Ojinaga

by Michael Douglas Carlin

Lobo, my Federale friend, was responsible for killing Pablo Acosta. Since Pablo’s body had more than one bullet, it is possible that others also can claim that they had a hand in his death. The word came down from the top that he was to be put down–not arrested. I think we all know why. Dead men don’t talk. When the corruption is inherent in the system, people tend to want to protect themselves. Taking care of loose ends keeps the people in power happy and productive.

Pablo Acosta used to frequent Ojinaga. He was the head of the Juarez Cartel and chose to run the operation from the middle of nowhere, where it was easy to get drugs into the United States. Ojinaga sits on the Texas border across from Presidio. I needed footage for a documentary that I am working on. So, I thought I would travel to Presidio and find someone to take me on a tour.

I arrived In Presidio at about 10 pm. There are only two motels in town. I chose to stay at the one with a restaurant next door. I checked into my room and walked into the restaurant. I ordered food and sat for a few minutes at a table by myself. There was a long table along the wall. The Mexican Nationals were at one end, the Mexican Americans were in the middle and the Americans were at the other end.

A few minutes after I arrived, I was asked to join the Americans, and they bought me a beer. They asked what I was doing in Ojinaga—I guess not too many tourists wander in. I told them I was going to attempt to shoot some video and asked them if they knew someone who could take me on the Pablo Acosta Tour. At the mere mention of his name, the entire restaurant was suddenly silent, and all eyes were on me.

I shrunk inside. I felt like the biggest dumbass in the world. How could I be so careless? The Mexican-Americans immediately came down and told me that I should not travel to Ojinaga, because it was far too dangerous.

Rudolfo, who was born in Juarez but lives now in Houston, gave me a stern warning. "Mister, I don’t know why you are here but do not go into Ojinaga. There is no reason that is worth losing your life."

Others especially warned me about ever mentioning the name of Pablo Acosta in these parts. I took their advice seriously and told them that I would not venture over the border. I thanked them for looking out for me. Soon, the restaurant was back to normal activity, and I turned to one of the Americans who was there as a construction worker helping to build a new school. I quietly asked him how he would go about finding someone to take him over the border if I theoretically wanted to go there. He told me to go to the El Patio Restaurant and ask to speak with the owner. The owner would make the arrangements.

In the morning, I did just that. I got the camera ready early in the morning, and I loaded four duffle bags of medical supplies into the car. The Knights of the Order of Humanity collect single-use medical supplies from hospitals in the United States and take them to war-torn countries.

I arrived at the restaurant to order food and to make my inquiry. The call was made and my driver was on the way. I excused myself, because I wanted to retrieve my camera from the car. When I walked in with the high-definition camera, the owner looked slightly surprised.

The driver was a thirty-something-year-old woman driving an unmarked Suburban. She didn’t bat an eye at the camera. I asked her in my broken Spanish if we could also take in some medical relief to a local clinic, and she looked confused.

I took her to my car and opened up the hatch. I unzipped a duffle bag and showed her the contents. She agreed that we could take them with us to Ojinaga. On the way, she began making calls to find the right place for the supplies.

Mexican Customs was so preoccupied with the video camera that they paid little attention to the bags in the back. As soon as we cleared customs, I asked if she knew any of the history of Ojinaga and Pablo Acosta. She immediately made the Catholic sign of the cross and pretended not to know anything about this person, "whoever he is." I saw immediately that I had hit a nerve, and she was now uncomfortable with the trip. Her imagination was swimming, and I could see her thinking, "Who is this, and what am I involved in now?"

We got to the clinic. We waited for at least twenty minutes. Out came two women, a nurse and a doctor. They looked really confused as we began to explain to them what we wanted to do. They were also distracted by the video camera. These two beautiful women struggled to understand why an American with a video camera and a driver had arrived with medical relief. We took them out to the car and showed them the duffle bags. They got it, and immediately welled up inside.

Then doubt took over. "What do you want for these supplies? How much?"

I told them that they were a gift from America to the people of Mexico, and tears began streaming down their faces. As we carried the bags from the Suburban to the clinic, I’ll bet they said "Thank you" a thousand times.

When we got back in the car, my driver turned to me and told me what a great thing I had done for these women. She told me that we had made their day. A few minutes later, she brought up Pablo Acosta, Amado Carillo Fuentes, and El Chapa Guzman. She agreed to take me on my tour. She also explained to me that these men were heroes in this community and had provided jobs and money to the inhabitants. They had built clinics, schools and churches and had fed the people of Ojinaga. She warned me that I was not allowed to get out of the car where she was taking me. Her warning continued by telling me never to mention these names in this community if I wanted to live. People here would kill me to protect the memory of these sacred druglords.

We drove past homes that had belonged to the men. We also drove around the downtown area. I was allowed to get out briefly in the town center. It didn’t take long to shoot video of the entire village. On our way back, the driver asked me if I minded her stopping at the market for a few groceries. Now my imagination raced. I did mind but trusted my instincts not to let it show. She pulled up to the grocery store and exited the vehicle, leaving the keys in the ignition and the engine running. She disappeared around the corner and I sat in the idling vehicle. My senses were heightened for those fifteen or twenty minutes. I watched every mirror with great interest. I was prepared to jump over the hump and get into the driver’s seat to battle my way back to the border. I tried to be calm, but my heart was racing.

My driver emerged from around the corner carrying a couple of bags of groceries. She jumped into the vehicle, and off we drove to the border and safety…or so I thought. She took me back to the El Patio Restaurant and dropped me off at my car. She told me that I had done a great thing for those women but that it was now time for me to leave, because my life was in danger. From the way that she said it I knew she was telling me the truth. I wasn’t going to wait to find out. I got in my car and headed straight for El Paso.

I was followed the entire way from Presidio to El Paso by an unmarked blue van. When I got to the Lomaland exit, I got off and pulled into the Whataburger parking lot. I took a bunch of papers with me and my cell phone and started making calls and conducting business like I had not noticed the man following me. He was shorter than me, with a long ponytail, tattoos, and a pock-marked face. I pretended not to notice, and when he went to refill his drink I was out the door in a flash. I jumped in my car and disappeared down an alley. I had lost him, and I hope that I never see him again.

Border Mexico is dangerous enough right now without mentioning the wrong names. We may have freedom of speech here, but that doesn’t mean that saying the wrong thing might not carry with it consequences–severe consequences.

© 2013 Michael Douglas Carlin. All Rights Reserved.