Driving up to a farm involved in Canada's Seasonal Agricultural Worker Program, it isn't hard to fi nd the bunkhouse where the Mexicans live. Bikes lean against the wall and noisy conversation spills out from the windows. The kitchen is a hive of activity with men milling about stoves as they prepare supper or the next day's lunch. Chili peppers boiling on the stove burn the back of my throat and sting my eyes. They smile as I struggle to speak.

Living conditions vary a great deal. Some are barrack settings where beds are separated by sheets hanging from clotheslines strung from wall to wall. Others are well-maintained bunkhouses with fi rst-rate cooking and washing facilities.

A huge plasma TV hangs on the wall in this particular bunkhouse, and a Mexican soap opera is the focus of attention. Sometimes the workers turn down the volume; on other occasions the volume provides constant competition. As I gather with some of the workers, they tell me how long they've been coming to Canada. They go around the room.

"I've worked in Canada for 23 years at four different farmas."

"I've been coming here for 12 years."

"This is my eighth season."

They point to the new guy: "This is Benito's fi rst year."

Benito nods politely. He tells me he comes from Chiapas, near the Guatemalan border.

His accent immediately alerts me to the fact that he is of Mayan descent. His Spanish is broken and there is a communication barrier with the other Mexicans — to say nothing of the Canadian farmer. We swap common words in different languages, but the similarity in vocabulary is limited to a few basic words. What do we share is an understanding of life in the Highlands of Mesoamerica.

What brings them to Canada?

As rural communities come into contact with a globalized reality and conveniences such as mobile phones and television, the desire for a better life stretches the family budget to the point where they just can't make ends meet. Youth want education for better jobs and education costs money. Before, the land would be tilled by hand or by oxen; now, people want tractors. Before, people would walk; now, new roads offer bus service, but that costs money. Before, weeding was done with a hoe; now people want the ease of spraying. Traditional economies no longer function.

I think back to what happened in Guatemala when, in 2002, Vietnam entered the world coffee market as a major player. World coffee prices suddenly plunged and local growers found themselves struggling. They, in turn, passed on their losses to the pickers, who found themselves working long hours for a couple of dollars a day.

Historically, the school system was set up to allow for families to pick coffee together during November and December. Large families ensured a reasonable picking for a day's work as everyone's hands contributed to filling the hundred-pound sacks. However, new legislation condemned this as "child labour" and families were no longer permitted to work together. As a result, it was no longer feasible to pick coffee.

In recent years, a mould has begun to plague the coffee plantations as global warming brings about both more extreme weather conditions as well as higher temperatures. A number of farmers I know are simply giving up and looking at other possibilities. The farm hands are the ones who bear the brunt of the economic woes.

The domino effect was soon noticeable: many families are no longer able to afford schooling for their children, and teenage sons or young husbands join undocumented migrants in search of a better life in the north. Families often put their homes up for collateral to pay coyotes to guide their sons or spouses to the States. The coyotes agree to three attempts. If the investment doesn't pay off, the coyotes come to take the house, with chilling indifference to the plight of the poor family. More often than not it means desperate poverty for the wife who finds herself fending for a number of children all by herself. The monthly remesas — payments migrant workers send back to their families — with accompanying dreams of a better life, never materialize. Sometimes sons simply disappear.

Global markets and foreign policies have affected local agricultural practices in other ways as well. Until recently, families could survive on the corn they produced on small plots of rented land. However, with the push for bio-fuels in the United States and Europe, international companies look to Mesoamerica as a place where climatic conditions favour corn, sugar cane and date palm harvests.

Suddenly, farmers who have rented land for generations fi nd themselves without arable soil as multi-national corporations take over land traditionally used for subsistence farming. The old adage "Give them a fish and they'll eat for a day; teach them how to fish and they'll eat for a lifetime" falls flat. There is an additional condition that needs to be met: "Who decides who gets the rights to the fi shing pond?"

