Smith: How a Photo Became a Friendship...Rio Grande Guardian
Molly Molloy
Smith: How a Photo Became a Friendship
It was November 30, 2019 and I was driving west from the center of Juárez where I had interviewed a group of migrants from Michoacán, Mexico who were living on the street by the international bridge. This is always a nerve-wracking drive – confusing streets, potholes, buses lunging ahead, a military checkpoint at the entrance to neighboring Anapra.
As I passed the big S Mart supermarket in Anapra, I noticed an unusual pinkish building to my left. It was a “desponchadora” or tire repair shop. A man stood in front staring out at the traffic. I stopped on the sandy side street and approached, thinking this was a good photo opportunity.
The man stared at me. His right arm was shaking which I assumed was the early stages of Parkinson’s. His dazed look suggested the beginnings of dementia.
A younger man appeared, commanding looking. He said that his name was Fernando, that the older man was his brother, Francisco. They had been running this tire repair shop for forty years. I took several pictures and left quickly; they had customers and were busy.
Many months later after COVID, I returned with prints for them. This evolved into me stopping every time I drove this route to give them prints from earlier trips, chat with Fernando and take more photos. At first it was just a quick break from the nerve wracking drive. But Fernando was a proud man, proud of his years running this business, of his ability to care for his older brother, of his caring relationship with his wife, Maria. These visits were short but full of laughter; we became friends.
I could see Francisco’s health declining and wanted to find a solution. In the long run, Fernando wasn’t going to be able to keep the tire business going and also care for his brother who wanted to work but no longer had the strength to even change a tire.
We talked about other health services and I asked friends for advice but we had no solutions.
This lack of any reasonable medical care is like an open wound in Juárez. Mexico’s President, Claudia Sheinbaum has other issues like drug cartels and potential tariffs but someone has to take the lead on health care. Even little things like visiting nurses or a garden program to provide fresh vegetables as Border Partners has done in Palomas or visiting doctors from El Paso as Siguiendo Los Pasos de Jesus has organized on the west side of Juárez or a nursing home where the patients could make at least partial payments with their pensions.
It wasn’t an immediate crisis, however. Fernando and Maria could take care of Francisco in the short term; the two of them exuded a admirable sense of strength.
Then on November 19, 2022, I stopped to visit but didn’t see Fernando in front. He was back in their small living room, sitting on a couch with Maria next to him as well as his grandson. He was holding crutches and his feet were bandaged, It was obvious what was coming.
On the next visit, he was sitting in a battered wheelchair, both of his feet amputated because of diabetes. The seat of his wheelchair was torn in the rear and he had to hold himself upright to avoid slipping backwards.
Shortly thereafter we received a call from Jack and Cheryl Ferrell, the founders of the unique Dignity Mission in Placitas, New Mexico. Someone had offered them a brand-new wheelchair. Could we use it? The next day we picked it up, drove to Anapra and, with Maria’s help, unpacked and assembled it. It was a perfect fit for Fernando who now had some mobility. I remember feeling a tremendous sense of accomplishment as we drove away. The new wheelchair seemed like a great step forward until I suddenly realized how small a gesture it was compared to the enormity of the loss of his feet.
On the next visit, he was outside in the wheelchair, wearing a hoodie that said Ohio State Buckeyes, holding his cell phone, directing the young men who were repairing the tires. For a few weeks, his sons came from their homes in the US to help out. I thought maybe they would take over the shop but they soon left. Fernando seemed to recover his commanding presence. We laughed together again. I don’t remember what we talked about but it was always uplifting in some strange way. I continued taking photos. Francisco continued to decline but he seemed to be in good hands.
Then several months ago, things changed for the worse. Fernando no longer sat in front in the sunlight; he was back in the living room. Losing weight rapidly, he talked about a kidney issue, was in pain.
I kept visiting but seeing him shrinking away and suffering was overwhelming. On my last visit, he couldn’t talk but his grip on my arm was like a vise.
Then on Wednesday, September 3, a message came from Father Bill Morton of the Mission Society of St. Columban. He has had a mission on the border for twenty five years and, although we have never met, we have communicated by e-mail.
His message read. “I visited Fernando on Sunday to administer the Anointing of the Sick. He was in very bad shape. He died yesterday and I will do a responso service tomorrow morning at the Desponchadora. The Family was asking for you.
Thanks for all the help, kindness and hope you gave to him. May he rest in peace now.”
I was too late for his Thursday morning service but attended a small wake under a tent in the dirt area behind the shop that afternoon. Five women – neighbors, I assume – sat quietly. Maria showed me photos ln her cell phone of Fernando in the casket. She was in mourning but also seemed relieved. Fernando’s suffering was over.
Franciso then appeared, shuffling towards us, wearing a bright green shirt. He sat and one of the women gave him a burrito and held a bottle of pop to his mouth so he could drink.
This friendship with Fernando had started with a simple photograph of Francisco almost six years earlier. Although it ended in deep sadness, it was, to quote Morton again, “ how a foto grew into a friendship.” But what about Francisco, the man who started it all? What can I do for him? I wish I knew.
Editor’s Note: The above guest column was penned by New Mexico-based writer Morgan Smith. For 15 years, Smith has been making monthly trips to the border to document conditions there and assist various humanitarian programs. He can be reached at Morgan...@comcast.net.