In an instant, I realized I took too many footsteps into the belly of the beast.<\/p>\n
\u201cAlto! Alto,\u201d a Mexican border official yelled after letting out two piercing whistles. \u201cAlto!\u201d<\/p>\n
While reporting on the fear wracking Fort Hancock, Texas, a tiny border town just across the Rio Grande River from El Porvenir, Mexico, I ventured onto the Fort Hancock-El Porvenir International Bridge. Just minutes earlier, after identifying myself as reporter on assignment, a U.S. Customs and Border Protection official allowed me to walk on the two-lane international bridge to take pictures and get a closer glimpse of the Mexican town overrun by drug cartel-related violence.<\/p>\n
The unidentified Mexican official, clad in a striped polo shirt and jeans with a short Malboro darting from his lip, demanded my camera. He spoke flatly and authoritatively in Spanish, but communicated in universal body language that I was to immediately remove my Nikon D40 from my neck.<\/p>\n
I complied, attempting in broken Spanish to explain how I was merely there to take pictures from the 1,800-foot bridge and that I had no interest in entering Mexico.<\/p>\n
\u201cYo no quiero entrar Mexico, senor,\u201d I said. \u201cSacar fotografia.\u201d<\/p>\n
The man\u2019s rapid response befuddled me, and in an attempt to quell the tense situation, I showed him the pictures I just snapped. One depicted the rugged Juarez Mountains to the south; another showed emptied liquor bottles along the banks of the Rio Grande. Yet another, taken just steps across the official border line on the bridge, showed the Mexican port of entry, where several men stood guard.<\/p>\n
My heart, beating rapidly as ever, felt as if it was ready to burst through my chest. I wondered if I was about to be detained on the wrong side of the border. But after deleting the photo of the Mexican port of entry, and raising my hands in an unmistakably apologetic manner, the Mexican official allowed me to walk back onto U.S. soil. I smiled wide and shook the man\u2019s hand whose face I shall never forget. Day\u2019s old stubble dominated his thirtysomething face, and his piercing brown eyes felt as if they saw something I didn\u2019t. Perhaps they did.<\/p>\n
Now just steps from the Fort Hancock port of entry, I felt relieved \u2013 my troubles were over. I was mistaken.<\/p>\n
The U.S. Customs and Border Protection agent who allowed access to the bridge was now nowhere to be found, and his colleagues wanted answers.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat are you doing?\u201d one agent asked. \u201cI\u2019m going to need to see some I.D.\u201d<\/p>\n
After producing my driver\u2019s license and an employee identification badge, I was instructed to enter the border station to answer a few questions. Minutes later, after successfully passing a background check, I was allowed to go. I then walked briskly to my rented car, nearly jogging. But just as I started my Hyundai with Colorado plates, a U.S. Customs and Border official, identifiable only by his nametag \u201cLee,\u201d again asked for my license. The next five minutes were utterly harrowing. I knew I hadn\u2019t broken any laws, but the cynic in me knew not to breathe easy just yet.<\/p>\n
Agent Lee exited the border patrol station 10 minutes later with my license in hand and a wry smile on his face. He then told me I was free to go after saying I ought to be more careful.<\/p>\n
\u201cIt\u2019s dangerous over there,\u201d he said. \u201cThat’s a place you don\u2019t want to go.\u201d<\/p>\n
I couldn\u2019t agree more.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
In an instant, I realized I took too many footsteps into the belly of the beast. \u201cAlto! Alto,\u201d a Mexican border official yelled after letting out two piercing whistles. \u201cAlto!\u201d While reporting on the fear wracking Fort Hancock, Texas, a tiny border town just across the Rio Grande River from El Porvenir, Mexico, I ventured […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":6594,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[7],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-510868","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-news"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/mereja.media\/index\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/510868","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/mereja.media\/index\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/mereja.media\/index\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mereja.media\/index\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/6594"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mereja.media\/index\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=510868"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/mereja.media\/index\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/510868\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/mereja.media\/index\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=510868"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mereja.media\/index\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=510868"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mereja.media\/index\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=510868"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}