Unemployment and lack of access to land forces men to look for work in the north. Migration by undocumented workers leads to nightmares as well as numerous abuses. Human trafficking and modern day slavery is a horrific reality, as a number of people in Mexico City who deal with trafficking recently shared with me.

For others, particularly those who have been deported from the United States, Latin American gangs provide not only a sense of belonging but an income. Extortion, kidnapping and violence is a way of life for those who have nowhere to go, no marketable skills and no land to till. Violence in places such as Central America and Mexico continues to escalate. The drive to survive fuels the dreams of a better life elsewhere for victims and their families.

Given the challenges in Mesoamerica as well as the dangers and anxiety incurred in trying to reach the States or Canada as undocumented workers, the Seasonal Agricultural Worker Program, begun in 1996, is a wonderful opportunity for those who have no recourse but to find work elsewhere. Most men are extremely grateful for the opportunity. About 18,000 workers from Mexico, Central America and the Caribbean come to Canada each year. Most farmers are happy with the arrangement as it is increasingly difficult to find Canadians who are willing to put in the long hours required to harvest apples or vegetables or work on tree nurseries. It comes at a high personal cost for those in the program, however. Here are some of their concerns:

1. Family separation. In all my discussions with migrant workers, anxiety and depression over being apart from their families is the theme that looms large. Some men are away from their families for as long as eight months of the year. The discouragement they experience can lead to alcohol abuse, and some resort to prostitutes or vulnerable female workers if transportation is available to them. While some farmers facilitate a two-week break to allow the men to visit their families, this option is not available to everyone.

2. The struggle to be a good father. Many migrant workers have issues of self-worth as they try to provide for their children's education but miss out on direct involvement in their kids' lives, formation of character, etc. Staying in Mexico severely limits the possibility for their children to pursue higher education — the only way out the cycle of poverty for many. But the stories of children who would much rather have their fathers home rip your heart out.

3. Not understanding the boss' instructions. The language barrier is a major stressor. In an effort to please and to avoid being rejected the following year, Mexicans will often pretend they understand — even though they don't. Employees with previous experience usually help; the challenge comes when everyone is new. Communication issues are not limited to language either. Shaking hands and inquiring about one's health or one's family is usual in the Mexican culture. When this doesn't happen, the workers are concerned they are doing something wrong.

4. The language barrier outside of the workplace. One woman shared with me how she met a discouraged Mexican outside a Tim Horton's. As she was a Spanish speaker, she asked him what was wrong. He confided that he didn't know how to ask for sugar or cream and so was forced to drink bitter, black coffee. He felt humiliated because he was unable to communicate such a simple request. English-as-asecond- language classes help, yet some farm owners admit that they prefer their workers not learn English: "It makes them cocky and they start thinking about rights. We don't hire back the ones who start speaking too much English," one woman told me.

5. Interpersonal conflict among the workers themselves. The challenge of working together, eating together, sharing kitchen, laundry and washroom facilities with the same people 24/7 places incredible stress on workers. In some bunkhouses, Mexicans with seniority will charge other workers a weekly fee for the use of the microwave, fridge, etc. without the farmer's knowledge. Even though the workers are primarily Mexican, there are cultural differences. Discrimination among different groups is evident.

6. Farm owners who are less than co-operative. Mexicans are not always sure of their rights and often feel that the consul sides with farmers, so they prefer not to complain about living or working conditions. On one occasion, I spoke to a farmer on behalf of a worker whose request to see a doctor went unanswered for two weeks. The farmer became very agitated and didn't renew the worker's permit the following year. Other farmers will accompany their workers to the hospital in the middle of the night and demonstrate genuine care and concern. But one farmer told me in no uncertain terms: "As a pastor, you should be concerned about their souls. Period. Don't worry about their other areas of life." This kind of dualism is neither helpful nor Biblical.

7. Inflexible work hours. Again, some farmers are very conscientious and understanding while others insist that "they have come here to work. They want to work." Some men work 12 to 15 hours daily. As agricultural workers, they don't see overtime pay. And upon returning to their living quarters, they still need to cook and do laundry. On the other hand, some men complain when they aren't given a full day's work once the peak season is over. They work half a day and then struggle with boredom. Depending on the farm's location, some men have nowhere to go and nothing to do after work: their lives move between the farm and a weekly shopping trip.

