#31 - Kardashev Scale

On the night the group arrived in El Paso, wilted and unkempt from spending twelve hours in a rented touring bus, Pastor Dave had stood next to the large bonfire they’d built at the center of the Friends of Texas Campground, and lit by its flickering yellow light, had admonished the group, instructing them to not lose sight of the reason they had each paid four hundred dollars to spend their spring break doing hard labor in a Mexican border town.

“Tomorrow, when we cross that border and you see the conditions these people live in every day of their lives, I promise you – you’re gonna have a whole new perspective on how blessed you are.” He was wearing a grungy Colorado Rockies baseball cap, and beneath its bill, his eyes peered out at the teenagers gathered around him. “Some of you are gonna struggle down here. You’re gonna get tired. You’re gonna be sore. You’re gonna miss your beds back home. But I’ll tell you what.” He paused, making eye contact with two girls huddling near the fire, bracing against the cool night air. “If you put yourself in God’s hands,” He continued, “If you trust him, if you keep your eyes on the work you’ve been called to this week - you’ll leave Juarez a different person. God wants to do something in your heart this week that you don’t expect.”

The teenagers formed a quiet circle around him, their solemn expressions glowing in the firelight. There were thirty-two of them, plus a handful of adult chaperones. The drive from Denver had worn them all ragged, and weariness showed in their faces.

“Listen, you’ve all done great so far.” Pastor Dave said. “But there’s something we’ve gotta do that you guys aren’t gonna like. If you read the information packet I gave you last week, you probably saw the rule about bringing gadgets and other technology on the trip. On the bus, it was fine. No problem. But as of tonight, iPods, iPhones - or anything like that - is off limits.” He glanced around, scanning the group for signs of dissent.

“I’m not being a party-pooper. I want you to have a powerful week down here, and I don’t want you distracted by checking your facebook every five minutes. Does that make sense? I don’t want you texting your friends back home – you know – complaining about the sand in your teeth or whatever.” He said. A few in the group chuckled.

“To make things easier on you, Missy’s gonna collect all your gadgets tonight.” He motioned toward an adult woman standing just outside the circle of light created by the camp fire. She smiled shyly. Pastor Dave continued, “She’ll take your phone or your iPod and keep it safe this week. You don’t need to worry about it. She’ll give ‘em back to you on Friday before we head back to Colorado.”

He rotated in a circle, examining the group. “Any questions?” He asked.

“What about emergencies?” A girl’s voice said from the darkness.

Without looking for the specific source of the voice, Pastor Dave answered, “The adult leaders all have cell phones that they’ll use in the case of an emergency. Any other questions?”

No one else spoke up. They all looked like they might topple over at any time, one after another, like human dominoes.

“Let’s pray, and then you guys need to get to bed. Big day tomorrow.” He said.

The group formed a large circle around the fire. They held hands, and then a few of the teens volunteered to say prayers. Afterward, they scattered to their gender-segregated tents. Using a flashlight to navigate her way through the dark, Missy carried an empty pillowcase, Ziploc baggies, and a permanent marker from tent to tent, collecting the teens’ tech gadgets. She had each of them seal their gadgets in a baggie, which she then labeled with the marker and dropped into the pillowcase.

She tried to encourage the teens, saying “I know it’s tough, but I don’t think you’ll miss ‘em.”

The next morning, as the sun was just coming up, the group shuffled out of their tents and climbed back onto the bus. They were all groggy-faced and a bit cranky. Pastor Dave, Missy, and a few of the other adult chaperones passed out packages of Pop-Tarts and juice boxes. The teens ate on the way to the border.

Pastor Dave had already given the teens careful instructions regarding crossing the border. No photos. No joking around. Answer the border patrol officers’ questions politely. Always know where your passport is located. Don’t make negative remarks about Mexico.

Once everyone was back on the bus and they were slowly maneuvering through the narrow streets of Juarez, Pastor Dave stood up and used the bus’ intercom to address the group.

“Good job, guys. Real smooth. You all need to say a little prayer and thank God for how easy that was.” He said.

As they continued deeper into the city, the atmosphere inside the bus became energetic, almost giddy. The teens stared out the bus’ large windows, gawking at the street markets and food vendors they passed. For many of them, it was their first trip outside the United States. They read aloud the signs and advertisements on the buildings as they passed, with a few of the more studious in the group taking it upon themselves to demonstrate correct Spanish pronunciation.

