Greetings, June, 2004

This is Zona Norte, the most northern part of Tijuana. The zone is the city's infamous red-light district, ten or fifteen dangerous blocks near the north side of the border. Cops and robbers is a 24/7 game here.

As we walk up the narrow sidewalk along the busy four-lane highway running parallel with our border we keep close to the buildings. It is impossible to miss the dead dog facing us lying between the lanes of fast traffic. He was hit so hard that his eyes popped out. I look back at the children on this sidewalk. Accidents do happen to kids and dogs in this packed city. We continue walking up the street to visit a poor family.

Less than a hundred yards from the US border, Fatima and her six small children live in their small room on the second floor of a shabby apartment building. Day and night she hears the traffic on the four lane highway below. The traffic of wealthy American tourists as they drive to and from Ensanada; not one of them aware that she and her neighbors exist in such poverty. The invisible poor.

Three of us turn left entering the ghetto and walk between several shabby buildings turning into one of the darkened doorways. We carefully make our way up the steep cement stairs. At the top there is a makeshift door to the left. This is Fatima's apartment. A couple of holes in the door are plugged with dark plastic; cardboard on the lower part of the door afford little privacy. The wire securing the door doesn't offer much security to Fatima's family inside. We call to her and in a short time she peers out the door, looks us over, then invites us inside her home.

The moment we entered the room we find ourselves standing next to the one bed where five of her children quietly study us. Fatima has been near the window washing the laundry in a cold tub of water, the dirty dishes sit on a shelf nearby. This one room is home to all seven of them. We as rich Americans stand and watch life as it is played out in the ghetto.

Fatima was racing the clock, she needs to be dressed and ready for work at one in the afternoon. Maria her little ten year old daughter pops into the room and stares at us. She will take care of her brothers and sister through the afternoon and night.

Here is one of the many poor families in Tijuana that misses the American dream by less than a hundred yards.

We are called to help.

Thank you for continuing to make our ministry to this kind people possible.

In His love, von