“Please, ma’am, for my baby,” a teenaged girl implores, no older than 16 or 17, as she cradles a child who appears to be just a year old. The sweat on my forehead mingles with sunscreen, stinging my eyes as I struggle to hold four heavy bags of Pedialyte in my hands.
“Good morning, how old is this little one?” I ask her in Spanish.
“She’s two and a half,” the girl replies. A rush of thoughts floods my mind: (1) how can this tiny child be two and a half? (Answer: malnutrition), (2) how is this young girl caring for a toddler? (Answer: possible abuse), and (3) how do I explain that the Pedialyte is primarily for infants under a year? (Answer: I don’t — I quietly hand it over, hoping my fellow volunteers don’t notice).
It’s a scorching Tuesday afternoon at the Gateway International Bridge in Matamoros, Mexico, bordering the Rio Grande. My mother and I, weary of reading about the border crisis, decided to witness it firsthand. Leaving my own children with my husband in Seattle, we journeyed to Texas to volunteer at humanitarian shelters. However, the Trump Administration’s “Remain in Mexico” policy has forced thousands of migrants into makeshift camps just steps away from our southern border.
In mom language, this translates to mountains of donated essentials like diapers, wipes, and clothes, as well as medical and legal assistance waiting just a few miles away in shelters in the US. Yet these families can’t access them. I find myself wishing the birds flying over the border fence could carry these babies to safety.
On that particular Tuesday, my mom and I joined a group from Texas Impact’s Courts and Ports program. After parking near the Brownsville bus station, we walked across the bridge to Matamoros, limited to what we could carry. Upon arrival, a sprawling tent city greets us.
I wasn’t fully prepared to step into the heart of an international humanitarian crisis. My heart races as I absorb the overwhelming stench of unwashed bodies and human waste, the cries of children yearning for a small gift from a volunteer’s backpack, and the hollow expressions of parents devoid of options. Approximately 2,000 people reside in this encampment, with around 100 newcomers arriving daily. There’s no consistent NGO presence or oversight, and food and water are scarce, reliant on what volunteers bring from Brownsville. Imagine your most frustrating customer service nightmare, trying to navigate a convoluted system designed to deny you help. Now amplify that by the stakes of your family’s survival, add exhaustion, trauma, and a foreign language. Even this description doesn’t quite capture the reality, but I know I wouldn’t last long in these conditions.
Despite the dire situation, mothers are tirelessly caring for their children everywhere I look. One mom snatches her toddler from the brink of traffic, another washes clothes in the Rio Grande, pounding them against a rock. Mothers wait in line for a small meal, softly singing to their fussy babies. An elderly woman shares a piece of fruit with her grandson. A sick infant lies limp in his mother’s arms as she gently strokes his hair. A pregnant woman searches for shade, while one mother helps her three kids bathe at the river’s edge, and a young indigenous woman nurses her baby wrapped in a makeshift carrier.
Consider the desperation that drove these mothers to undertake such a perilous journey toward a country that often imprisons migrants, frequently separating families (this practice still occurs, sadly). Yet what they’re doing isn’t illegal — they are lawfully presenting themselves at a port of entry to seek asylum, which is their right. These migrants understand the value of a country that upholds the rule of law better than many Americans. One mother fled Cuba with her son after being jailed for not replacing birthday decorations with pro-government signs. Another left Honduras after gang members killed her older son for refusing to join their ranks. A third carried her 14-year-old daughter with cerebral palsy from El Salvador after their home was burned down by gangs. These mothers view the United States as their best chance for a life free from violence and oppression.
However, what I witnessed at the border was not the rule of law but the further victimization of the vulnerable, forcing migrants to wait in one of the world’s most dangerous cities (the State Department lists Matamoros as “Level 4 – Do Not Travel,” on par with Syria and North Korea). A group of parents shared heartbreaking stories, including that of a seven-year-old girl recently kidnapped by a cartel, who was assaulted before being returned. Kidnappings and violence from cartels are rampant, and these migrants, having escaped extreme violence in their homelands, now find themselves trapped in even greater danger. The irony is palpable, with their camp located beneath a sign that cheerfully reads “Feliz Viaje,” wishing safe travels to those fortunate enough to cross into the US.
Radical acts of kindness are evident among mothers who possess passports that permit easy border crossing. Our volunteer team included a compassionate pediatrician from Oregon, who dedicated a week to the border, treating a steady stream of children and adults each day, providing individualized care and purchasing medications from a nearby pharmacy. There are also attorney mothers advocating for asylum seekers through organizations like Lawyers for Good Government’s Project Corazon and Al Otro Lado. A retired teacher from Michigan came to lend a hand in memory of her daughter, who passed away in her youth. These women inspire me to engage in hospitality as a form of resistance, welcoming and protecting those in need.
Regardless of whether they are north or south of the Rio Grande, these mothers fiercely love their children. This undeniable truth is both comforting and troubling: if their maternal love mirrors mine, then the suffering I witnessed becomes intensely personal. Amidst the chaos of parenting, work, and daily life, I didn’t have space for personal reflection. Yet, by embracing vulnerability and love while witnessing the border crisis, I discovered new energy beneath my routine. Their stories opened my heart, igniting a desire to turn passive empathy into meaningful action.
Mothers seeking refuge at the border endure a complex web of systems designed to break them down and extinguish their hope, all for the sake of providing their children with democracy, freedom of expression, and justice. Heartbreaking? Absolutely. Inspiring? Without a doubt.
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Summary:
The author shares a poignant account of volunteering at the border, illuminating the struggles of mothers and families seeking asylum. Despite the dire conditions in the migrant camps, the resilience and love of these mothers shine through. The narrative highlights the legal rights of these migrants while contrasting their desperate situation against the systems that often fail them. Through personal reflection, the author finds inspiration to take action and engage in meaningful support for those in need.