Why We Cross the Border in El Paso
I felt my mom’s grip tighten around my hand as dozens surged across the Rio Grande, the water waist-high. Adults held children in their arms or carried them in rebozos across their backs. We watched as the Border Patrol agents caught and detained some people while dozens more ran past.
On the river
Under the bridge
In the river
Across the border
By the fence
Between 2010-2014, Victoria Blanco collected the oral histories of Rarámuri families living in Chihuahua City, Mexico. She is completing a nonfiction book based on the oral histories and her field research. Her research and writing have been supported by Fulbright, fellowships from the University of Minnesota, Coffee House Press In-the-Stacks, the Minnesota State Arts Board, and the Loft Mentor Series. She received her MFA from the University of Minnesota. She is a Mexican-American writer from El Paso, Texas. She lives in Minneapolis with her husband and two sons.
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Luis received the first coins he had ever held. “Keep these safe,” the man said. “You’ll need them.”
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“This is where I’ve come, to the America of lights and dreams. And if I am better off I cannot tell.”
The first time my grandfather crossed the India-Pakistan border was in 1947; the next time he crossed was in 2007, with me.