My first trip into the rural areas south of Palomas

It's mid-morning on Thursday,as I head south from Palomas, Mexico, with Esperanza Lozoya, the founder of the humanitarian program, La Luz de la Esperanza, her granddaughter and her assistant, Maria Dolores Campos.

Our goal is to take beans, medicine and shoes to two rural towns, Colonia Modelo and Guadalupe Victoria. The beans were purchased by Esperanza from Diaz Farms in Deming, N.M. The shoes were donated by Nina Houle, the very supportive owner of a shoe store named On Your Feet in Santa Fe.

This is my first trip into the rural areas south of Palomas and my first meeting with Esperanza. On June 21, however, I observed her summer lunch program in Palomas.

In the space of about an hour, her daughter Sofia and an assistant distributed 600 lunch boxes to needy children there, an extraordinary feat that they continued every weekday all summer.

They also run a midday meal program for the elderly in a building that used to be a rehab center.

Esperanza is originally from Chicago, but she and her family have a long history of community leadership in both Palomas and Columbus, N.M., a few miles to the north. The recreation center in Columbus is named after her father, Andrew Sanchez, for all his contributions.

Her sister, Lupita Otero, manages several food banks in Columbus and was given a “Community Health Leader” award by the Robert Wood Johnson Foundation in 2003.

They typify the many heroic people who hold these impoverished communities together in the absence of government services.

We drive about a half hour straight south, then turn off at Modelo, which is just a collection of houses by the road. For safety reasons and as a woman who travels extensively in rural Chihuahua, Esperanza doesn’t announce where she is going in advance so there is no one waiting for us.

We then continue on a few miles to El Entronque, a community built where the Palomas road intersects the highway from Juárez to Chihuahua. There at the Tortería 3 Caminos, we find El Commandante, the officer in charge of that area.

A cheerful man in dark glasses, a white shirt and suspenders, he poses for photos with Esperanza, his unsmiling assistant and his wife. Then he calls on his cell phone and tells another officer to meet us by the town plaza in Modelo.

He also mentions two recent murders. I had assumed that this area was much safer. Esperanza smiles and says that I’m seeing, “The calm before the storm.”

She knows about violence; one of her strongest supporters, the former mayor of Palomas, Tanys Garcia, was murdered in 2009.

A crowd, mostly women, gathers. We open white sacks of beans and Esperanza ladles out five big cups into each woman’s plastic bag. The men are working in the fields, although with the extremely dry weather, there is much less work than usual.

Esperanza has been doing this for nine years. Over the past two and a half, she has distributed some 160,000 pounds of food in the Palomas area. This is in addition to shoes, medicine, basic first aid kits and school supplies. Her job is, if anything, more difficult now, because the Mexican government is limiting the quantity of beans that can be brought across the border. Why, no one knows.

Our second stop is in a farm town named Guadalupe Victoria located some 12 kilometers to the west of the Palomas-El Entronque road. Esperanza and Maria Dolores are both trained as promotoras and can handle basic medical problems.

Their goal here is to provide medicine for the children of migrant farm worker families who have parasites. A longer-term goal is to train local women as promotoras, so that they can deal with basic medical issues like checking blood pressure. The two biggest health problems are high blood pressure and diabetes.

We find the migrant camp, which consists of a long, low, three-sided cinder block building partitioned into a series of living quarters. Outside each doorway is a large metal pan for cooking, a row of chilis, some farm tools, old shoes or clothing and maybe a broom.

Clothing is hung up to dry in a crisscross of wire clotheslines. In the center is a pile of firewood, and the ground is muddy with foul-looking pools of water. It’s a scene from hell, especially when compared to the semi-mansions of the farm owners only a few blocks away.

The women and children we meet are Mixteca Indians from the state of Guerrero way to the south. Many don’t appear to speak Spanish. They line up for the medicine and for what beans remain and are fitted for the shoes I brought from Santa Fe.

I ask several to pose with photos with their new shoes and they agree, but it’s a cheerless place. It’s hard to imagine why government officials haven’t made the farm owners provide cleaner water or better housing, or why these ragged kids aren’t in school. The families have been coming here to work for years; this isn’t a new problem.

We then stop at the local health clinic, are given more medicine by a curt young woman who is the local “doctor,” administers it and return to Palomas.

“I love what I do,” she says as we say goodbye. When I ask about her safety, she adds, “ I have my angel with me.”