Volunteers try to bring some cheer to Central Americans with traditional food and gifts but fear and anxiety haunt the holiday

“For us Christmas means tamales,” said Orbelina Orellana, mixing a cauldron of ingredients with a large wooden ladle.

In the background, punta music, from Honduras’s northern coast, played from a cellphone lying next to a pile of banana leaves that would later be used to wrap the traditional corn dish. “It’s more than food: it’s family, it’s home, it’s love, it’s us.”

Orellana is one of the thousands of Central Americans who arrived in Tijuana, just south of US border with the US state of California, in November. She came with the caravan of migrants and refugees who are spending their Christmas thousands of miles from home, in limbo, many of whom are unsure if or when they will ever make it into the US.

In preparation for 24 December, when Latin America celebrates Christmas, Orellana and three other women made 2,000 Honduran tamales in an empty dirt-floor lot with cinderblock walls, just around the corner from the old outdoor concert venue that is housing more than 1,200 caravan members.

“We wanted our new caravan family to be able to have our traditions. But being here is hard. I know my son and two daughters are sad right now. I keep reminding myself I’m here for their future,” Orellana, 26, says as she stirs, remembering her children back in Honduras. “They’re all pretty reserved kids, but on Christmas, they love to dance. I’ll miss that.”

Facebook Twitter Pinterest Migrants, part of a caravan of thousands from Central America trying to reach the United States, celebrate Christmas, at a temporary shelter in Tijuana, Mexico, on 24 December. Photograph: Mohammed Salem/Reuters

Throughout Tijuana, volunteers and organizations from around the city and across the border have also been doing their best to inspire holiday spirits.

In front of the camp on Saturday, 25 cooks organized by chef Armando Rodiel were preparing Christmas paella for the migrants over wood stoves – a feat that required 1,600 pounds of chicken and pork, 800 pounds of rice, 400 pounds of olive oil, three weeks of planning and one specially ordered seven-foot-wide paella pan.

Inside the camp, older men crouched around small shin-high tables playing cards and listening to reggaeton while younger men played soccer using a donated goal.

Carols at Tornillo: protesters sing for children held in Trump's tent city Read more

The previous day, church groups from San Diego came to perform a mass for families and prayed over a group of men who lined up between the tents that have become their homes. A meal of egg strata and roasted carrots prepared by chef José Andrés’s organization, World Central Kitchen, was served before mariachis performed. A small group of barbers and pedicurists from Berkeley, California, came down to offer grooming before the big day.

Across town, at another shelter housing some 400 members of the caravan, Migrant Vision, a group led by Haitians who themselves arrived in the city two years ago, doled out plates of eggs, rice and beans followed by bags of donated clothes and toys for children. Men with Santa hats crowded around a charging station with their phones as volunteers sang Christmas carols behind them and a group of smiling boys from Honduras played with their new firetrucks.

Facebook Twitter Pinterest Honduran migrants eat inside an empty warehouse that opened its doors to migrants in downtown Tijuana, Mexico, on 24 December. Photograph: Daniel Ochoa de Olza/AP

Despite the sheen of holiday cheer, the season’s nostalgia seems to have increased the already palpable undercurrent of disheartenment, disappointment, boredom and anxiety felt by some of the migrants still in the shelters, many of whom did not think they would still be in Tijuana after leaving Central America in mid-October. For several, it is their first Christmas away from loved ones.

“We normally have 20 family members over for Christmas and an open door for friends. I make 300 tamales,” said María Reyes, 40, who traveled alone with her four daughters and granddaughter from San Pedro Sula, Honduras, and is waiting to apply for asylum in the US. “I say I’m fine, because what choice do I have … I really thought I’d be in the US by now. I don’t know what happens next.”

Meanwhile, the gears of the immigration process keep grinding. The first of the caravan to arrive in Tijuana, mostly members of the LGBT community, have started to cross into the US and ask for asylum. A group of trans women was the first to enter last week. While a handful have been released, at least 30 remain in detention in Pearsall, Texas, and in Cibola county, New Mexico, according to lawyers who say they have not been able to contact the women.

On Saturday Erick Dubón and Pedro Nehemías de León, one of eight LGBT couples to marry in Tijuana last month waited to cross the border and were resigned to spending Christmas detained. “I’m so nervous, I couldn’t sleep last night,” Erick said as he bit down on his nearly gone thumbnail. “I – we’ve – been through so much, but what if I can’t communicate my story in the right way?”

Facebook Twitter Pinterest A man climbs up a section of a US-Mexico border wall in Tijuana, Mexico, on Christmas Eve. Photograph: Daniel Ochoa de Olza/AP

His phone rings. It’s his mom calling to say gang members had beaten his brother and threatened to kill him. Erick said nothing for two minutes, just biting his nails. “Should I try and print photos so they believe me? I can’t even right now,” he huffed taking a seat on the curb.

The plan the Trump administration announced last Thursday to make asylum seekers remain in Mexico while their asylum claims are processed in the US has not yet started in Tijuana. City officials say they do not know when or how the plan will be implemented.

“I don’t know when it’s starting. All I know is what’s in the news. I’m worried,” said César Palencia, head of migrant affairs in the city. “Tijuana isn’t prepared for this. There isn’t shelter space. There’s no money allocated for it. The government is adventuring without really understanding the reality of what it has accepted.”

On Christmas Eve, Luis García, a 33-year-old construction worker from southern Honduras unwrapped his second tamal. “Yeah, I heard about that plan for us to stay here,” he said. “I don’t really understand, but a group of us – five – have decided to cross the fence tonight.”