The Foreign Service Journal, April 2006

84 F O R E I G N S E R V I C E J O U R N A L / A P R I L 2 0 0 6 R EFLECTIONS The Streets of Nuevo Laredo B Y M ICHAEL E. K ELLY It is a new day in Nuevo Laredo. The sun is huge and orange in its ascent against the hazy blue backdrop of desert sky; the temperature is in the 90s and rising. The daily ritual of sweeping clean the sidewalks has begun across the city where the buildings are a mix of cinder-block slum and refined neo-colonial, strung together by a tangled web of electri- cal wires and phone cables hung with sun-bleached, wind-torn banners. And shoes. My 4-year-old son looks up and asks: “Daddy, how do the shoes get up there?” In a city where an orphanage has to send the kids to school in shifts because there aren’t enough shoes, I answer truthfully, “I don’t know, son.” Then, after the shoes, come the piñatas hung from rafters and eaves of the shops that crowd the road. “Look, Dad,” continues the commen- tary from my son. “Piñatas. Do you see them?” I tug at his hand and smile down at him as I duck one of the papier-mâché creations. Out of the corner of my eye, I see a newspa- per vendor approaching, holding up copies of two of the local papers. I squeeze my son’s hand tightly and look for a break in the traffic. My eyes are drawn to the papers. I won- der how many died last night? The headlines say something about a gun- fight; the pictures show the carnage. I glance at the vendor. He raises a hopeful eyebrow and steers his path closer to me, but I shake my head and mouth the word no, hoping my son doesn’t see the pictures, which would lead to more questions I can’t answer. There is more to this town, though, than violence and bloodshed. There are churches where people go to wor- ship, and not just to memorialize the dead. There are hospitals that treat the ill, and not just gunshot victims. There are shoe stores, bakeries and stationers. There are kitchens and dining rooms where food is shared. There are schoolchildren in tidy uni- forms, pensioners chatting on street corners, mothers with smiling babies. Life here is chaotic, boisterous, col- orful and sweet. Even the tree-shad- ed plazas cannot escape the hubbub — strolling vendors hawk their wares in loud, gritty voices and food carts proffer tacos, roasted ears of corn, fresh-cut fruit sprinkled with chili powder, and shaved ice raspas. It is a city where salad bars are scarce but salsa bars abound, and where the aroma of savory carne asada is carried through the air on clouds of mesquite smoke. We sit down on a bench under the shade of some swaying palms. My son sits contentedly, swinging his legs, while he studies a line of ants march- ing in single file. I look around the plaza. It is more brown than green, more dirt than grass. Most of the shops that line the square are still shuttered. Somewhere, a radio is playing. Strains of music reach my ears through the ebb and flow of the traffic. My son climbs down and kneels beside the ants, his brow fur- rowed as he gently probes their line with a stick. The noise, grit, heat and brutality of life swirl around him, yet he is oblivious to everything but the ants. Soon, the sun will be high and heavy, the heat oppressive. The noise will crescendo into something akin to a million insects scraping their legs together, screaming at the shimmer- ing heat. By then, we will have retreated to the cool stone and tile confines of our home, safe behind the iron bars and locked doors. Later still, the westering sun will diminish, deep red in its descending glory. The shadows will lengthen, the edge of the heat will dull, and orange- golden hues will color the town. Then, as the mantle of evening is draped across the city and the moon comes up over the horizon, a sound like a string of exploding firecrackers will be heard; and shortly thereafter, the sirens. Finally, the dust will settle again, fine and thick, on the sidewalks, to be swept clean on the morrow. Until then, Nuevo Laredo will sleep anoth- er fitful sleep. n Michael E. Kelly, a creative writer married to an FSO, lives in Nuevo Laredo, Mexico with his family. They have served in Africa, the Caribbean, Europe and Washington, D.C. Stamp courtesy of the Stamp Corner.