I lived along the violent Mexican border as a young girl. One day, I got a phone call from a guy I was dating, who called to tell me that he couldn’t make our date on Saturday. When I asked where he was, he simply said, “Away.” A few days later I found out he was in prison. A few months later he was killed.
In the 90’s, this story was very common in Tijuana, Baja California, Mexico, where I grew up. In a matter of two years maybe less, my hometown went from being a peaceful community to a violent city, where blood on the street was as common as a taco shop.