OVER THERE

Down at Border Field State Park, northwest of Tijuana, there’s a party every time the Border Patrol takes its hourly sweep up the beach. When the migras are out of sight, families and friends separated by the border reunite, those on the Mexican side coming around the fence where it ends on the beach. Taco carts follow and it seems like a Sunday picnic. But figures huddled in discreet conversation are talking business, negotiating the cost and particulars of bringing pollos (slang for smuggled aliens) across the border. It’s not legal, it’s not safe and it’s not cheap: to get to San Ysidro, the first town on the U.S. side, costs at least $100 a person; to San Diego, $150, to Los Angeles, $350.

Many pollos never make it to their destinations--they are often robbed, beaten or killed by the people who they pay to help them, the “coyotes.” Here at the fence, there are no guarantees, only personal assurances. “ Assalta! Pollos!? -- No way,” says one man. “Those (who assault migrants) are bad men. They wait further inland. We are polleros --we look after our chickens! You only pay the money after we make the delivery.” The music starts--some mariachis have also sneaked around the fence. Everybody pretends it’s a picnic until the migras come back to make the border official again.