Central Valley homeless need water, too
Just a few miles from where Valley politicians held a “Take Back Our Water” rally, about 50 people have made an encampment inside a 12-foot-wide, dried-out ditch. There is no running water in this shantytown off Highway 33. People buy bottled water for drinking and many use the nearby irrigation canal for bathing and laundry.
Many of the men who live in this collection of shacks made from strips of wood, tarps and salvaged goods spend their days working in agricultural fields. But many others say jobs are hard to come by because of the drought. Less water means fewer crops to harvest.
“There’s about nine, 10 people here without work because there is no water. And they’re people who are hard workers, you know, but it’s just that right now, work is really slow,” said one man who gave only his first name, Abel.
Abel sat near the entrance of a shack while another camp resident, Juan Iglesias, prepared a meal of rice and meat and tomatoes, his skillets burning hot over a wood fire grill, the same grill they use to keep warm. He handed out cases of bottled water that he said had been left left by a man who drove his white truck to the entrance of the camp.
It mattered little to Abel, Igleslias and others that nearby, politicians were gathered this day to urge Gov. Jerry Brown to call a special legislative session to provide relief to farmers coping with the drought. The Oct. 2 rally was led by Assembly members Jim Patterson, R-Fresno, and Devon Mathis, R-Visalia, Fresno County Supervisor Brian Pachec, and Mendota Mayor Robert Silva.
There’s about nine, 10 people without work living here because there is no water. And they’re people who are hard workers, you know, but it’s just that right now, work is really slow.
Homeless encampment resident “Abel” about the 50-or-more people living in shacks outside Mendota
The encampment, about 100 yards long, is made up of about 20 wooden shacks, some brightened by small gardens that residents have planted, some adorned with religious icons. It can be seen from the nearby highway that runs between Mendota and Firebaugh.
Many of the shacks have support posts dug into the ground; some rooftops have plastic overhead with old bicycle tires sitting above to secure it from blowing away. Nearby is the irrigation canal, and along the embankment is a broken shopping cart holding a pan and utensils. There also is a red-and-white sign that states the property is owned by the Westlands Water District.
Abel has lived in the encampment for five years. He said the day before this Oct. 2 visit, his disability checks had ended.
He said he’s skilled in farm labor machinery and has tried to find work with one of the several field contractors who regularly visit the encampment to pick up workers, but he’s often rejected once they find out he’s received disability checks.
I’ve talked to some of those people, and some of those people are former druggies or are druggies right now. And they don’t want to come in to town. They want to be left alone. We tried, and we know they’re getting food. So we’ve done what we could. If they were in our city, we’d do a lot more, but we can’t.
Mendota mayor Robert Silva on the homeless encampment that sprung up just over five years ago outside his city’s limits
“The contractors come every morning. The people already know them,” he said, “and they come and pick them up over there (near the irrigation canal).”
There are women living in the encampment, but the majority of the workers leaving each morning in the trucks and vans are men. According to Abel, the older men usually are not chosen for the work.
Without any running water in the encampment, Abel said they resort to buying bottled water in Mendota.
“For five gallons, it comes out about $1.50, $2, but if you buy a gallon, it could cost more like $2.50,” he said.
María Louisa Daniels comes from Sonora, México. She first arrived in the United States in 1992 and settled in Firebaugh.
Daniels said she moved to the camp earlier this year after the home she rented in Firebaugh was demolished.
“I work in Mendota, but not a lot. There’s a lot of people here, and they’re trying to get us out,” she said.
Daniels opened the door of her shack, which like many here is secured with a heavy chain and padlock, to reveal a dirt-floor room with a bed and a couple of bicycles. The bikes are crucial for transportation to nearby Mendota.
“These are my dogs. This one is pregnant,” she said, pointing to a scruffy, pregnant poodle and a light-brown terrier nearby.
“I keep my place clean right here, but some of the other places, they’re all dirty. They do a lot of things right in the places, and then they use the canal for everything.”
I keep my place clean right here, but some of the other places, they’re all dirty. They do a lot of things right in the places, and then they use the canal for everything.”
María Louisa Daniels about living in the homeless encampment between Mendota and Firebaugh
Earlier in the day, the dignitaries and politicians at the rally focused on the need for more water. They called for construction of water storage facilities, stressing the importance of water issues over the spending on high-speed rail.
Fresno City Council member Clint Olivier said that before the rally, he had visited the encampment and spoken with a woman named María.
“She doesn’t make enough money to live, so she lives in a cardboard shack. She also knits, but knitting little napkins and working two hours a day doesn’t pay the bills. I asked her ‘Why are you here, why is this happening?’ and she said, ‘Sin agua, no hay trabajo. Sin agua, no hay vida,’ ” meaning without water there is no work; without water, there is no life.
“Folks, these are our neighbors,” Olivier shouted at the rally.
Silva, the mayor, said the camp is not in city limits but the community has been working with food banks and charities to help camp dwellers. Churches and water agencies have aided residents in the encampment, he said.
“But you know what? I’ve talked to some of those people, and some of those people are former druggies or are druggies right now. And they don’t want to come in to town,” Silva said. “They want to be left alone. We tried, and we know they’re getting food. So we’ve done what we could. If they were in our city, we’d do a lot more, but we can’t.”
This story was originally published November 12, 2015 at 8:09 PM with the headline "Central Valley homeless need water, too."