Mojado Lyrics in English by Ricardo Arjona, Intocable
Mojado literally translates to "wet", but it has a much deeper meaning in this context. It's a colloquial term for an undocumented immigrant, often one who has crossed a river to enter a new country.
In this powerful song, Ricardo Arjona reclaims the word to tell a story of struggle and nostalgia. He plays on its double meaning, singing that the person is 'mojado por las lágrimas que bota' (wet from the tears he sheds), creating a moving portrait of the human side of immigration.
Guatemalan singer-songwriter Ricardo Arjona joins forces with Tejano/norteño group Intocable to follow someone crossing the border with almost nothing in their bag: "un par de camisas, un sombrero... seis consejos, siete fotos, mil recuerdos" (a couple of shirts, a hat... six pieces of advice, seven photos, a thousand memories). The traveler puts on a brave face with "una mueca disfrazada de sonrisa" (a grimace disguised as a smile), prays to a cross on a shelf, and pushes through the border. Arjona reclaims the derogatory slur mojado (literally "wet," referencing the border crossing across the river) and spins it around. He points out that this migrant is actually wet from crying: "El mojado está mojado por las lágrimas que bota la nostalgia" (The wetback is wet from the tears shed by homesickness).
What hits hardest is the identity limbo. The lyrics call out the absurdity of paperwork: "Y no es de aquí porque su nombre no aparece en los archivos, ni es de allá porque se fue" (He is not from here because his name is not in the archives, nor is he from there because he left). Even while staring at a massive US highway, he can only picture the dirt path back home: "De ver un 'freeway' y soñar con la vereda que conduce hasta tu casa" (Seeing a freeway and dreaming of the path that leads to your house). Arjona pulls off a clever comparison when he looks up at the sky, asking why the moon gets to slide across rooftops without asking anyone for permission, while a human has to prove with visas that they are not from Neptune. His final argument goes straight to faith, saying that life itself is the only passport that should matter: "el cónsul de los cielos ya te dio permiso" (the consul of the heavens already gave you permission).
