on the bench in the patio garden, his elbows on his knees and his head facing the ground. He looks up when we walk in, hoping for news we don’t have. We’re all feeling disheartened and frustrated.

In my head and heart, I’m frustrated too. I’m frustrated that he’s in this position, I’m frustrated with the economic disparities that force them to migrate, the gang violence that plagues the Northern Triangle, the overworked, understaffed hospital system that can’t help us find a patient, that we can’t find Enrique and my shift is over. But I still hope things will work out for the brothers. And I hope for a better tomorrow so I keep working at FM4 and we work to change the system affecting migrants.

We say our goodbyes and leave despite not locating Wilmer’s brother. He spends the night in the FM4 dormitories and we communicate the situation to the next team. They will take over in the morning.

That’s how we work at the FM4. We’re a team, a family. There is a handful of paid staff, some full-time volunteers, and there’s a huge network of part-time volunteers that keep the shelter operating 24 hours a day. Some of us work at the door to receive the arriving migrants, others in an interview to register who’s coming through, to document their experiences and provide information about human rights in Mexico.

Some work organizing clothing donations, preparing meals, offering classes or workshops. Others work with refugees, providing medical and psychological care, and assisting with legal processes. Around 600 migrants pass through the FM4 each month and we treat each visitor as a part of the family while they’re in our house. En esta casa, los sueños siguen vivos, in this house, dreams stay alive, as it written in large block letters on the wall of the dormitories.

The next day, the brothers are back together. One of the Sunday volunteers continues the search and can locate Enrique at a local hospital. Wilmer rushes to meet him there. Even though I’m not there, I hear the news via text message. The hospital had to amputate Enrique’s toe but the doctor says he’ll walk again. Wilmer stays by his side until they return to the FM4 two weeks later.

The next Saturday I walk in to see the two brothers on the patio. My heart fills to see them together. Enrique is sitting in a wheelchair with his foot elevated and Wilmer is bouncing around on the side. “Faster!” cheers Enrique as his big brother pushes his wheelchair around the shelter.

Over the next few weeks, Enrique recovers a while longer at the FM4 and then continue their journey north. Although we’re happy they are together, recovered and ready for the next step in their journey, we’ll miss their energy around the FM4. As with most that pass through the FM4, we don’t know what happened to them after their left our doors.

It feels good to be a part of an organization like FM4 Paso Libre that does such important work in the community. We’re able to accompany others when they need it most, defend human rights of migrants and help migrants and refugees experience a more just and dignified journey through Mexico.

*Names and other identifying features have been changed to protect the migrants’ privacy.