8. Lack of benefits. Some of the men have worked in Canada for over 20 years. They pay taxes and pay into the employment insurance and Canada pension plans just like any other worker. Yet the amount they receive as a pension is minimal. As the group Justice 4 Migrant Workers notes: "They are prohibited from collective bargaining or joining unions. There is inadequate representation in policy making and contract disputes."

9. Racist and discriminatory behaviour from Canadians. On one occasion, some youths stopped the car they were riding in and beat a Mexican with bat just outside of Waterdown, Ont. Given the history of policing in Mexico, the worker decided not to say anything. It wasn't until a Canadian social worker became aware of the pain the worker endured and the worker was assured the protection of the law that the police were called. The migrant explained that he was afraid he would be sent back to Mexico "for causing trouble."

10. Fitting in upon returning home. Some men find that they are ostracized by their own communities when they return to Mexico and are forced to live off whatever money they sent home during the time they worked in Canada. Even though they might be in Mexico for four to six months, locals won't hire them because they have a job in Canada the rest of the year.

To add to the already bleak picture, there are those like José who work in Canada to pay medical costs for their sick children. When his son took a sudden turn for the worse, Jose's wife called him frantically. Although his boss worked quickly and made sure he got on the next flight to Mexico, his son died just a few hours before he arrived at the hospital. His sorrow is inconceivable.

Or there is Luis. Luis's house was flattened by hurricane force winds that ravaged the Mexican coast. His wife managed to send him a text message just as the storm hit. After that, there was silence. The farmer called me and I stayed with Luis for the next week. Every day I checked to see if there was word from the family. We would pray together, and I would try to calm him. Anxiety was etched on his face. Finally, a few days later, his face beamed as I drove up. He had received word that his family was well, though their house had been destroyed. He would need to rebuild the house with money he had earned working in Canada for years.

And then there's Benito, whom I met again a year after our first encounter when he was a raw newcomer. He told me about his homecoming. "I thought I'd buy my wife a pair of jeans," he tells me. "She was shocked! Mayan women don't wear jeans, but I like jeans on women. There was no way she would put them on," he says sheepishly.

"My kids didn't like what I bought them either. I guess next time, I'll just bring the money home and let my wife buy what she likes. It's hard. I walk into Walmart and I see all kinds of neat things to buy for my family, but they don't care for it; it's too foreign for them."

"Besides, I really could use some help to manage my money," he admits. "I buy way too much on impulse."

The more often Benito comes to Canada, the wider the gulf will grow between Canada and Mexico. Life becomes more complicated. There are evident benefits as he provides a better opportunity for his children's education. Nevertheless, Western culture will slowly displace a Mayan way of life. Given the choice between struggling with poverty and isolation or an absentee husband and father, many Mexicans shrug their shoulders and resign themselves to the fact that it is simply the price one needs to pay to give their family a better future. But I can't help but ask if this is truly the best option.

In a "perfect world" there would be no need to migrate for labour purposes. However, we don't live in a perfect world. Sometimes it is hard to imagine how economic events on the other side of the world can cause such havoc thousands of kilometres away. Economic and social policies that benefit one country can be devastating for other countries.

Given that places such as Canada have been built by immigrants, perhaps it's time to consider allowing migrant Mexicans to bring their families to Canada. No doubt that would cause other problems, and their wages would hardly be enough to support a family here. Nevertheless, it is surely time to ask ourselves what it means to love our neighbours as ourselves? What does the Kingdom of God look like with "boots on the ground" on a Canadian farm? No doubt the solution would need to take into account more than economics.

The bottom line might not be simply the bottom line. There are lives, and families, and communities involved. They each have names and faces. The answer might not be easy, but the discussion needs to happen with Mexicans as conversation partners at the same table we sit at.