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Ixmiquilpan, Hidalgo, México
Part of the simulation is not knowing your coyote's real name. Part of the simulation is knowing your group could leave you behind. Part of the simulation is knowing that if you are left behind, a pickup truck will take you back to your hotel. Through caves, through brush, through needles we form a line by holding on to a stranger's backpack. In the dark live rounds are fired. I duck, people laugh. The desert here is no desert at all & I think of how I could cut a thick barrel cactus open & eat it. In Chihuahua I've never seen thick barrel cactus, only the thin long threads of ocotillo that don't carry much water. The chairos pay 250 pesos to walk all night in the desert in the middle of México to simulate a border crossing. They bring jugs filled with water & pose for selfies. When you wade across the river you only have to worry about swimming if a current pulls you under, not the red glare of night-vision goggles, floodlights & guns. In the simulation, only two people make it to the other side without getting stopped by actors portraying la migra or narcos. All are brought back for cups of atole. It's three in the morning, a girl laughs. I walk back to my room, turn on the light & the flying ants won't stop swarming. It is so dark & have so much water left in my jug. My teeth full of grit from the atole.