Part 2 - Altar, Sonora

Sacha Feinman, for the Pulitzer Center. Photo by David Rochkind

Marcos Burruel is so in love with the scent of beer that he will sometimes wash his hands in it. He breaks into a smile whenever he tells people this, gently shaking his silver head of hair. Once a quality control supervisor at the Tecate beer factory in Baja, Mexico, it was Marcos' job to smell each batch of the freshly brewed product in order to make sure that nothing was off. He currently works with the local church, running Altar's only shelter for migrants. One profession would seem to have little to do with the other... Though Marcos went and found the common link.

Marcos opens the shelter every night at 5 p.m., allowing all who show up through the front gate. He tries to give help to anyone who needs it, handing out fresh clothes and medical supplies, letting people take a quick shower and feeding them a home cooked meal. Those looking to stay the night, however, must first make it pass his discerning nose.

"There are many different types of people who come through here," he explains. "There are the very good, the good, the normal, the bad, and the very bad. My job is to determine who is who, and to protect the people who need my help."

For an otherwise homeless migrant, the shelter is an essential refuge, a place to recover from the brutal desert journey. As it's chief administrator, one of Marcos' most important duties is to determine those most in need.

To that end, a migrant's first stop upon arrival at the shelter is a wobbly plastic chair in front of Marcos' desk. Save a crucified Jesus hanging from the far wall, the room is absent of decoration. In very quick succession, Marcos asks his guest a series of questions. Name, age, marital status and hometown are all registered before delving a bit deeper.

Did you already try to cross? Yes? And the Border Patrol caught you and shipped you back... How many people were in your group? What was the cost of your guide? And the narcos, how steep was the tax, how much did you have to pay them before you were allowed to leave Altar? What about the chauffeur who drove you up to the border, how much did he charge?

Marcos knows the answers to each of these questions before he asks them. How his guest responds, however, allows Marcos to differentiate between a migrant in need of help and a lying stranger, someone who has come to the shelter with an ulterior motive.

One day, David and I watched as Marcos interrogated everyone hoping to stay the night. First was a man who went by the name "Orlando" and who didn't conform to the migrant stereotype. Sporting a gold tooth and an expensive looking watch on his left wrist, he answered every question confidently, though was told he could only stay for dinner. After he left the room, Marcos looked at us.

"He's a coyote, here looking for customers," he said. "I try never to turn away anyone who asks me for food, but he definitely will not spend the night."

Next up was Jose Lorenzo Calderon. Born in the state of Hidalgo, he claimed to have been caught and deported by Border Patrol that very day.

"And how much was the tax you had to pay the narcos?"

Calderon was confused. "What tax?," he asked.

"The narcos, the mafia... no one gets in those vans if they don't first pay the tax. How much did you have to pay them."

Calderon looked at his feet, and after a pause, responded.

"500 pesos," he answered cautiously, as much a question as it was a statement.

Marcos shook his head, sure that a real migrant who had recently crossed would know that the tax is much higher. "You'll have to leave after dinner," he said.

Antonio Pasos followed, and he definitely looked the part. An older man carrying a beat up backpack, he had a weeks worth of stubble and walked into the room with a pronounced limp. The question and answer session seemed to be going well, until Marcos paused, leaning forward slightly.

"And how many beers did you drink today?," he finally asked.

Pasos was clearly startled. "None," he replied.

"With respect, I know you've been drinking today. How many beers?"

"I haven't had anything to drink," Pasos reiterated.

"Listen. It's a rule. You can't have alcohol in your body and stay here. I have an incredible sense of smell. It's a gift, and I thank God for it every day. I can smell beer on your breath. I know you've been drinking. Just tell me; how much have you had to drink today."

Pasos relented. "Two beers," he said, "I've had two beers today."

"Well then," answered Marcos, "I'm sorry, but you can't stay the night."

Of the six men he who had come by, only one was given permission to actually sleep at the shelter.

"We don't have so many resources; we have to be selective who we help," Marcos would later explain. "I have to protect those who need protection, and I have to offer help only to those who are truly migrants. Those are the people this shelter is meant for. It's not too difficult to spot a real migrant. He will come here with his backpack, he'll be dirty and he will have trouble walking, all because of the desert. And he'll tell you that all he wants is to go home, that he doesn't want anything more to do with the U.S."