Hospitality at every doorstep

On independence day this summer, I celebrated by setting out on the 1,504 mile journey from West Chicago, Illinois to El Paso, Texas. 22 hours of driving, 3 hours of waiting on a curb as an Oklahoma City mechanic fixed a burst pipe in my engine, 6 stops on the shoulder of the highway to funnel oil into the newly repaired and yet still leaky engine, 2 hours of wandering the aisles of Bucky’s when the very same engine overheated, and then a 40 minute desert hail storm later, the glow of El Paso and Ciudad Juárez’s lights on the horizon shimmered like an oasis before me. When I finally made it to Abara, my new roommate for the summer, Miriam, insisted we jump back in the car. She drove me up to El Paso’s scenic overlook. I remember looking out at the seemingly unending sprawl of streetlights and buildings to my left but seeing an inexplicable darkness to my right. Having no previous conception of El Paso’s geography, I asked Miriam why there were no lights to my right and was met with laughter. I was dumbfounded to learn that the dark space was a mountain. I had always imagined Texas to be flat, vast, and barren, so I was shocked to learn that my new home was surrounded by mountains. This initial surprise was just the beginning of a month of unexpected beauty and unanticipated joy.

Despite the fact that I had spent the entirety of my life in the Chicago suburbs, and had only visited Texas once as a child, I came in with an unwarranted confidence that I knew exactly what to expect for my time in El Paso. Having grown up in a Spanish/English bilingual and bicultural community, I felt as though El Paso would feel like a bigger version of my home. Yet, I was quickly humbled. The landscape itself seemed set out to prove me wrong, exceeding my every expectation. I had always known a midwest-type of beauty. The midwest is green and flat, and there is water everywhere. I grew up picturing the desert to be the absence of the green and the water, leaving just flat nothingness. Yet, the borderland of El Paso is a collage of deep browns, blues, yellows, and grays that bake together under a sun stronger than any I have ever known. I was humbled by how the beauty I experienced was opposite what I consider to be beautiful in Chicago.

Another surprising aspect of the borderlands that I quickly discovered was the way in which the border is not simply a hindrance to life in El Paso and Ciudad Juárez; rather, the border enriches and expands individual lives for those who are able to cross freely back and forth. I assumed that the tall fences looming between El Paso and Ciudad Juárez would simply be the divide between two different worlds. And for many, the border is an impenetrable barrier that has severed families, lives, and aspirations. There are countless men, women and children who wait for months, or even years, for an appointment that they hope will allow them to obtain the right documents to traverse the bridge that rises above the concrete and barbed wire. But for many who are able to cross freely, the border is a highway expanding the scope of their personal lives. Over the course of my time with Abara, I spent hours waiting in lines and walking back and forth across the Paso del Norte bridge. I was one of the many who live on one side of the border, yet cross daily for work, family, dinners, church, nights out, appointments, parties, shopping, and so much more. I was struck by how what was meant to be a stark divide functions also as an interstice that enriches lives and expands horizons.

The perpetual flow of life at and across the border fostered relational richness and beauty beyond my expectations. I was worried about feeling lonely for the month I would spend hundreds of miles from anyone and anything I had ever known. However, I was deeply blessed by new relationships and amazed at the provision that was endlessly offered to me on both sides of the border. El Paso and Ciudad Juárez’s placement on the border allows for relationships that extend across countries, languages, socioeconomic status, and so many more of the typical borders that limit our circles. I feel abundantly grateful to have been met by hospitality at every doorstep during my short time with Abara, to have been given the privilege of hearing the stories of so many whose lives have unfolded so far from West Chicago, Illinois.

I came to the border with expectations. I expected the desert to be barren and ugly. I expected the border to slice through each life that it touched. I expected to be lonely. I expected to come and impact the lives of migrants I hoped to serve. Yet, I came to the border and was so deeply humbled and blessed by the physical and relational beauty I experienced. This fall, I am teaching a class of 23 bilingual second graders, including newcomers from Mexico, Venezuela, and Colombia. During my time with Abara, I was able to read stories and color pictures at several migrant shelters in El Paso and in Ciudad Juárez with groups of elementary aged students like the ones I now teach. Experiencing firsthand parts of the process many of my students underwent before they arrived in my classroom, and talking with so many children this summer about their own interpretations of their lives, experiences, and identities as asylum seekers has deepened my love for my students and taught me more of how to serve them well. I came to Abara hoping to serve and teach children, and I left having learned and been served. I am so deeply grateful for the unexpected and humbling beauty I encountered, joyful and welcoming relationships I formed, and the way a month in the borderlands has opened my heart and perspective.

Ruthie Bovey, Abara Intern Summer 2024

Connect with Ruthie here.