Darién’s cap: this is the passage of death that migrants go through – Investigation – Justice

“Death is also an option for freedom.” This was the response of Oneida Alonso, a Cuban octogenarian migrant, when asked why she risked her life, before starting the journey between Capurganá, Colombia, and Baix Chiquito, Panama, known as the ‘passage of death’.(This text is part of the book ‘Migrants from another World’, directed by María Teresa Ronderos)

It takes seven days for a pregnant mother, an elderly person or a child who is only a few months old to be born. at a cost of about $ 2,000, Travel these 67 miles; dodging steep hills, where you have to make a stop every 200 meters to catch your breath, in a territory in constant struggle of illegal armed groups for control of drug and arms trafficking routes. As one villager said, “For this jungle, there are points that neither the Army of Colombia nor Panama dare to walk.”

(Read more: Colombia’s transit of migrants to the United States skyrocketed)

Residents who see migrants passing through this region tell tremendous stories of corpses huddled against rocks on a beach; of a woman who died suddenly in the middle of the road; of a girl raped by assailants and even of a mother who was thrown into the abyss when she realized that the baby she was carrying in her arms was no longer alive.

“The last time I walked this path,” says Monsignor Hugo Torres, bishop of the Diocese, “we came across three skulls. We gave them a Christian burial and we prayed for their souls. Only we could do that.” Torres argues that this route should be declared a cemetery.

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A panga captain, interviewed by Necoclí, reveals his prejudices: “One does not know what diseases (migrants) carry. Some may be carriers of the Ebola virus.” He then adds that people usually pay to travel quietly, “not to be with migrants.”

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At the end of his salat in the morning, Mohammad shakes the sand off a small rug, then rolls it up, wraps his compass around it, and carefully keeps everything in a linen bag. The rug and the compass are relics of his family and his homeland, the only ones he keeps.

He prefers not to say where he was born, but he does realize that he is the son of one of the four wives of an Orthodox Muslim. He was 15 when his father discovered he was gay and gave him a brutal punishment. Then, one night in 2007, his brothers went to look for him to kill him. “When my father found out about my condition,” he says, “he already had heart problems. But he had a complication and died. My family accuses me of causing his death.”

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Mohamed speaks slowly, but suddenly the tone rises: “My family does not accept me. They say that since the time of our ancestors until today, no one has done this kind of thing, that I am the first to do it. I feel bad because my family had to understand that I didn’t want to be that kind of person. I didn’t choose it, I was born that way. “

That night in 2007, his mother helped him hide for three days on one of his father’s cashew plantations. On the morning of the fourth day, she gave him $ 1,000 which he used to cross the Congo, Zambia and Mozambique, where he worked in a ruby ​​mine. They paid him for the day with two plates of oats or rice, some yogurt and a cot to sleep on. One year he endured slavery. Then he fled.

He fled his family for fear that his sexual orientation would again turn him into a target of violence. “Only Allah will know how much more it will be up to me to walk to find the place where I am accepted as I am, where I can be myself,” he says.

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A wind came down from the Darién and produced a strong swell. The four small pangas went up and down on the water. Out of the thick mangrove, protected from the darkness, came 8 shadows. “I need the four leaders”, Ordered one of the men who appeared, who needed to negotiate with them the fare for the clandestine trip. “The lap is worth $ 400 per person,” he said. Resigned, people sculpted their clothes and handed over the money.

Without lifeguards, the migrants piled up in the small fishing boats. Some crossed tables served as a seat for pregnant women, while others swirled as best they could on either side of the keel.

At 9:30 the next morning, the captain of a catamaran full of tourists shouted, “Shipwreck!” and turned abruptly in the direction of fuzzy figures struggling to stay in the choppy January sea.

(Also: Panama states that Colombia is in breach of agreement on migratory flow)

They rescued 16 migrants, but also the body of a pregnant woman and a six-year-old girl. And on the other side of the gulf, in Capurganá, An African survivor and his son cling to a grave in the cemetery. They were saying goodbye to their six-year-old daughter and sister. Sources in the area explained that nine of the survivors had resumed the journey through the Darién.

The migrant camp was 500 meters from the police station. A group of women, men and children had gathered in front of Necoclí tourist pier to protest. A voice was heard shouting, “We want to go on!” and migrants surrounded tourists ’boats to prevent their departure. agents of Migration Colombia, of the National Police and the municipal government intervened. They agreed to meet the next day, and after four days of debate, the order arrived at the camp. The migrants stranded in Necoclí had three days to leave the city.

