Hopes, Fears, and Illusions: Colombia field notes

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By Laura Velez Colorado & Andrew Fitzgerald

We arrived in Necoclí, Colombia on June 14th. Although it is not a border town with Panama, this municipality has become a very important point along the migrant journey as it is where migrants must take a boat to Acandí or Capurganá, in the municipality of Chocó, in order to begin their route through the Darién Gap.

We were met by Orleides, iMMAP's local representative in the area, who provided context about the current situation of the migrants. She noted that one of the main problems has been the lack of cooperation from the local government, making the intervention by humanitarian organizations more complicated.

We spent the week meeting with representatives from UNICEF, the local government, and other NGOs. These meetings were necessary not only to get to know the other organizations, but also to keep us safe. I have not felt unsafe at any time, but I have felt very observed. We were instructed to always wear our iMMAP vests because the staff of other international organizations need to know who we are, but so do the leaders of armed groups. Every person with a vest must know who you are, but especially the leaders of armed groups must know you. There is a network that controls every movement here, even though it is not visible.

After a few days of learning about the local context, we conducted an interview with a woman from Venezuela, who was willing to talk with us only because she had been accompanied by Orleides; otherwise, she said she would not have felt comfortable. She had been living on the beach in Necoclí for nearly three months, trying to save money— usually $400—to pay for the journey across the Darién Gap. Migrants must pay twice the price a Colombian pays for the boat ride and an additional $320 for a "package" that will get them across the jungle.

On an average day, between 800 to 1,200 migrants and tourists cross the Gulf of Urabá to reach the Darién Gap. The crossing takes place up and down the Gulf, including from other towns such as the port city of Turbo. While the crossings are regulated by the government, traffickers continue to operate illegal routes.

By Laura Velez Colorado and Andrew Fitzgerald 

During our second and third weeks, we visited the rural village of Zapata, conducted interviews in Turbo, the province’s main port and economic engine, discussed our findings with co-principal investigators Dr. Katrina Burgess and Dr. Kimberly Howe, who were visiting Necoclí, and traveled to Riohacha, on Colombia’s border with Venezuela. 

Overall, our visits to Zapata and Riohacha contrasted with our experiences in Necoclí. Because of Necoclí’s position as the main point of departure for migrants wanting to cross the Darien Gap, the migrants here are rarely interested in staying in Colombia. Many of them have already spent years living in Colombia or other Latin American countries. Our respondents in Necoclí  all want to leave and are fully committed to the idea of traveling to the United States, regardless of the security risks and their economic circumstances. 

Visiting Zapata and Riohacha allowed us to observe the other side of migration in Colombia: those who had Colombia as their destination or found a bit of security that made them stay here instead of going further. They no longer saw it solely as a transit place but as somewhere they could create a future. Three Venezuelan women who have been living in Zapata for three years mentioned to us that they arrived here through a relative or a friend of a relative who provided them with enough information and assistance upon their arrival. 

This is closely related to our finding in the interviews that migrants have more trust in information when there is someone who has gone through the same process and promises them some form of security. They are willing to take the risk of following the same path that person took, despite the fact that circumstances change constantly. 

During our second week, the number of migrants leaving on boats decreased considerably. One of the reasons is that there was a holiday on Monday, and Necoclí is a tourist destination for Colombians. As a result, the restaurants and bars located on the beach impose more restrictions to prevent migrants from settling in. The time they are allowed to set up their tents is shorter and access to sanitary facilities is more limited. This also means three days without access to the community kitchen provided by the local humanitarian organizations. 

As we spend more time in this place and conduct more interviews, we hear more about the horrors that inhabit the jungle. This includes the inherent dangers of nature itself, such as the presence of dangerous animals, unpredictable rising rivers, slippery terrains, and a humid tropical forest that experiences heavy rainfall during certain seasons. Added to this are the various criminal organizations that profit from this situation, including indigenous communities. Furthermore, it becomes clear that the more money one pays for "the package," the less dangerous the journey is perceived to be. The Venezuelan population is among those leaving in the most vulnerable conditions, while other nationalities have the economic ability to pay more and take a shorter or safer route. 

