The African and Haitian refugees that came to Tijuana, who are currently waiting to be granted asylum in the U.S., ran away from their own countries' persecution and political instability, leaving behind friends, family and the home they had always known. They spend their days glued to the phone while they talk to their loved ones, telling stories of their journey towards the American Dream, thinking about the food and culture that they'll probably never see again. The road has been a tortuous one, but they are not backing down.

Last month, almost a thousand people came into Tijuana from all over the world, looking for a better life over the American border. They mostly hail from Haiti, Senegal and Congo.

Some have already managed to get an asylum interview with the border authorities, while the rest are waiting indefinitely in shelters and public spaces; there are not enough roofs for all of them.

Photo: Daniel Esparza / SanDiegoRed.com

Places such as the popular Salessiano Padre Chava Soup Kitchen, located in the city's downtown area, have offered the refugees food and shelter. Curiously, Haitian refugees "don't like chilaquiles", says Margarita Nonaegui, the soup kitchen's coordinator. Their palates keep them in a perpetual state of nostalgia.

Nonaegui says that the Haitian natives rejected the food, so they were asked, "What do you eat?" They answered "bread, beans and rice, no tortillas". Nothing sweet, either, everything salted. The soup kitchen, then, had to twist their menu around for a bit so as not to waste food. Bread, meat and vegetables is what now fills every table in the facility.

How do they spend their time?

Photo: Daniel Esparza / SanDiegoRed.com

They are all males, ages 25 to 35. Women and children end up being sent to another shelter, the Madre Assunta Institue, elsewhere in Tijuana. Some of the men play dominoes. Others try to communicate with their families by phone. In the back of the building, there are soccer and basketball courts, and a piñata and pottery workshop.

At Madre Assunta's, women spend their time with their kids, mostly chatting with one another, and are usually found talking to the press, despite almost none of them being able to speak Spanish. Those who happen to be fluent become the perfect prey for local reporters, with whom they disinterestedly talk for a bit, unsure of what tomorrow will bring.

A young girl at Madre Assunta Institute. Foto: Daniel Esparza / SanDiegoRed.com

We were lucky enough to run into a young Pakistani man, whose name this Spanish-speaking reporter could barely pronounce. He's a 26 year old chef who has traveled through 15 different countries in two years. He speaks a perfect Spanish. For six days now, the Salessiano soup kitchen has been home for him.

With a cigarette as a catalyst for conversation, we talked about his dream of becoming a famous American chef. He expressed his appreciation for all the help people had given him so far, the food, the roof over his head, everything he had been given by these Christian and Catholic organizations, despite his being Muslim.

He excused himself, but not before telling us he had enjoyed every meal he'd eaten in Tijuana.

- Do you like chilaquiles?

- I love chilaquiles.

We scheduled an interview the next day, because he couldn't stay and chat anymore. He had things to do.

We asked for him the next morning, and the staff there told us that he had left much earlier than we had arrived. Why? He and two others had been accepted into the United States, and border authorities had come to pick him up.

Shelters and soup kitchens in Tijuana have a million stories and dreams inside of them. Tijuana, the face that not everybody sees, is not only a crossroads for many people, but the last step into a new life beyond the northern wall. And the long reach of this city's arm is always ready to help those in need, even if it is just of one last push.

Stay connected to San Diego Red through Facebook and Twitter.

oscar.montoya@sandiegored.com