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Marking the line 37 on a log on the beach, Mohamed says he doesn’t care much about paying double the price for the ticket, or that the changer would have given him just 2,700 Colombian pesos for a dollar. The ballot in hand means the wait is over. You have just bought a safe trip from Necoclí to Capurganá, the village on the other side of the Gulf of Urabá, and from where you will begin your walking route through the Darién jungle.

Recently disembarked from the boat, and walking down the entrance pier to Capurganá, Mohammad passes by a policeman who ignores him. A woman tells him to take his temperature, a practice that was imposed across the country to identify if someone has a fever, infected with the virus. In a remote corner of town, several mototaxis are waiting; he pays $ 4 so that they take him to the foot of a hill, where the trail leads to the thickness of the forest.

Under a leafy ceiba, Mohammad and the others change their wet clothes, put on their rubber boots, drink water. “Leaders gather here!” The head of the guides yells at them. He then tells them that there are three routes to get to the border with Panama. With each group will go a guide as a pointer and another in the rear. “Please gather your people to arrange the outing.”

(We suggest reading: Journey to the Tide of the Migrant Tide in Necoclí)

Migrants know the macabre stories of this forest of robberies, scams and rapes, they can only trust. The guide tries to reassure, “Everything is coordinated,” he says. And he tells them that as soon as they reach the border with Panama safely, he has to send test videos to their bosses. Even then, the responsibility lies with others. “On the Panamanian side, things are ugly,” he told them.

He recommends that when they are there, they leave in groups of no less than 50 people. They should also lighten the basket. If they get tired, for $ 20 a ‘cargo ship’ could help them carry their luggage or lift the children. In saying this, he points to a group mostly made up of teenagers.

One of the cargo ships that accompanies Mohamed’s group is called Pinyol. He explains that he is 13 years old, but because of his appearance he could be older. When I was 2 years old, armed men killed his father and the family abandoned “the little land.” Today his mother works in Medellín in a family home, and he and his 5-year-old sister live with his 67-year-old grandmother.

Caliche looks suspiciously and speaks nervously. “I was a tourist trunk and my grandmother sold them traditional sweets,” he explains, “but the pandemic ended it all. Without tourists, last year we were hungry. There were only three ways: to be a parachute, a raspberry or a coyote. I was forced to get into it. “

The help that the state has given to a family like his in the pandemic if it reaches 130,000 pesos a month (about $ 35). As a cargo ship he says he can earn up to $ 40 a day.

Upon receiving the order from the head of the guides, the migrants set out on their way. The jungle gets dense, narrow, difficult. The trail allows walking, but only in Indian line. In the first break, the son of the Cuban family finds a totumo and exclaims cheerfully: “A dinosaur egg!”.

Mohamed smiles, as if for a moment he forgets the fear. But a baby starts to cry. The path continues. In the second camp they run into the house where Nelson Ballestero and his wife live. A few drops of sugar water soothe the little one’s cry. Twenty minutes later, the march continues. An invalid migrant takes her crutches and follow the others. The baby cries again. “I don’t think this girl will get it. This crying is one of agony,” the guide says.

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An audio message has arrived via WhatsApp. The sonorous voice, the slow tone and the strong Portuguese accent with which Mohammad speaks Spanish fill the 40 minutes of the recording.

Mohamed speaks from Costa Rica and explains how he crossed the Darién. He only repeats three words: “Walk, walk, walk.”

They climbed mountains, crossed banana trees, slept by rivers. They endured the terror when at one point the coyotes unholstered their weapons and fired shots into the air. They helped each other with loans and gave moral support to those who had been left with nothing. They spent days without food. They slept four hours a day because it was urgent to follow. They got lost. They found generous human beings, almost always peasants.

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After two months of no contact with Mohamed – perhaps he had died in his attempt or had been deported – at 11pm on August 8 he made a call. He had managed to get rid of the fear of his brothers by looking for him to kill him, “because it was a virus and had to be eradicated.” He had finally reached “a country where he could be.”

Juan Arturo Gómez Tobón is a correspondent in Colombia for the newspaper Diario de Cuba. He has been a contributor to Setmana, Univers Center, De la Urbs and Pacifista.