A Tijuana Garden
“Orina, orina” a man says as he brings his dog to piss on the plants in the pothole. I pay a man $5.00 to not steal the plant. A grandmother loans me her watering pot. An electrician offers a glass of water.

Tijuana is a horizon of both the future and the past. It has an expanding periphery, multiple centers, and uncertainty. It contains a precarious mixture of politics and madness that resemble a nightmare let loose in the space of the everyday. Adorning the streets are potholes, open wounds that mark the failure of man’s Promethean Project to tame nature, and somehow surviving in the margins are abandoned buildings, entropic monuments celebrating a hyper-realistic vision of a modernist utopia linked to capitalist expansion gone awry.

“Could this be our Tijuana?”

This was my Tijuana...or at least this is how I came to know the city. I spent a summer planting gardens in potholes around Tijuana. This helped me get to know the city, taking me to parts that are rarely visited by visitors.
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