Maurilio Salcido takes off his hat to press as close as possible to the wall dividing Mexico and the United States, setting eyes on his son for the first time in 15 years.
Salcido, 80, has dressed up in his Sunday best for the visit, even though he and his son can only see each other's silhouettes through the tight metal mesh that forms the wall in Friendship Park, along the border between Tijuana and San Diego.
Walls, barbed wire or other barriers currently divide Mexico and the United States along one-third of their 3,145-kilometer (nearly 2,000-mile) border.
If Donald Trump is elected president of the United States, that could expand to the entire border.
Trump, who is due to be confirmed as the Republican party's presidential candidate next week, kicked off his campaign in June 2015 vowing to build a wall to keep out Mexicans.
His tirades against Mexican immigrants -- whom he described that day as drug dealers, criminals and rapists -- and his promised border wall have since become constant rallying cries on the campaign trail, as the bombastic billionaire has surged from long-shot outsider to presumptive nominee.
"It's going to be a big, fat, beautiful wall," Trump shouted recently to cheering supporters in California, repeating his vow to force Mexico to pay for the barrier.
The border has changed markedly since Salcido worked in the United States as a "bracero," or migrant farm worker, in the 1950s, when there were no walls between the two neighbors.
The slight, deeply tanned retiree said he was just happy to have seen his son for the first time since the latter left for "the other side."
Salcido and his daughter, grandson and daughter-in-law took a bus 2,000 kilometers from their home state of Durango to this strip of beach at the western end of the border, where dozens of Mexican families reunite each weekend across a translucent wall, closely watched by the US Border Patrol.
"Now we're going home happy," he said.
- Rush for papers -
The Border Patrol lets Mexican immigrants speak with their families across the wall in Friendship Park every Saturday and Sunday morning, no papers required.
It is the only portion of the border where such an arrangement exists.
Olga Soto, who was at the wall to see her son, said she feared what a Trump presidency could bring.
Soto lived in San Diego as an undocumented migrant for years, leaving her 15-year-old son David behind when she returned home in 2012 to care for a sick relative.
If Trump wins the November election, "the only hope will be for my son to get his papers, so he can live wherever he wants," said Soto, 36, holding her cell phone up to the wall so David could speak to his three younger sisters in Mexico.
Farther along the wall, whose columns are decorated with hearts, US flags and graffiti calling for "empathy," Carmen Rosete burst into tears as she reunited with her daughter Liz and met her two grandchildren for the first time.
"I wish I could hug them, I wish I could hold them in my arms. But I can't," sobbed Rosete, 59.
Liz said she feared that even these agonizing visits could be taken away if Trump wins.
"I just thank God we have this," she said.
The United States first began building this wall in 1994, expanding it gradually over the years.
- Risking lives -
On the Tijuana side, the rusting metal bears dozens of wooden crosses with the names of migrants who have died trying to reach their American dream.
At least one migrant dies every day trying to reach the United States, according to activists.
Lorena Tablas, 35, has tried to cross the border six times in the past 10 years.
One time, a "coyote," or trafficker, made her climb a ladder over a stretch of border wall, then tied a long cloth around her and told her to rappel down the other side in under five minutes.
"I got stuck on some bars and got nervous because there are a lot of patrols there," she said at the deportation center in Tijuana, where she vowed to keep trying until she manages to reach New Jersey, where her four children live.
The US has 21,000 Border Patrol agents equipped with sensors and drones, but has not managed to stop the tide of migrants.
Instead, Mexicans and Central Americans fleeing violence and poverty take ever more dangerous routes.
Most of those who die succumb to dehydration in the desert. But the wall has also claimed lives.
A month ago, the Border Patrol in Nogales, Arizona found the body of a Mexican woman who had apparently fallen more than six meters (20 feet) from a border fence, breaking her neck.
Trump's faith in the dissuasive power of a wall is "naive," said Rodulfo Figueroa of Mexico's National Migration Institute.
"The fundamental problem is -- how do we create prosperity in the (migrants') countries of origin," he said.
The new US ambassador to Mexico, Roberta Jacobson, was blunter still: "We don't think that (Trump's wall) is something feasible," she said.
