MATAMOROS, MEXICO — Carmen Amaya and her husband, Pablo Chavez, lean against the chain-link fence that surrounds the migrant tent camp, speaking to each other in hushed tones. It’s February 2021, and they’ve come to the edge of the multi-acre lot in Matamoros, Mexico, to talk about their future, out of earshot of the four kids with whom they share a single tarp shelter. Amaya looks past the fence, toward a garbage-littered bank that slopes down into the Rio Grande. The blue-green water flows easily onward, providing white noise that quiets the clamor of the camp. “Un año y dos meses,” Amaya says through a face mask. One year and two months. That’s how long the family has lived in this makeshift community, a former city park now filled with corridors of temporary homes, where hundreds — sometimes more than 3,000 — asylum-seekers have waited for a chance to enter the United States. Directly north, the Gateway International Bridge stretches over the river, carried by enormous white pillars, and touches down in Brownsville, Texas, in sight but out of reach.