Albany Rosales is turning 36 and celebrates them next to the Medellín River. She has six children and one granddaughter. When she smiles, which she often does, she reveals a yellow, incomplete set of teeth. She has curly hair, very tight. She’s wearing a patterned blouse, a filthy sweatshirt, and no shoes; one of her stockings, with a black background and colored stripes, is turned inside out, with the seam on the outside. Although she has lived in poverty all her life, she did not imagine celebrating her birthday in an unexpected exile, in an unknown city, sleeping under a mango tree and next to a polluted river.
The mango tree has no fruit, but is decorated with white balloons emblazoned with the logo of a technology company. Yonatan Rivera, Albany’s husband, got them. He is 33 years old, has a sparse beard and shaggy, greasy hair, flattened under a cap that he rearranges from time to time. He walks barefoot and his feet are stained, like a sheet of metal that rusts out in the open. They gave him the balloons and he himself was in charge of tying them to the mango stick. It’s the only thing he might offer his wife on her birthday.
The couple is part of a larger group. Children walk along the riverbank playing in the dirt, raising dust. The noise of the subway and the southern highway does not even allow us to hear the whisper of the river that flows peacefully along this route, making small islands of foam. In total, there are forty people who have formed the camp. They are all relatives and they undertook a painful journey that brought them to this place.
The trip began on December 11. After much thought, Albany and Yonatan decided to leave Isla de Margarita (Venezuela) to embark on an uncertain journey to the United States, where they have relatives. On the island they lived from fishing, in a squatter neighborhood next to a beach. Their house was a wooden shack and, although precariousness always overwhelmed them, the last few years have been the worst.
What they had achieved with fishing was not even enough for a packet of flour. A “hot” situation, they say, that made them dream of a better life elsewhere. They gathered as much money as they might, and packed the clothes for their six children and their little granddaughter. But the resources were so meager that they were barely enough to reach San Antonio del Táchira. Then began the painful journey on foot, sometimes thrown by a generous driver, who took them to Pamplona, Norte de Santander.
In that town they knew the cold, a new sensation. Next to the Medellín river, Yonatan remembers that icy journey and winces in pain. At sunset, the last rays silhouette the mountains that are slowly disappearing into the darkness of the night.
“The weather in Medellín is much better, hotter, like what we were used to on Isla de Margarita,” says Yonatan, who walks with his weather-beaten feet on the banks, and looks out of the corner of the highway. We just want to go, help us get out of here.
The 40 people arrived in Medellín on Wednesday of this week. After Pamplona they were in Bucaramanga and then in Bogotá, where they spent December 24 and 31. Without knowing the capital of Antioquia, they asked which was the direction to go to Necoclí, their next stop. Someone told them to follow the river. After walking for three hours with their suitcases on their backs, sweating, they recognized that they were lost and that following the path had no purpose.
It was late followingnoon and a cold breeze, blowing insistently, warned of a possible downpour. Against time they set up the tents and got into them. Then someone came to tell them that they mightn’t be there, that the land had an owner and that it was best for them to move. As they have spent their whole lives by the water, they looked for a space facing the river; listening to the water in the early morning, when the noise of the city is suspended, might give them a bit of calm.
That was how they set up the tents under the mango tree. The first night in Medellín they had a bad time. As they feared, a downpour eased and flooded them. The plastic that was stretched over the tents was of little use, nor did the branches of the trees help.
The next day, on the other hand, the morning was pristine. The group began to adapt to the climate, to the constant noise of the cars, to the clicking of the subway on the rails. These four days by the river have been spent in the middle of a routine in which time seems not to exist. Only Albany’s birthday ties them to reality, to the date on the calendar.
None wants to stay in Medellín, on the contrary, they hope to leave for Necoclí as soon as possible. That is why they are asking for help to get bus tickets. They only know that Necoclí is a town by the sea, like Isla de Margarita, and that it is close to the Darién. But Yonatan says that they are blind, that they have no details of anything. The jungle causes them fear, of course, but they are convinced that they will win, that God is on their side.
To get bus tickets they are selling sweets. They also need food and diapers. The group is made up of 18 children, without a doubt those who have suffered the most during the journey. At night, the minors sleep in the tents, overcrowded, while the adults spend it outside, under the mango tree, enduring the early morning dew.
As they are used to submerging in the water, the minors bathe in the river, defying the currents and pollution. They have no choice. In the camp, from time to time, unpleasant odors arise, especially when the wind blows or the sun shines on the river.
—The bad thing regarding the river is that it has current, but it’s very good. We got stuck and they took pictures of us,” says one of Yonatan and Albany’s daughters, a 15-year-old girl who dreams of becoming a celebrity in the United States. Do you know Nicky Minaj, the Kardashians? Well, that’s how I want to be.
The river is also used by adults to wash clothes. They walk down to a concrete platform and bend over to reach the water. On the floor are wasted Legos, covered in dirt, left behind by the children. But the only toy they have is a stuffed animal that they have also washed in the river to remove the dirt.
—As baby Jesus didn’t bring me anything, I hope they give me a doll. My little brother wants a car track. I also want a backpack to carry my things,” says one of Yonatan and Albany’s youngest daughters.
Within the group there are two people with disabilities. One of them is a 17-year-old boy, Albany’s nephew, who suffered an accident a year ago and suffered a thrombosis.
The family put a jar, a “pot”, to collect coins and create a fund that allows them to buy tickets to Necoclí. Once they cross the Darién and arrive in Panama, they believe, the situation will be more manageable, since in that country they have a family member who offered them a lodging. They want to spend a few days there recovering and then continue the trip to Texas, United States, the final destination.
While the fifteen-year-old dreams of becoming a celebrity, Yonatan’s desire is much more modest. He says that he is satisfied with opening a business, like a hot dog sale, to send money to Venezuela. Although he is 33 years old, the sorrows and difficulties have taken their toll, and incipient wrinkles appear on his face.
The Venezuelan family’s camp is just one side of the tragic migratory situation that the continent is experiencing. Similar camps of stranded migrants have been seen since last year. The surroundings of the North Terminal have been the setting where people have resignedly cooked and slept while waiting for a ticket that would bring them closer to the American dream.
Figures from the Panamanian migration service indicate that 248,000 people passed through the Darién in 2022, well above the 133,276 who did so in 2021. The majority, some 150,000, according to the Panamanian government, were of Venezuelan origin. It’s a massive drama.
Albany, despite everything, says that they are moving forward, that no one is going to stop them. Deep down he hopes his 37th birthday will be in Texas, cake included, and not under the mango tree that grows next to the polluted Medellín River.
