Ciudad Juarez Is Nothing Like I Thought It Would Be

A little more than five years ago, I took a day trip to Juarez. Recently, I returned and found a completely changed city.

Five years ago, my husband Paul and I were visiting El Paso, Texas, and we wanted to cross over the border to spend a day in Ciudad Juárez, Mexico. We met someone who offered to drive us, so off we went.

The line of cars at the Bridge of the Americas was long enough for our driver to play entire albums by Billie Eilish and Ariana Grande. Though we visited the city’s historic center and bought local handicrafts, it was an entirely different experience that has stayed with me.

At Parque el Chamizal, a vast public park, we encountered an unofficial and improvised tent city of about 800 migrants waiting to meet with immigration officers and apply for legal entry or asylum in the United States. They were living in small, crowded tents and sleeping on thin mats on the ground. They cooked over open fires outside and had some black plastic solar shower bags. One mother held her young child’s hand. His sneakers were so old that the top was almost completely detached from the soles. Many of the refugees came from areas plagued by violence, gangs, and drug cartels. Some had been attacked and threatened both at home and along the way. 

We asked what they needed and went to several refuges to ask where we could buy supplies to give to the families. The staff at each told us not to do this. One director said, “We want them to come inside for heat, food, clothes, and safety. But they refuse. They’re afraid to lose their place near the border when immigration comes, about every 10 days, often in the middle of the night, to take only about two or three families for an interview. And only about 3% are granted asylum.” The odds were slim and dim.

I never forgot the people at the park, as they anxiously awaited a new life in the USA.

Five Years Later

A few weeks ago, we found ourselves again near the border and wanted to return to Juarez for a day trip. We entered the Bridge of the Americas in our GPS. The plan was simple–we’d park on the United States side to avoid the traffic, walk the bridge, and meet a driver we’d hired in Juarez. But there were so few cars, I only realized we’d accidentally crossed the border when we zoomed past a road sign that said “Mexico.” It was that simple. No wait. No one stopped our car. No passport check. 

We parked and met our driver, Robb, who was going to take us back to the historic center. And then, with a knot in my stomach, we passed Parque el Chamizal near the bridge. 

It was a sunny winter day and a few people walked dogs or kicked around soccer balls. Otherwise, it was empty. 

“Where are all the migrants who are creating an emergency situation at the border?” I asked Robb. He didn’t know. 

We left the park, and because I’m pathologically friendly and will speak to anyone in any language I can attempt, for the rest of our time in Juárez, I kept asking everyone we met what happened to those immigrants. No one could answer. Different folks had different theories: some had gone back to their countries of origin, some decided to stay in Mexico, others had tried to cross through the desert, risking their lives with coyotes. 

All the theories led to one simple answer–since there was no longer any hope of crossing over to the United States, no one was waiting around to do so. That didn’t mean migrants had left Juarez, they just left the park.

Charities and government organizations are still housing migrants. One such space is Casa del Migrante, a Catholic philanthropy, which we’d gone to five years ago.

Inside, it looked largely the same today: statues of saints were covered with hand-written prayers, milagros (charms that are usually used for healings or for votive offerings), baggage checks, and the ID wristbands of those who had been deported from the U.S.  

Julio César Flores, a spokesperson for the charity, said the refugees are mostly from South and Central America—Venezuela, Colombia, Ecuador, El Salvador, Guatemala. Casa is privately funded and helped with donations and supplies by people from Juárez, El Paso, and Las Cruces.

I assumed that many hundreds of refugees were crowded into Casa, but Flores’s report shocked me. “We have beds for 400 people here, and currently have only 135. Forty are children.”

He had no information about where the massive number of previous immigrants had gone or how many migrants or deportees from the U.S. would be arriving. No one knew what the future held.

1. A busy courtyard five years ago at the Casa del Migrante shelter.Paul Ross 2. Today, the Casa del Migrante courtyard is empty save for a lone occupant.

Starting in 2023, the free mobile phone app CBP One provided migrant access to services from U.S. Customs and Border Protection, like the ability to schedule an appointment.  But on January 20, 2025, all existing appointments were summarily canceled and CBP One was deactivated. The border was suddenly closed to all immigration. 

The vibe at Casa was decidedly different from five years ago–then it was filled with anticipation, hope, and optimism. Now everyone we spoke with talked about living in a state of suspended animation, a kind of numbness, as though stunned.

Unlike five years ago, some current Casa refugees clean houses, or wait tables, earning between $12.50 and $20 a day. It’s a matter of survival. 

In the courtyard we met Angela, a 31-year-old widow from Ecuador. She sat at a table, staring vacantly ahead as her daughters scrolled on a pink cell phone. Angela has four children, and she introduced us to her two young boys who were playing and running around the yard. She told us that gangs in Ecuador were kidnapping children and forcing them to join.  She left to save her children. She fled to Hidalgo in east-central Mexico where she heard about Casa del Migrante in Juárez, and arrived by train. Her future now is a blur. 

Many residents shared their stories with us. A Venezuelan family with five kids explained why they left their country. “There are no schools there for our children. The teachers weren’t getting paid, so they left and became migrants themselves. The schools closed. We had U.S. immigration appointments here, but they were canceled.” I looked at the children, and offered to teach them to count from one to five in English. They repeated the numbers over and over—one, two, three, four, five. One very bright girl asked me how to say six, so now they know that too. 

As we exited the facility, a local woman arrived and we spoke briefly. She told us, “I do anything that is needed here. I just want to be of service.”

A Singular Food Experience in Ciudad Juarez 

On our last trip, our driver said that according to legend the burrito was invented in Juarez, although there is no definitive proof. She drove us through congested local streets, past innumerable construction sites, auto shops, and factories, towards her favorite local fast-food joint—Burritos Crisostomo. 

We ate at outdoor tables and savored the best chicken mole burrito I have ever eaten. The flavors just kept unfolding on the palate. The cost? $1.80!

This time, Robb took us indoors to a branch of the same restaurant. The meal was the only thing we encountered in Juarez that felt like it hadn’t changed in the last five years. Though with inflation, the burrito now costs $2.50.

Although the service was fast, the wonderfully traditional mole is cooked slowly to seal in the complex and satisfying spices. For dessert, we chose house-made paletas (frozen fruit or ice cream pops) and Paul’s nut and caramel choice was the hands-down winner. 

The day was ending, and soon evening would be blanketing the city. 

Robb said he feared we might spend several hours waiting in our car to cross the border, so he dropped us off. We said our goodbyes.

But Robb was wrong. It only took five minutes to cross. The United States border guard who checked our passports was very chatty–maybe because there were so few people crossing, he had time to chat. 

I told the guard I always hated to leave Mexico because I loved the people and the food. I asked him what his favorite place to eat was in Juarez. He said he had never been there. 

“Why would I go?” he asked. “We have everything we need right here in America.”