All Smiles

I noticed that most of the photos I have taken in the migrant camps are filled with raised hands and smiling faces. There is no doubt that I do see lots of smiles in the migrant camps. That is one reason that I enjoy teaching in the camps so much.

There is another side to some of the camps we visit that I do not usually talk or write about. I say "some of the camps" because each of the migrant camps we visit on a regular basis in Beaufort County have a distinct personality. Part of the camp atmosphere is established by the crew leader of that particular camp (Some camps have more than one crew leader.) If the camp is lucky enough to have a crew leader who cares about his people, he will make sure that excessive drinking will not be tolerated. He will make sure that illnesses and injuries are taken care of and that his workers are fairly paid for every pound of tomatoes they pick. He will make sure that trouble makers are removed from the camp and that his people feel safe.

I have noticed that the camps that allow families to live in them tend to be better places to live in general. Yes, there can still be excessive drinking and rowdiness, especially on the weekends. But in general, there is a basic level of respect for each other that is the rule of the camp.

Not all camps are so lucky.

Some camps are filled with too many young men, boys really, who are lonely and feel desperate. They are often between the ages of 16 and 20 and have been migrant workers for the past several years. In many cases, they have not seen their mothers and fathers and sisters and brothers and friends since the day, or night, they crossed the border. They miss the smell of tortillas prepared in the kitchens of their mothers. The miss the smell of fresh mangoes and avocados that used to grow in their small pueblas throughout the states of Chiapas and Oaxaca that still house the spirits of the ancient Mayas.

Because of their despair, their lack of guidance, and their loss of a future, they often drink. They often drink too much. They often drink the beer of their own country-- Tecate, Modelo, Sol, Dos Equis, and Corona. Beer that is relatively expensive in this country compared to its price at home. I wonder if the first few sips remind them of the past. Several beers later, they have forgotten the past, their roots, and their loved ones. After a six pack, they forget the aches and pains and pesticide headaches that they will be reminded of as soon as they rise early in the morning to resume their toil in the fields.

No, I do not usually take photos of the sad faces nor of the myriad of beer cans strewn about the camp. Cans that were once as full as the dreams of the men who emptied them.