"It's 50/50: 50 is reaching the goal, and the other 50 is ending up dead." - 38, Male, Venezuela

 "The idea of going to the United States was present, strong. But with what happened recently with the migrants who were kidnapped in Mexico, and many, many relatives have told me they haven't appeared...that holds me back because it's not just me, I'm not going to put my children at risk, and my mother is not in a healthy condition to migrate once again." - 37, Female, Riohacha

By Laura Velez Colorado & Andrew Fitzgerald

Andrew traveled an hour and a half by boat to Capurganá, one of two towns across the Gulf of Urabá where migrants disembark before crossing the Darien, to learn more about the journey beyond Necoclí. In our interviews, we were told that once in Capurganá, all migrants are taken to a shelter where they are not allowed to leave. Only the Red Cross has access to the shelter.   After arriving in Capurganá, Andrew noticed a lot of Chinese, South Asian, and Middle Eastern migrants walking around this tourist town of about 1,500 people. The Chinese migrants were staying in luxury hotels and seemed far more relaxed than in Necoclí. There were no apparent police or migration officials in Capurganá, which could explain their lack of concern.   For the Venezuelan migrants, the situation seemed much more tense. They largely stayed indoors, partly due to their lack of funds but also, according to one of the Venezuelan migrants, because the local population does not want them walking around. Almost all the Venezuelans in our interview have described instances of discrimination. Andrew noticed that the groups would set out after sunset, usually in small boats that would take them further up the coast, with the darkness allowing them to avoid Colombian and Panamanian patrol boats.  

Back in Necoclí, we saw a significant increase in the migratory flow. Speaking to humanitarian workers, local authorities, vendors, and migrants, we found no consensus about why. Some credited (unconfirmed) rumors of a new migration policy in the United States that allows immediate access to people with children and pregnant women. Others claimed that the flow is increasing because more buses are leaving from Medellin to Necoclí, providing migrants with easier access to transportation. 

On the beach, the Venezuelan population remains predominant, but we have observed an increase in Peruvians and Ecuadorians. It seems that the economic, political, and social situation in these two countries is deteriorating, with higher rates of violence and displacement. However, it is still challenging to conduct interviews with individuals from these nationalities since they are more reserved and unwilling to share information. Also prevalent this week was a large group of Vietnamese migrants, who shared their arduous journey from Vietnam to Malaysia, then the Philippines, Dubai, Brazil, Peru, Ecuador, and Colombia.  Often fleeing insecurity, many migrants experience more of it on their journeys.  Andrew interviewed a 35-year-old Vietnamese migrant who said he had been robbed numerous times and kept hundred-dollar bills stitched into his clothes. Laura interviewed an Ecuadorian woman who had also been robbed of the little money she had in Turbo. She, like most migrants, was surprised by the prices they must pay to take a boat to Capurganá, then enter a camp controlled by a murky local group (some say they are leaders from Necoclí, while others say it's the Clan del Golfo), and finally enter the Darien jungle. She was shocked to learn that she had to cross the jungle regardless of the price. Not only did she lack the money to pay for even the cheapest package, but she was unwilling to put her two daughters at risk by passing through the jungle. She decided to go back to Ecuador, save more money, and find a safer way to travel. This week, the migrants faced another unpreventable challenge - the weather. Heavy rain soaked their clothes and belongings and damaged their tents, forcing them to seek shelter in various restaurants. Now that we have been here for awhile, we can see the toll that weeks of constant exposure to extreme temperatures and continuous contact with the sea and sand has taken on the physical and mental health of the migrants. We see children with allergies all over their bodies, sunburn, pus in their heads, lice, diarrhea, vomiting, and other health issues. Moreover, there was a public holiday on Thursday, which meant that migrants went three days (Thursday, Saturday, and Sunday) without access to the healthcare usually provided by the Red Cross, resulting in a backlog of people with respiratory and gastrointestinal illnesses. 

"My dream ends here, I had a dream, but they shattered it here." – Female, 41, Ecuador "You have to sleep with one eye closed and the other open." – Male, 29, Venezuela

By Laura Velez Colorado & Andrew Fitzgerald

Our last week was undoubtedly the rainiest since we arrived, making interviews extremely difficult, as migrants were busy gathering their belongings, keeping an eye out to prevent theft, and searching for shelter. It's also harder for them to cook their food due to the difficulty of making fires, and, as mentioned by a Red Cross worker, respiratory illnesses are increasing dramatically.  Conditions were so deplorable that humanitarian organizations offered some families the opportunity to stay in a hostel for a week. We also noticed that many migrants who were earning money by selling products needed by migrants and tourists, such as cell phone protective bags, garbage bags, and water bottles, were now working in the center of Necoclí instead of on the beach. In combination with the bad weather, these changes resulted in fewer people on the dock or at the beach.

We left Necoclí with unanswered questions about the future of these migration flows and how the local government and humanitarian entities will respond. A Red Cross paramedic told us that a shelter was scheduled to open on the first of August to create a more controlled situation and to prevent migrants from panhandling in town, similar to what happens in Panama. The shelter would allow migrants to camp with a roof over their heads, but the details are still unclear. Who will provide food and ensure security, and will migrants be required to pay? The Red Cross worker noted that everything is very confusing, and that the humanitarian organizations lack information and fear what might happen. 

"The only thing stopping us is this sea." – Male, 27, Venezuela