Tijuana.
11 a.m. local time, and the weather is still comfortable; cloudy and in the 60s. A long line.... more than a mile long.... stretches along the road into the city. Buses packed with men, women, children, infants. Heading north.
Hundreds of them.
In Amistad Park, they gather to walk to the U.S. border and turn themselves in, presenting themselves to ask for asylum in the U.S.
Among other volunteers, a tall blonde woman walks through the crowd. She carries a well-worn backpack and distributes food and water from it. She speaks in so-so Spanish, and even worse dialects. She offers smiles, hugs, she plays with the children and makes notes about who needs what. There's always a friend of hers nearby to run the note to someone who can help. A short man in a Catholic priest's clerical uniform is there too, and they work together. She holds and carries babies, and does her best to translate when she can for the medical volunteers and the migrants.
It is a long day.