marla - 12-5-2003 at 10:28 AM
December 4, 2003 Thursday
SECTION: MEXICO WIRE
LENGTH: 1257 words
HEADLINE: )
12,04,03,pastor,california wire
Tijuana pastor rescues and shelters abandoned elders
BYLINE: Gil Griffin Copley News Service
DATELINE: TIJUANA, Mexico
BODY:
Pondering his answers, Francisco Ortiz Chavez sighed deeply.
Then he wiped away tears with a handkerchief.
What led him to this makeshift shelter? Why, at 80, is he spending his last years here, without family?
"My wife, my two sons, my daughter and I were going from Sinaloa to Nayarit by bus," said Chavez, in a strained voice. "We were going to work in the
fields. We got to a bus station and got off. They told me, 'We'll be right back.' After a while, I realized they weren't coming back."
As he spoke, Jesus Mondragon, a Tijuana-based Pentecostal pastor, tenderly squeezed Chavez's left shoulder. Three years ago, Chavez - who suffers from
partial paralysis of his right hand - was the first of more than 50 homeless seniors Mondragon has rescued and brought here, to El Refugio ("The
Refuge"), the nonprofit shelter he built. Each week, Mondragon, a 53-year-old known as "Pastor Chuy" to his flock at four churches, scours Tijuana's
streets and hills in a donated van for homeless seniors, offering shelter.
Like Chavez, many residents tell similar stories of familial neglect.
"They're getting old, and their families don't want them," lamented Mondragon. "I don't like to think about what their relatives have done. I focus on
the people suffering."
FAMILIES CRUMBLING
The suffering has forced Mexican authorities to confront an ugly truth: The extended family structure - a cultural pillar - is crumbling.
"Most of the cases are economic hardship," said Marta Galvan, a Tijuana social worker at the federal agency, INAPAM (the National Institute for Older
Adults).
"It's more common in the border cities and in large cities like Mexico City where there is transmigration. Families are living hand-to-mouth and can't
take care of their elderly relatives." Galvan, who said she gets several calls a day about elder abandonment or abuse, added that the senior
population has swelled, leaving younger relatives and agencies unequipped to help them. In Tijuana, a city of about 1.2 million, there are just 13
residential facilities for the elderly, with a total of 300 beds, Galvan said.
Less than 20 percent of Baja California's 260,000 seniors have pensions with medical benefits, according to a report in Mexicali's daily newspaper, La
Cronica. Most of those pensions, La Cronica reported, are worth less than $5 a day. Tijuana authorities praise Mondragon's efforts.
"What he does is a huge help," Galvan said. "He'll make space even if there is none."
RETURNING KINDNESS
Mondragon, who stands a notch below 5 feet and often wears a cowboy hat and caramel brown work boots, makes space because in his younger years,
someone did for him.
In 1971, Mondragon ventured alone to Tijuana, from his native state of Michoacan, searching for his mother, Angelina. Two years earlier, she came to
Tijuana to work in a tortilleria to help support their family. She had sent money home, using a post office box as a return address, but no word on
her well-being. Mondragon arrived with only a change of clothes in a paper bag. For three weeks, he spent his days searching and nights sleeping in
ditches. He ate from trash cans and asked strangers for water. One day, a woman spotted him and offered him refuge. Three months later, Mondragon's
mother found him.
So years later when Mondragon spotted Chavez eating from the garbage in that Sinaloa bus depot three years ago, Mondragon was overwhelmed.
"I had a flashback," Mondragon said. "I heard the voice of God telling me, 'If you can't take care of him, I'll find someone else who will.' "
It wasn't the first time Mondragon said he heard that voice. He said he first heard it soon after being reunited with his mother, through a sermon
given in Tijuana by a Pentecostal pastor from the United States.
"Are you tired of living the way you've lived?" the pastor said. "Do you wonder why you're living at all?"
