Deported! Leaving Mexico the hard way: Part 3

Parts 0 1 2

They served breakfast around 8:30. Black beans and rice. It's not so bad, I thought. I've eaten beans and rice many times not by compulsion, and black beans do tend to be some of the tastiest legumes. The Indians cut the line as if they'd been doing it their entire lives. They knew all the tricks - going up to talk to their friends, then squeezing in. Waiting by the door then walking casually into the mess hall. Or just saying "I'm hungry," as if that somehow gave them a status the rest of us didn't have. But what the hell, we would all get fed eventually. So, I tolerated it.

In the afternoon, they called my 'name': "Australia! Australia!" I'm not sure if it's deliberate or just a happy accident, but suddenly I was no longer an individual, but they would only refer to me by my nationality. I didn't mind it, but there was a subtle element of dehumanisation.

Posting the status on Facebook while in the van was probably the smartest thing I did, and also, having a friend as ferociously vociferous as Gela. As soon as Gela had found Wifi, she was posting on social media trying to find a solution. On the phone was Aldona from the consulate, and she told me that people had been making blog posts and sending emails to them, letting them know that I'd been detained and asking them what they could do about the situation. I chuckled. Aldona seemed a little puzzled at the whole thing, wondering why I would be getting this kind of attention.

Reflecting on it later, I'd think of the first time I took ayahuasca, and how the medicine had to try so hard to get through to me, to deliver the important message: when people care about you, that's no small thing. From a certain perspective, our life on Earth is just the result of random chance, molecules bumping into each other in a soulless, loveless, infinite space. If such an environment were to give birth to a thought - a thought of another being, a wish that the being would be well, caring about its welfare... that would be a huge miracle. And every time it happened, every instance would be a little miracle. That's why, when I think about it, I come to tears. I am so grateful that people take the effort to think of me, to hope that I have good things. It's no exaggeration to say: that is a divine gift.

Later in the day they took me to see the legal clerk, who got me to sign a few documents saying I'd received breakfast and lunch. She got me to resign a document confirming my rights and obligations, and emphasised that I had all the time I wanted to read it carefully and understand it - in reaction to my previous signing under duress. She asked me how long I'd been in Mexico and how I'd entered. I didn't want to answer, thinking maybe I could convince them that I'd lost my tourist card when entering from Guatemala. Eventually I decided it was a lost cause, and told the truth.

She asked if I'd like to stay in Mexico, or go back to Australia. I struggled to get the words out. I said I'd prefer to stay in Mexico.

Over those three years, I'd made Mexico my home. The Mexican hospitality, the corner taco stands, the abarrotes that stay open late, the toot of the candied sweet potato cart, the 1 a.m. mariachi serenades waking up all the neighbours that nobody would dare complain about - lest people think they lacked sentiment, the chaotic markets, the mountains, the beaches, the hot springs, the cenotes, the pyramids, and all the other wonders which I'd yet to see... the restless spectres that came to visit me in the night, and the spirit guides. I wonder if I could have put my heart on that desk, open it up, and show all the pieces of Mexico that had found their way in there, if the clerk would have still the gall to say I had to leave. Of course she would. She was a bureaucrat, and to them, it always comes down to the process, and the papers. My passion was meaningless. I didn't have the papers, and therefore I had to leave.

To be continued...