I remember escaping dad's hunting trips a few miles north of the border and walking across that border to wander around the land on the other side, in Mexico. It was a different time then, and some of those border cities once so familiar to me are hardly recognisable in the wake of the cartel's influence. But one thing hasn’t changed: the spirit of the human beings who would give their lives for the chance to be able to cross back over for an opportunity to provide a better life and future for their kids. I remember seeing the faces of those on the southern side of the line, as I would freely cross back. Their fate seemed to be sealed behind a fence — one that I had the blind luck of being able to cross due to the accidental geography of my birth.