Social worker in Mexicali on front lines of migrant crisis: “I witnessed women whose vaginas were torn apart by machetes”
Women and children remain especially vulnerable, facing harassment and violence. Tragically, stories reach us of those who did not survive. Some women arrive physically devastated, their bodies still carrying their placentas, having just given birth. Others come sick, with high fevers, dehydration, and severely injured feet.
- 7 days ago
October 9, 2024
A migrant shelter in Mexicali, Baja California, Mexico. | Photo courtesy of Altagracia Tamayo Madueño
BAJA CALIFORNIA, Mexico — I spent my entire life fighting for others, a passion that began in primary school when I stood up for the children around me. This instinct to protect and help led me to launch La Posada del Migrante in Mexicali, where we address the urgent needs of migrants. These human beings arrive with nothing, often injured, sick, and fleeing violence.
The challenges of tending to them proves immense. With no current government funding and brutal summer temperatures, keeping these shelters afloat becomes a constant struggle. Yet, I persist, leaning on the notion that as long as I have time to live, I have time to help others.
Read more immigration stories at Orato World Media.
Mexicali activist: I use my privilege to protect women
A baker by trade, I learned my craft my father – a migrant from Sinaloa. In 1943, my parents moved from their home in search of “white gold” or cotton. Gradually, they brought our entire family along. My upbringing became rooted in hard work, perseverance, and resilience. Growing up, I met two remarkable men. They led an Association of Bars and Restaurants in Mexicali, employing over 4,000 women, many of them sex workers.
I worked alongside these women and my father in the bakery. As I made my way out of the comfort of the family business to deliver bread to those in need, I often encountered disturbing situations. Police arrived, dragging the sex workers by the hair and kicking them into cars. It enraged me. I remember shouting, “What are you doing?” My father supplied their bread so the police never touched me, and I would go on to use my privilege to protect women.
I often stood in the gap, refusing to the let the police take these women away. One struggle led to another, and my journey as an activist and human rights defender took shape. In addition to defending the sex workers, I stood up for people with HIV.
From our first hostel to La Posada del Migrante: a refuge supporting over 400 migrants
Isolated women lack options and choices. I witnessed their struggles every day. They lacked the means to secure housing and feed their children. One day, I decided to open a small community canteen. We offered workshops on various trades and held discussions on violence, gender equality, and sex education. We even taught how to properly use a condom, while empowering the women.
As the project grew, we outgrew the space and made agreements with the government and health institutions for resources. Eventually, I met a government official who supported the project and provided a larger location for our work. As a result, we opened Albergue Cobina, our first hostel. We added La Posada del Migrante, which served 400 people, including those struggling with addiction.
Gradually, families arrived. They not only sought work, but often fled their homelands. They came from all over the world including Ukrainians and Russians. Migrants came in caravans, often injured and sick. We established two medical clinics. In partnership with Comunicación Sanitaria, we began testing for HIV, Hepatitis, and Tuberculosis, while providing medical care. My focus remained heavily on the LGBTQ+ community, migrant women, children, and adolescents.
I watched as poverty, unemployment, and violence drove many people fleeing to Mexicali, hoping for a brighter future across the border in the United States. For now, the small rooms in the shelter serve as their temporary homes. They come completely exhausted, financially and emotionally. Many migrants arrive after months of grueling travel and dangerous challenges. Women and children remain especially vulnerable, facing harassment and violence. Tragically, stories reach us of those who did not survive. Some women arrive physically devastated, their bodies still carrying their placentas, having just given birth. Others come sick, with high fevers, dehydration, and severely injured feet.
The American dream does not exist: women and children flee violence in search of safety
When I see women and children from countries like Honduras, Nicaragua, El Salvador, and Haiti it leaves me in shock. They recount stories of falling victim to groups like Mara Salvatrucha and Polleros, who rob, extort, and brutalize them on their trips. In many cases, these women fall victim to kidnapping, brutal beatings, and gang rapes, sometimes by three or four men. Some are forced into sexual slavery, while others are killed.
Tragically, their young children often face the same fate. Many come desperately seeking an abortion or the morning-after pill after horrible sexual assaults. They reveal deep wounds like gashes, mutilations, and missing limbs. I witnessed women whose vaginas were torn apart by machetes. It feels unbearable, and the stories never end. One woman who resisted kidnapping, faced punishment by having her scalp cut off. Her cries still haunt me.
I held a migrant woman in my own arms as she died, leaving five children behind. In another case, I assisted a young woman in childbirth as the result of rape. The delivery tore her womb, and doctors delivered the devastating news. She would never have children again. I failed to find the right words to comfort her.
My mind wanders to the thought, “What will happen to all of them?” At first, I offered shelter for three days, but now I allow them to wait, hoping for admittance into the United States. Many cannot support themselves even with three jobs, and the language barrier makes things worse. Women, abandoned by their husbands, wind up on the streets in the U.S. where shelters remain scarce. The American dream they chase often does not exist, leaving them to return alone or with their children.
Carrying on in Mexicali: supporting migrants through extreme challenge
Today, we offer legal advice, assist with asylum applications, and provide activities ranging from sports to English classes. Migrants receive medical care, meals, education for children, and occupational therapy. Through our Community Social Welfare Centre, we assess their needs and direct them to appropriate shelters.
This summer in Mexicali felt brutal, with temperatures soaring to 52°C. The heat became unbearable. Resources remain scarce, and I struggle to keep afloat. After the government eliminated the migrant fund under President Andrés Manuel López Obrador, our organization now relies entirely on donations and grants.
During the recent heatwave, we felt fortunate to receive two swimming pools to help children cool off. I purchased two large fans to provide additional relief. Posada del Migrante boasts 26 rooms, a school, and a multi-purpose hall. On the hottest days, I gather mothers and children in these cooled spaces for shelter. Migrants working in extreme conditions find some relief at hydration points throughout the city, where volunteers distribute water and saline.
Volunteers from the Baja California Ministry of Health also open their homes to vulnerable groups, offering much-needed support. Migration shapes lives, and the border wall stands as a symbol of decades of harsh policies. This remains evident in the lifeless bodies scattered across the desert—victims of dehydration, violence, and family separation.
Yet, the wall also represents resilience, as diverse ways of living continue to emerge despite these obstacles. At 65, I experience a decline in my own health. Diabetic and hypertensive, I struggle but hope to keep going. Many have told me, “You have made me love what you do,” and I know others will carry on this critical work for women, children, and migrants if I cannot. As long as we have time to live, we have time to help others.
