Today, they have come in their thousands, as they have done, every day, for as long as anyone can remember, swelling the numbers of those who inhabit the permanent slum cities that have grown up alongside the heavily guarded border crossing. They are poor and forced to make the journey on foot, though a fortunate few arrive in the relative comfort of ancient ground vehicles, long abandoned by their former owners, some of whom who have made it across the border. Some even arrive on worn out public transportation, though there is precious little of that since the trade embargo on Calamexia was introduced by Farmira more than a decade ago.
How can we begin to describe the atmosphere here? There exists both pessimism and optimism. Pessimism that they will live out their lives in crushing poverty, like their parents before them, and their grandparents before them, or die climbing the border's electrified fences, or drown attempting to cross the fast running Diogranda river. Then again, there is optimism that, for some reason or other, they will be permitted to legally enter Famira. A land, which everyone knows, and the advertising boasts, has streets paved with high-grade runomium (platinum); where every person has a well paid job, or is training to get one; where accommodation is luxurious, plentiful and cheap; and where shops are filled with tables groaning under the weight of fresh, ripe, produce. Every Calamexian there has a late-model ground vehicle, purchased with nothing down, nothing to pay till 'oh-seven', and only one point nine percent interest. Alternatively, you can pay three point nine percent, and get a manufacturer's rebate of up to fifteen percent, but only while stocks last. Almost every Calamexian alive can quote the figures from memory, and can hum the jingles for soap powder, facial scrubs, feminine hygiene products with wings - "do they fly away afterwards?", one bemused individual asked me - and endless adverts for high-calorie, take-away meals. Unaware and/or indifferent to the suffering this tantalizing glimpse of Farmira's self-indulgent - some would say decadent - lifestyle causes the average Calamexian, Farmira's broadcast stations transmit their entertainment, interspersed with frequent advertising, several hundred or more miles across the border, for no other reason than they have no need to limit the power they consume with their transmitters. Farmira can afford to waste energy, because, quite simply, being the 'only game in town', they have recently signed a deal with Aviatoar for supplies of fuel ore at a knock down price. How long this situation will continue is unclear. Farmira has many enemies. Several of the other fuel ore rich states in the region - in particular, Eeria and Kancha - have threatened an export embargo against Farmira, because of Farmira's unconditional support for the Tohira (Click to read our report about the Hama/Tohira conflict). The Tohira have recently been heavily criticized after making incursions, once more, into Hama occupied territory on the pretext of routing out terrorist groups.
The Famiran government cannot be ignorant of the temptation all of this publicity places in the way of the Calamexian people. Is it propaganda? Are they trying to show the rest of the world that their style of government, their financial system, their free, supply and demand, marketplace, are superior to those of the other countries on the planet, Kado? Certainly, many of the world's economies are basket cases - including that of Calamexia. Although in that case, Farmira must carry some of the burden of responsibility. The trade embargo was introduced by Farmira as a protest at the election of a Calamexia president who embraced a political doctrine that was anathema to the Farmirans - being, in their eyes at least, a throw-back to the bad old ways of the cold war years between Farmira and Aviatoar. The two former enemies are best friends now, of course, while Calamexia is one of only three countries that still espouse the old centralized, and frequently corrupt, "command and control" style of government.
As a Farmiran, or an off-world visitor, it is very easy to cross into Calamexia. Most come for the experience. Many come in search of cheap alcohol, and hot, spicy food. A few may even admit to coming here for the even hotter, spicier - and more importantly, cheap - females. Whatever your reason, 'mass transportation' will bring you all the way to the border. You must then walk the final few hundred yards. On the Farmiran side, there are watchtowers and low flying surveillance craft. The blue uniforms of the Farmiran border patrol are everywhere. They are heavily armed and serious minded individuals. Try to pass the time of day with them, or maybe even tell them a joke, and they grimace, twitch, and fiddle with their sidearms.
We chose the Calamexian border town of Tikana, situated on Farmira's west coast. We dismounted from the brightly colored transport and entered a tunnel, which spiraled upwards through two complete turns before it disgorged us once more into the bright morning sunshine. We squeezed through the turnstile gates and found ourselves in uptown Tikana.
Everywhere, there are examples of Calamexia's decrepit and failing infrastructure. Ground vehicles puff and wheeze their way along the pot-holed thoroughfares. Taxis, with dented panels and cracked windshields, line the streets, waiting for customers who may never come. Shopkeepers call to passers-by, desperate to complete the first sale of the day. It's a firmly held belief that an early morning sale presages a profitable day. For this reason, they are aggressive, sometimes frightening, in their dealings with visitors. We found the whole experience troubling. We found ourselves feeling as if countless eyes were upon us, looking us over, checking to see if we carried anything of value that might be easily disposed of. It is an awful thing to feel so intimidated by the desperation of these people, that one is capable of suspecting every one of them of being a common thief. These are a proud, hard working people, brought low by a seemingly endless series of corrupt governments, living next to the wealthiest country on the planet, and being fed a daily diet of advertising selling a make-believe, fairytale existence, available just a few hundred yards away.
We were there for only an hour. It was about all we could handle. On the way back through the border, we were saddened to see signs offering a substantial reward to any Calamexian prepared to turn in a countryman he knew had forged documents, or anyone who might be thinking of attempting to enter Farmira illegally, or helping others to do so.
Some will make it across the border, and be allowed to remain - Farmira has an amnesty every seven years at which 'illegals' can come forward and be granted permission to remain. This isn't generosity on Farmira's part: it is pure self-interest. After all, a poorly educated and desperate individual, who has no documentation and no visa, will work for very low wages, in jobs most Farmirans would not be prepared to entertain. Farmira is a price sensitive economy. People hate to pay the going rate for anything and competition is fierce. An underpaid and 'unregistered' underclass is a vital ingredient of such an economy, and in Calamexia, Farmira has an almost limitless supply of such labor on ready supply.