Maurilio Salcido takes off his hat to press as close as possible to the wall dividing Mexico and the United States, setting eyes on his son for the first time in 15 years.
Salcido, 80, has dressed up in his Sunday best for the visit, even though he and his son can only see each other’s silhouettes through the tight metal mesh that forms the wall in Friendship Park, along the border between Tijuana and San Diego.
Walls, barbed wire or other barriers currently divide Mexico and the United States along one-third of their 3,145-kilometer (nearly 2,000-mile) border.
If Donald Trump is elected president of the United States, that could expand to the entire border.
Trump, who is due to be confirmed as the Republican party’s presidential candidate next week, kicked off his campaign in June 2015 vowing to build a wall to keep out Mexicans.
His tirades against Mexican immigrants — whom he described that day as drug dealers, criminals and rapists — and his promised border wall have since become constant rallying cries on the campaign trail, as the bombastic billionaire has surged from long-shot outsider to presumptive nominee.
“It’s going to be a big, fat, beautiful wall,” Trump shouted recently to cheering supporters in California, repeating his vow to force Mexico to pay for the barrier.
The border has changed markedly since Salcido worked in the United States as a “bracero,” or migrant farm worker, in the 1950s, when there were no walls between the two neighbors.
The slight, deeply tanned retiree said he was just happy to have seen his son for the first time since the latter left for “the other side.”
Salcido and his daughter, grandson and daughter-in-law took a bus 2,000 kilometers from their home state of Durango to this strip of beach at the western end of the border, where dozens of Mexican families reunite each weekend across a translucent wall, closely watched by the US Border Patrol.
“Now we’re going home happy,” he said.
– Rush for papers –
The Border Patrol lets Mexican immigrants speak with their families across the wall in Friendship Park every Saturday and Sunday morning, no papers required.
It is the only portion of the border where such an arrangement exists.
Olga Soto, who was at the wall to see her son, said she feared what a Trump presidency could bring.
Soto lived in San Diego as an undocumented migrant for years, leaving her 15-year-old son David behind when she returned home in 2012 to care for a sick relative.
If Trump wins the November election, “the only hope will be for my son to get his papers, so he can live wherever he wants,” said Soto, 36, holding her cell phone up to the wall so David could speak to his three younger sisters in Mexico.
Farther along the wall, whose columns are decorated with hearts, US flags and graffiti calling for “empathy,” Carmen Rosete burst into tears as she reunited with her daughter Liz and met her two grandchildren for the first time.
“I wish I could hug them, I wish I could hold them in my arms. But I can’t,” sobbed Rosete, 59.
Liz said she feared that even these agonizing visits could be taken away if Trump wins.
“I just thank God we have this,” she said.
The United States first began building this wall in 1994, expanding it gradually over the years.
– Risking lives –
On the Tijuana side, the rusting metal bears dozens of wooden crosses with the names of migrants who have died trying to reach their American dream.
At least one migrant dies every day trying to reach the United States, according to activists.
Lorena Tablas, 35, has tried to cross the border six times in the past 10 years.
One time, a “coyote,” or trafficker, made her climb a ladder over a stretch of border wall, then tied a long cloth around her and told her to rappel down the other side in under five minutes.
“I got stuck on some bars and got nervous because there are a lot of patrols there,” she said at the deportation center in Tijuana, where she vowed to keep trying until she manages to reach New Jersey, where her four children live.
The US has 21,000 Border Patrol agents equipped with sensors and drones, but has not managed to stop the tide of migrants.
Instead, Mexicans and Central Americans fleeing violence and poverty take ever more dangerous routes.
Most of those who die succumb to dehydration in the desert. But the wall has also claimed lives.
A month ago, the Border Patrol in Nogales, Arizona found the body of a Mexican woman who had apparently fallen more than six meters (20 feet) from a border fence, breaking her neck.
Trump’s faith in the dissuasive power of a wall is “naive,” said Rodulfo Figueroa of Mexico’s National Migration Institute.
“The fundamental problem is — how do we create prosperity in the (migrants’) countries of origin,” he said.
The new US ambassador to Mexico, Roberta Jacobson, was blunter still: “We don’t think that (Trump’s wall) is something feasible,” she said.
