Donald Trump's migratory policies, imposed through commercial bullying, have turned Mexico into a third safe country sans the title. Under these new rules, every person that applies for asylum in the US will have to wait in Mexican territory until the migratory courts decide their case. This can take years to happen.

Cities like Juárez were not ready to welcome such a large number of migrants. Nevertheless, communities do help them. In just a couple of months, with almost no resources and very little help from the federal government, the local civil society opened dozens of shelters overnight. These shelters are surpassed by a migratory policy designed by Stephen Miller, whose sole goal is to please a small number of conservative voters. These policies were created without data analysis, any kind of institutional design, or better practices; they have no humanitarian perspective.

Félix picks me up on a Sunday at half-past five in the evening. My Airbnb lodgings are in one of Juárez's oldest neighborhoods. Félix is taking me to some migrant shelters and will take pictures of our experiences there.

On Monday morning Trump's office announced a new rule that will limit the number of work permits for immigrants. Ken Cuccinelli, acting director of the US Citizenship and Immigration Services, said that they want migrants to be self-sufficient and with no need for American public programs. These new migratory measures could be used to reject half of the residency applications to the US. 

 Just a few days ago the Mexican Federal Government opened its first migrant shelter in Ciudad Juárez. The rest of the shelters are run by civil organizations, most of which are religious. The only federal shelter, an out-of-use factory, can hold up to 3,500 migrants. By what we can see and what we have been told, about 50 people are living there at the moment.

El Buen Pastor, a shelter in the neighborhood of Zapata, is close by. "We reopened the shelter on September 2017, but by November 2018 a lot of people from Cuba arrived. They had never been here", Pastor Juan Fierro García tells me. He is the director of El Buen Pastor, where over a hundred migrants wait their turn to go to court.

"In just a few days we had over 60 Cuban immigrants. I went to a training workshop in Mexico City and told the sister left in charge that we could not take in any more people. We even put signs on the door. But when I came back she told me she just couldn't refuse them. We were up to 90 residents. I couldn't say no either, and soon enough we had 160 residents".

The cleric tells me the migrants were sent over by the National Institute of Immigration and the Secretariat of Social Development. "At one point there were 260 people. There wasn't any more room, there was no space between the mattresses".

Now they only accept 130 residents at a time. However, other groups have opened shelters as well so the situation is much better. "At the moment we have 115 residents. Just last Sunday we received 20 people". They are opening a new wing of the shelter across the street in which they plan to lodge more families. For the time being, they have a male and a female dormitory, and in their religious temple, they house families with children.

Fierro is certain that there are two different migrant flows. One is the never-ending queue of people waiting their turn in court, while the other is made of people that cross the river and then turn themselves to the Border Patrol. "American lawyers cross over to counsel people, some others explain the situation they're in and then offer them their services", Fierro explains. "There is a group called DIA. They see who might qualify for asylum and then counsel them".

According to the pastor, immigration activists lobbied the government into giving work permits to migrants that return from the US. They also pushed for medical insurance and other benefits.

"They didn't consider most migrants come with their families, their children. Who will take care of the children when they're out working? For many migrants, it is an issue. We can't look after them while they work. The government has childcare services but there isn't enough space for Mexican people, to begin with, there's a waiting list".

The Pan de Vida shelter, managed by pastor Ismael Martínez, is some miles away from El Buen Pastor. This shelter consists of a property with 10 small huts, this is in Anapra, a small village that used to be outside of Ciudad Juárez but that has now been swallowed by the urban sprawl.

Before we get there we go by the Border Wall, point 357. That is where binational mass services and artist and activist demonstrations take place. The huge rusty bars are over 60 feet high and run through hundreds of miles from where we stand, getting lost in the hills.

LPO MéxicoHernán Sarquis

"There used to be a crossing here. They used to pull the mesh to let freight trucks through", Felix tells us. "George W. Bush put on that fence."

We get in the car to go to the next hill. We are on a road parallel to the border. On the way we see a National Guard Hummer truck and I take some pictures as we cross it. "They're being quite calm because they have orders to not open fire or do much of anything", Félix says with a smile on his face. "It's too bad they're coming down. It would have made a better picture to see them up there".

From the top of the hill can see Juárez and El Paso. On the other side of the border, we can see New Mexico's Sunland Park suburb.

"When the violence first began the Army responded differently. A lot of people disappeared", Félix says. I ask him why did he stay in Juárez. "I don't know, my daughter went to high school in El Paso. Where was I supposed to go?"

Almost 400 thousand people left Juárez on the first years of the war on drugs led by ex president Felipe Calderón. "People are supposedly coming back and things are much better now". About 25% of the property in Juárez has been abandoned.

Félix tells me that the confrontations are now between small gangs that cook meth locally. There are underground labs around the city, which the cartels target to get rid of the competition and to "protect" their consumers.

"People that do meth die very quickly, they don't hold up", Félix explains. "The narcos say the labs are killing their customers".

Pan de Vida seems more comfortable but we don't get to talk to the pastor in charge and ask about the shelter's financial situation. Just like in El Beun Pastor, migrant families come from Guatemala, Honduras or El Salvador.

"Our appointment is on December 4. We don't know if they'll let us through, nothing is certain", Umberto tells me. He came from Guatemala with his partner and two children. "We came to Juárez, to the unknown, on a bus. We went to America and turned ourselves in to Immigration, then they sent us back here".

Umberto says the American authorities mistreated them. "And to think the Border Patrol is made of Latinos. They don't even think about the children."

Yezenia, Umberto's partner, tells me they were held for five days in frozen quarters. "They treated us like criminals like we killed someone. They said they'd call our families in the U.S. but it was a lie. After five days they sent us back to Juárez. There's a lot of discrimination", she says. "There are four of us. My two kids, and the two of us".

LPO MéxicoHernán Sarquis

On a dirt road back to Juárez, I ask Félix why some civilian vehicles have an orange light on the roof. "They're citizen band radio", he explains. "The police never goes to Anapra so people volunteer and patrol the area. If they see something odd they call the police".

Pastor Fierro complains that López Obrador's administration did not take into consideration the needs of immigrants and refugees before accepting Trump's terms.

"No-one asked them if they wanted to wait in Mexico. Many of them are confused about what's happening to them. What the U.S. is doing is against the law, and sending them here to Mexico will get decided on the courts".

Last June the 9th Circuit Court of Appeals said this policy did not go against the law and rebutted the ruling of a smaller court. This issue could go as far as the Supreme Court, but for now, the policy will take effect.

"I think Mexico is doing what they can, but we are not looking out for the migrants and asylum seekers' best interest", Fierro says. "Mexico is handling an unexpected situation as best as possible. We want to help the migrants as much as we can and offer them the best opportunities available while they wait".

Back in Juárez we stop near the International Bridge, a border crossing point. The Rio Grande runs parallel to the road. "This is where people cross the river to get to the other side", Félix tells me. We walk there as the sun begins to set and I see there is another car parked nearby. A man is leaning against an iron fence and looking at the river. A camera hangs around his neck. What's up? How you been? The two photojournalists laugh out loud. "I've been here all day waiting to see if anyone crosses the river", the man says.

"You used to be able to come here and see many families crossing. You could see hundreds of people every day", Félix says.

"Now you're lucky if you get one or two a day", the other photojournalist says.

"You have to wait a lot to see anything. Remember when people still crossed that I told you to enjoy it while it lasts?" The two men lean on the iron fence and look at the river as the sun turns a bright orange shade. They are waiting for someone to cross, but tonight no one goes inside the Rio Bravo.