A Day In The Life

Lunes 6 de junio

12:30 AM: Night cover. I lay awake in the bedroom by the office, a space designated for volunteers who are assigned to answer the door and the phone and address any general commotion that might arise over night at A-house, from 10:00 PM to 6:00 AM. I realize that we've had a power outage and that the newly installed "swamp coolers" which have been blowing cool air throughout our household of 40 over the past few days have churned to a stop. The legal intern knocks on my door to let me know that the lights have gone out and that he thinks that he's seen the flashing red and blue of a police car. We circle the perimeter of the house to find to our relief that tonight there are no cops and no commotion, and that the power outage appears to have also affected the neighbors in our immediate vicinity. Power comes back at 12:45 AM. I probably don't fall asleep for yet another hour, as I listen to the creaking of the house, the opening and shutting of bathroom doors, the leaves blowing by. I am the world's lightest sleeper.

6:00 AM: The doorbell rings. It's one of our community volunteers, Tracy, who has come to work the Monday morning shift so that the rest of us can attend the weekly staff meeting. She seems bright and glowing for this hour of the day, I am sluggish at best after a night of a million creaks and coughs. I stumble out of bed to greet her at the door, sneak in fifteen more minutes of sleep, shower, and start loading a crate with breakfast supplies to bring over to Casa Theresa, our volunteer office. I walk four blocks down St. Vrain St. with a crate full of zucchini, avocados, bread, mangoes, apples and other randomly assorted fruits to meet up with two other interns at our office. My shoulder runs into a cactus along the way. We commence cooking our first volunteer breakfast- eggs, hash browns, a vegetable scramble, a fruit salad. After an hour of slicing and dicing and sauteing, it doesn't turn out half bad.

9:00 AM: Staff meeting. Our director arrives a little late with his characteristic gas station coffee in hand. He lets us know that the reason he's late is because of news that he had received that morning about a break in at the Centro de Derechos Humanos Paso del Norte in Juarez. Apparently the federales, agents from the Mexican federal police, ranshacked the office of the Human Rights Center in Juarez at 8:00 PM on June 5th. They did this while there was still daylight, blocking off streets in a manner so blatant that witnesses were able to take down the registration numbers of the federal vehicles. It is believed that this was an act of intimidation as the Centro de Derechos Humanos has been very involved in planning the Caravana por la Paz, a "caravan for peace" which is being led this week by Javier Sicilia, a Mexican poet who is attempting to mobilize Mexicans across the country to speak out about against the violence. Sicilia's 24 year old son was killed in March of this year due to drug-related violence in central Mexico. Ruben lets us know that there will be a press conference held later today at Casa Vides, A-House's sister house, and that representatives from 20 other human rights and activist organizations on the border will be expected to attend. The press conference will be held in order to publicly denounce the actions of the federales and to call for an explanation for this unprecedented break-in. A press conference? At one of our houses? I'm a little incredulous and cannot believe all that's transpired so far, still one day short of the two week mark.

1:00 PM: Laundry. I gather together a trash can full of dirty rags and sheets and wheel it down the block, on a jaunt back to Casa Theresa in the midday sun. I've been assigned laundry duties for the day and am met at the door to our laundry area by a blonde chihuahua pup, half sweetheart, half guard dog. He sniffs at my shins as I try to separate the lights from the darks. Hanging the towels on the clothes line feels satisfying, perhaps because I know that the strength of the desert sun will have them starch dry in under an hour, perhaps because it is more exhilarating than tossing them into a dryer in a musty basement.

3:00 PM: Press conference. I arrive at Casa Vides to find our counterparts, the other summer interns, scurrying around to hang signs and make final preparations for the press conference. There is a long table set up in front of the beautiful mural that is the pride of Casa Vides. It is dedicated to those who lost their lives during the dirty war in El Salvador in the 1980's, and two of the faces in the painting are the faces of the Vides family, a husband and wife who were murdered as human rights activists, leaving behind 6 children. Their faces stand out in the mural, strikingly handsome and strong. One of their children migrated north and ended up at the Annunciation House, where he and Ruben formed a close relationship. Ruben then traveled to El Salvador in search of his five siblings and adopted all six. Although Ruben never married, he now has six grown children and several grandchildren. Casa Vides is dedicated to their parents' namesake. The press conference goes off without a hitch; there are journalists and cameras and important players in the world of peace and social justice peace on the border. A big name lawyer makes a bold statement that the Mexican government is committing "genocide" against human rights activists, as 21 human rights defenders have been assassinated since March 2008. Despite the gravity of the situation, the overall message from Justicia Sin Fronteras (Justice Without Borders, the coalition of organizations present at the press conference) is: we will not be intimidated.

4:30 - 6:30 PM: Nap.

8:00 PM: Inspection. At the close of our weekly meeting with all of the guests of Annunciation House, I am assigned an uncomfortable task: inspection. I must go around to all of the private rooms and dormitories and sift through peoples' things to look for any contraband items. The mens' dorm is lively and full of jokes about the drugs and weaponry that I am sure to uncover hidden in lockers and between piles of folded clothing. I come out with one bag of potato chips and an apple (there is no food allowed in the bedrooms, too tempting for the cucarachas). I find incense in one of the private rooms on the second floor, but to my relief, there's nothing more serious than the food and perfumed sticks. This brings me back to my senior year of college when, during a surprise inspection that happened over spring break, candles were discovered in our apartment and we were asked to write an essay about fire safety as punishment. I did so reluctantly and no longer hold this against Messiah College. I hope that our guests can extend the same forgiveness to me as a less than eager enforcer of house rules.