The bus arrived at the Iglesia de Cristo just after eleven in the morning. Pastor Garza, a short, slightly overweight man, with a large moustache and dark rings beneath his eyes, met them at the front gate. He stepped onto the bus and, in broken English, welcomed Pastor Dave and the rest of the group. He walked up the center aisle, shaking hands with the teens. “You hungry?” He asked them, smiling enthusiastically. Some women from the church had spent the morning preparing lunch for the group. The teens didn’t know this, but they grinned and nodded. One fourteen year old boy said, “Tengo hambre!”

Pastor Garza gave the bus driver directions to an empty lot a block from the church, where he had arranged for the bus to be parked. The group shambled off the bus, and as it pulled away, they followed Pastor Garza through the gate and into the church’s front yard.

After a quick tour of the grounds – the large cinderblock sanctuary, a few open-air classrooms, outhouses, and kitchen – the group was served a hot meal of stewed chicken with onions, fresh corn tortillas, beans, fideo, and green table salsa that was too spicy for most of them to enjoy. There were no tables to sit at, so they plopped down wherever shade was available, eating from paper plates, each with a glass bottle of cold Manzana Lift at their side.

“If any of you can’t finish your food, you know where to bring it!” Pastor Dave announced, scooping up some chicken with a flimsy tortilla.

They all ate greedily, as if they’d done a full day’s work. Ecstatic about their first meal in Mexico, many of the teens were being overly complimentary, poking their heads into the kitchen and practically shouting, “Delicioso! Delicioso!”

In the afternoon, Pastor Dave split the group into three teams and assigned each team to a project around the church grounds. Missy led a group made up of mostly girls. They cleaned up trash around the inside of the tall wall that surrounded the church. One girl in her group, a redhead named Tiffany, asked, “Why do they put broken glass bottles at the top of all the walls?”

“Security.” Missy answered. “To keep people out.”

A girl named Kara, who had been on the same trip a year earlier, gazed up at the shards of glass embedded into the cement. “Crime is very high in Juarez. The drug cartels run this place.” She said, squinting at Tiffany.

Inside the church, Pastor Dave had a group painting the walls. They had covered the floors in newspapers to protect the tiles from splattered paint. In front of the church, a chaperone named Chris was leading a group in scraping and painting an ornate wrought iron fence that stood at each side of the main gate.

They worked hard through the afternoon. By the time the Mexican ladies were ready to serve another hearty meal for supper, the teens were plastered with sweat and flecks of paint. Wanting to cross back into El Paso before sundown, Pastor Dave said, “Suck it down quick, guys. Real quick.”

When they had finished, many of the teens poked their heads into the kitchen again. They waved to the women who had cooked for them. “Hasta mañana!”

The teens were waiting at the front gate when the bus came rumbling up, spewing a cloud of diesel fumes. They gasped when they caught sight of it. One of the large windows on the side, near the back, had been broken out. A gaping hole had been left with razor sharp glass hanging at the edges, like nightmarish fangs. 

“What the…” Pastor Dave said.

He told the teens to remain outside the bus. He and Pastor Garza climbed onboard. They were inside, moving around for what felt like to the teenagers waiting outside a very long time. Finally, Pastor Dave stuck his head out of the hole in the window. He located Missy in the group of those looking on. He said her name, “Missy," and jerked his chin upward, motioning for her to board the bus. She nervously stepped through the door at the front. For several minutes, everyone was quiet, with only the faintest murmur of voices coming from inside.

Finally, Pastor Dave stepped off the bus, his eyes fixed on the ground. Pastor Garza and Missy followed close behind, both of them looking utterly solemn.

“I’m not sure how to tell you all this.” Pastor Dave said. “I truly hope we can keep things in perspective here and remember why we came to Juarez in the first place.” He shuffled his feet a bit, not making eye contact with anyone in the group.

“The bag of phones – the iPods, iPhones – all that stuff. It was on the bus.” He said. “While we were working this afternoon, someone broke in. All that stuff is gone.”

One of the girls said, “Are you being serious right now?”

Pastor Dave managed to look up at her. “Yep. I am. All your gadgets are gone. I’m really sorry.” 

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To learn about the Kardashev Scale, read the original Wikipedia article HERE.