A Day in the Colorado River

Two nights ago, as we sat down to have dinner, we heard two men outside of our compound grunting as they pushed their car. We approached cautiously and asked them if they needed assistance. As always, we must be wary of outsiders and those who could be a part of the government.

These men were very friendly, however. They immediately told us their names, that they were hydro-engineers for the government, and showed us their identification. They asked if we had food, shelter, or tools so that they could fix their car and rest. Still worried to invite any strangers, especially government employees into our home, we asked them what they could offer us in return. The men said that they had clearance and private access to what water was left in the Colorado River, about an hour and a half from our compound at drylab.

 

We agreed on this exchange and allowed them to come into our compound and set up camp for the night. We helped them fix their car and offered them dinner and extra water so they would not run out on their journey. Over dinner, we had an interesting conversation about the nature of the government and the privatization of water. We also speculated from our conversation that these men didn’t necessarily want to be involved in the government, but had no choice if they wanted to continue to provide for themselves and have access to water without joining the military.

The next morning, we awoke early and followed the men to the Colorado River. Even from far away, the water looked fresh. We all ran to it finding immediate relief from the heat. The water was so clear and fresh, an incredulous oasis in the desert. The rocks were soft and smooth underneath our feet and gorgeous as they slipped with sand from our hands. It had been so long since any of us had seen so much water in one place. We spent hours there floating, relaxing, and swimming.

Although we know this experience was a symptom of our corrupt government, still we are thankful or the chance to swim in the clear Colorado River. Yesterday was more than an adventure to the Colorado River and a relief from the heat, however; it was a reminder of the humility that people can share, even amid crisis.

DEMASKING

“Caring for myself is not self-indulgence, it is self preservation, and that is an act of political warfare.” – Audre Lorde

Day 3 | Deserts

I share with you a poem by a Tucson artist about the Sonoran Desert.

sleeping magic

      soy lo que me enseñó mi padre:
él que no quiere a su patria,
no quiere a su madre.
                         – Residente of Calle 13

I believe in the setting sun behind mountain.
I believe in the surface beneath me.
I believe in the roots of an ocotillo, tangled
to the core. I believe in brooks and streams,
even as they dry. I believe in small hands,
which try to cup everything possible
before it drips away. I believe in dust devils
and their unison with sandstorms.
I believe in footprints left behind
like gravestones.
I believe in the eyes of a lover, in the silence
of their shudders, lying there, a part of my body,
becoming dust and tierra, dissolving into ritual.

Night stars bending into the cursive,
writing the music of the desert;
a tempo of solitude.
Una melodía for the day to come.

And I drink pulque
para bailar con los coyotes.
Dancing to the sand shifting
beneath my feet; to the gods
in the swing of my waist;
to the love that leaves my
twisting spine.

I believe in the desert and her beauty,
I believe in the shadows that follow our every move,
I believe there will always be a song being born
in our chests; I believe I will die this way:

Praying for the wandering soles
and dancing for the rain.

I believe in the sanctity and sorrow of this land,
I believe in the beautiful faces and their cursed tongues,
I believe in the sleep stories of times before the border.

Creo en lo que hay y lo que habrá.

I believe in the holy cacti that watch
over las casitas of Tucson,
I believe in the sacred wind and
in the saints hanging from my neck.

I believe I am an unfulfilled dream;
I believe I am the Santa Cruz River
healing the scars of an entire city
as holy water pours from the sky.

I believe in all of the sleeping magic of the desert.

And I believe you cannot buy the wind.
No puedes comprar el sol.
You cannot buy the rain.
No puedes comprar el calor.

You cannot buy the clouds.
No puedes comprar los colores.
You cannot buy my happiness
ni mis dolores.

They belong here.

I believe this is my home, this land
of two suns, of two tongues,
of too many names lost crossing,
of too many souls who become
sand tears y polvo de magia.

I believe when I die, I will not perish.
I believe when I die, I will become
another song, tune, chant, poem
story; another pair of eyes,
another fist raised;

I believe when I die, I will live on
forever.

---

I read this poem yesterday and I thought it was so beautiful. It reminded me of home in the Sonora: the colors, the plants, the specters of life and death, the culture, the border…

I can go on. I think back to when we found dozens of humans remains in the desert and how their lives were welcomed into ours, and they lived forever. What life needs me here? I wish I had learned more about the Mojave desert before now, when we don’t have internet to research it. I am going to spend my time here studying Mojave by reading books about it and being here living in it. I look around at this desert and the houses in it and I think of Las Vegas, and I think of Brendon Urie and Brandon Flowers. I am limited. I want to know more. What do I not know about Mojave? What do I not know about the life, the suffering, and the happiness that has moved through here?

We have our imaginations and pre-narratives of places, but we never actually know the diversity and mystery of a place until we live in it. We are in a desert which we have been taught is hot and dry and miserable, but it has been so windy that I need a jacket and the weather is so cool that I spend more time outside than inside, and we don’t typically use all our ration of water. We have been taught that the desert is the middle of “nowhere” but this place is alive, and I am surviving in it. Water is scarce, but we are resilient

like the desert.

Day 1

Education is supposed to empower. Privilege is supposed to enable. I let my fear disrupt my will, and now I am paralyzed.

This all started two days ago at the university. There was a huge demonstration that turned violent. For the past five years, protests and social conflict have increasingly become violent and usually result in arrests, disappearances and even death by the hands of police. My group of human rights defenders has persisted to demand water for underserved folks and to boycott the draft. I had become so anxious and afraid that my sense of powerfulness and will waivered, and I withdrew from my activism. I chose to stay behind as they went ahead to the demonstration. I waited and waited, but they never returned. They were arrested. I don’t know if they are alive or dead.

I needed to leave the university. That’s when I met Kirsten. We had heard that there might be water here, and we set out on foot. We arrived this morning.

I hate me I hate me I hate me I hate me. I wish I could leave my body or my mind. Leave myself. I don’t know where I would go. But I know that I need to get somewhere, so I came here. I refuse to fight in a war over resources that are BASIC human rights.

There was a moment when we first arrived here in the desert. The women were hesitant to let us stay. “How do we know you aren’t betrayers?” “We have hardly enough water for us, if you were to join us we would only last a month before we ran out.” At that moment, I became frustrated at the territorial approach to water (or any natural resource for that matter). Sharing water should not be a question. Water is a part of the environment; it does not belong to only one people. It belongs to all. It is a human right! This same type of territorial thinking is what got us into this situation in the first place. This is the war we all refuse to fight!

They reminded themselves of their humanity, and they accepted us. I am grateful. How lucky am I to be a part of a community of strong women? Afortunada.

Each person receives 3 gallons for personal use. My head has been dully throbbing all day. I’ve been working on drinking down my first gallon since this morning. Maybe it’s the pace at which I drink that’s just not enough to keep me hydrated. *

If it weren’t for my stupid anxiety, then I wouldn’t have been separated from my people. I would know if they’re alive. I would have been there to tell them that I love them when they need to hear it! And now what?

Now I must hope to find peace in letting go.

I am thinking of my family.

I hope my siblings are okay.

Take care of each other please.

Know that I love you very much.

All right, all right. You were right. But here’s the thing… so was I.

Drink, pee, drink, pee, drink, pee… but my head still hurts.

*I tried electrolytes. The pain subsided only slighted. I gave in and took Advil. It’s gotta be my period.