We leave dawn to start our hike to put out water before the heat becomes unbearable. As we drive the sky lightens to a mauve, just before the sun rises. I hear dogs howling in the distance. It feels like we are driving on the moon.
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We get to the head of the trail and the sun has appeared. We pack our back packs with four or five gallon jugs of water and some cereal packets. We follow the GPS and it leads us to the coordinates of our water drop. We walk up and down steep paths into a rocky dry wash and up a ravine to a large tree. Around the tree are tin can lids and broken empty water jugs. We find water bottles that are slashed. Some have holes punctured through the bottom. Border Patrol and vigilantes do this so that dehydrated migrants don’t have water to drink. It is an act of violence. It is an act of killing. It is literally murder. The cans of beans were tampered with, their tabs pulled open. As disheartening as this is, we leave some jugs of water, hoping that maybe some thirsty migrant will reach the water before it is found and destroyed by border patrol. We write encouraging messages on the jugs of water with a sharpie. “Nuestras corazones no tienen fronteras” (Our hearts have no borders), “Hasta un mundo sin fronteras” (Until a world without borders), “Mantenga la fuerza!” (Stay strong).
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