Mondragon was so moved, he later joined Iglesia Bethesda, where the pastor ministered. There, he met Kristin Daring, a missionary from upstate New
York, whom he married in 1974. Daring died of breast cancer in 1986, just as Mondragon was completing Logoi seminary school in Tijuana.
Today, two of their daughters, Cristina Mondragon and Debbie Rivera - who live in San Diego - spend weekends volunteering at El Refugio.
"His heart goes out to people with no place to live," said Cristina Mondragon, a 28-year-old who works for the San Diego chapter of the United Way.
"You can see the love for other people in his face."
With volunteers, the pastor built his refuge 21 miles southwest of downtown Tijuana, on a parcel of land the city government donated. The shelter - a
collection of small, rectangular, cement buildings adjoined by smaller wooden ones - survives on donations and sales of homemade tamales in Tijuana
neighborhoods and at a Ventura County church. Members of the four Tijuana churches Mondragon ministers to volunteer there. Occasionally the
International Red Cross and Tijuana authorities deliver elderly homeless people to him.
El Refugio's residents - many of whom use wheelchairs or walkers - spend their days idling in a courtyard or on benches outside their rooms, without
entertainment or recreation. Although the bathrooms are clean, flies are everywhere. Some residents have mental and physical illnesses, ranging from
dementia to tuberculosis. Over the last 2 1/2 years, Mondragon said, 10 residents have died at El Refugio. Mondragon said he always finds a way to
give them decent burials.
The pastor's wish list includes essentials such as milk, cereal, cooking oil, propane, drinking water and medicine. And most importantly, doctors.
MANY ABANDONED
Many of El Refugio's residents will go to their graves recounting bitter tales of abandonment.
Andrs Cardel, 76, said his sons threw him out of their house in Colonia Libertad and beat him with stones to keep him away. "They didn't want me
because I can't walk," said Cardel, who sat on a chair, with his walker nearby. "I think they just want to get a house I have in Guadalajara."
Sara Serrano, 82, was brought two years ago to El Refugio by a young woman who, Mondragon said, claimed to be her neighbor. But, Mondragon said, he
discovered she is really Serrano's daughter-in-law.
"They didn't love me," said Serrano, of her daughter-in-law and son, as her blue-gray eyes teared up. "That's why I'm here. She was jealous because my
son was taking care of me. She told him to make a choice."
The choice the pastor offers to homeless seniors - shelter - sounds easy to accept. Still, some decline it.
"Some of the men are afraid I might be from a drug-and-alcohol rehabilitation center, where they think they'll be put behind bars," Mondragon said.
"Others say they like the street and just want to die there."
Mondragon often combs Colonia Gabilondo and Zona Norte, near the San Ysidro border crossing. On a recent afternoon, at a bus shelter on Calle Benito
Juarez, Mondragon approached a woman wearing a worn wool coat, dirty, frayed dress and tattered sneakers. Gently, he issued Teresa Diaz his
invitation. But the 78-year-old said, "no gracias."
So Mondragon did what he always does when someone says no. He asked her if he could pray for her. He placed her right hand between his hands, bowed,
then tightly shut his eyes and solemnly prayed aloud. If their families won't come for them, he asks for divine help.
"God," Mondragon said, "I just hope they know that people care about them and know that You love them."
Neal Johns - 12-5-2003 at 02:28 PM
I've been wondering what to do with Marian! 
The elderly
Phil S - 12-6-2003 at 08:06 AM
A most touching story. Sometimes it is hard to focus on the "not so obvious" when you aren't "exposed" to it. Thanks for "posting" it. Salvation
Army stores in the States are known to donate walkers, cans, crutches and wheel chairs when you tell them you would be taking them to Missions, etc in
Baja. I've been doing this for about ten years now. (also includes clothing) I deliver to the Padre at the Loreto Mission, knowing they will be
dispursed to those who are the most needy.
It's too bad there's no address as to where one can donate the needed items or $$.
Stephanie Jackter - 12-6-2003 at 08:03 PM
I'd be glad to send a check. Sounds like a super worthwhile cause. - Stephanie