|Fresh prickly pear cactus lemonade with barbacoa. Photo by Brenda Norrell.|
By Brenda Norrell
OUT THERE SOMEWHERE -- On the bus, everyone is speaking Spanish. The driver is speaking Spanish, and everyone else. They are all laughing and talking, and speaking this beautiful Spanish language. It is good to hear. On the rooftops, in the 110 degrees heat, the roofers are speaking Spanish, and those cooking food in the cafes, and caring for others' children, they are speaking Spanish too.
There is no way Trump can eliminate this beautiful language.
When I come across the border, there is a feeling of death, of dullness, when I re-enter the United States. That's what happens when the joy and life of Mexico are behind me, on the other side of this unnatural border.
At the taco joint, I grab some carne asada tacos, with some huge poblano chiles and pico de gallo, and gobble those down. And guess what, everyone is speaking Spanish.
And they are alive.
|On the bus, out there somewhere. No doubt someone is shouting 'Vamos a bailar!' Let's dance.|