Being Mexican

I have gone to stay with Shaddy's family in Juarez. At this moment, I am in a dodgy holding area, with loads of Mexicans, who, like myself, have been stopped at the border, trying to cross into El Paso. Two days ago, I was free to saunter across with ease, but the jobsworth/ responsible border patrol member (whichever way you chose to see it), noticed today that whilst I have a visa waiver program thing (an ESTA) I don't have an actual visa. Apparently. I don't understand the difference, and thought smiling blithely and repeatedly saying "it was fine two days ago" would suffice. It didn't, so here I am. Trying  to flirt your way out of a situation- only to fail- is somewhat crushing. Especially in Latin America. 

Watching how the fat, rude, jumped up little arses treat the Mexicans who are waiting here, is a sad insight into what I already knew THE WEST IS MEAN TO IMMIGRANTS!!!!  Shockeroo. It's surprised and saddened me to realise however, that the ones who are being the least pleasant, appear to be Mexican themselves. Why this is I, I do not know, but it's sad. 

Earlier I went to pee, and was delighted to find that there are no toilet doors on any of the stalls. Perhaps this is something that happens in all immigration spaces, but I somehow can't see it happening much in Canada for example. I know there are worse things, but having to do the toilet watched by other people is about as demoralising as it gets.  I couldn't compare vice versa, as there isn't a border control for the other way; there is NO control over who enters Mexico, and as many gringos as want to can flock through, regardless of criminal history, financial situation or ability or willingness to wait for hours in a cramped little room manned by rude staff (only 2 here just now).  Even the system of waiting is stupid and designed to make you uncomfortable. Instead of being given a number or ticket to be seen, you just sit in a seat at the end of the line. Every time someone gets up to talk to a grim faced attendant, you all move up a seat. This is great for all the old folk and people with bairns. The whole thing seemed designed to make everyone feel like crap, and it worked on me. Even the fact I feel crap is making me feel crap, as everyone else is sitting quietly, whilst I moan in a shrill voice about the "conditions".  This is not a nice way to spend an afternoon.*

*After two hours we were free to enter America.  Shaddy had said "you'll be fine because you're white." And I was. We paid the extra visa bit, whilst the man apologised that I had had to wait so long, and eventually we trotted off to buy some $20 books, and flounce around air conditioned malls. I had the decency to feel bad about it.