La Caravana de Migrantes
Our country of residence, Honduras, has been in the news lately regarding the “caravana de migrantes,” or in other words, the migrant caravan of people who left the city of San Pedro Sula with the aim of making it to the land of their dreams, the American Dream, the United States of America, just over 3 000 km away on foot. It is thought that on average 300 Hondurans leave the country every day. That’s a lot of people who decide to leave everything behind, their village, their family and their friends, in hopes of a different life! Migration is not a new phenomenon, nor is it circumscribed to the Americas. Since the migrants from this part of the globe are often clandestine and must travel below the radar, it’s hard to know how many of them actually make it to their final destination, find employment, and eventually fulfill the dream of a better life for themselves and their family. Another topic altogether is what happens to them along the way. These days, here in Honduras, the local radio programme is interrupted with news announcements narrated by deported or returned immigrants and the hardships (theft, rape, human trafficking, hunger, roadside accidents, extortion and illness are some examples) they faced along their journey. This is the government’s way of dissuading more people from leaving. The other day, a friend of mine from Canada asked me quite candidly: “We saw the caravan on the news: “Do YOU know anyone walking in the caravan?” My reaction was at first shock: “Of course not! Why would I know anyone walking in the caravan?” But, after a pause, I started think more closely about the people around me here in Tegucigalpa -from all walks of life- and I understood why they would want to leave. The “caravan de migrantes” and subsequent political backlash has only brought this reality to the forefront. The topic has polarized society and gotten people’s attention. Migration, be it legal or illegal, is not a new phenomenon. I wonder, why do so many people attempt to leave in the first place? Imagine living in a situation so dire that you are ready to leave everything you are, and everything you knew, and start walking towards the impossible possibility of a better life for yourself and, as most Hondurans believe fully, for your children. In order to better understand this exodus of people, I’d like to share with you some of their personal stories. (Please note that some information has been modified slightly to maintain confidentiality.)
I’ll start with the story of Pedro.
He was the gardener for our medium sized gated community. Six days a week, rain or shine, he was here tending to the common gardens and flower beds of our little neighbourhood. When I first met Pedro, and asked where he had received his experience to become a gardener, he answered that he had been to the United States illegally where he found employment at a garden center. Unfortunately, he was sent back to Honduras after nearly a year of working under the table. However, his experience there gave him training and insight for tending the gardens of the elite here in Honduras. I watched him cutting the branches away from the power lines, watering the flowers bed and uprooting the weeds for us. He made sure our cookie cutter community was neat and clean on the outside. He always greeted us with a smile and “Buenos dias!” whenever we walked by.
One day, Pedro politely asked me for extra money. Could I pay him next week’s wages in advance? He was having some family problems and had had to sell his motorbike. I felt sorry for him and agreed to advance him half of the next pay. The next week, he asked for a larger loan and told me his daughter was in hospital and needed surgery. He said that they must pay the money upfront in order for her to have her operation. However, in the year that we have known him, I cannot remember him ever talking about his daughter. That’s when I started to question his integrity. I even checked online and found no pictures of his alleged daughter on social media. Why would Pedro invent such a tale? We started to wonder if maybe he owed money to a lender or a gang member; that he was being extorted. Or maybe he was collecting money to leave on the caravan himself.
The next day he was gone. Rumours had it he left to join the Caravan to seek out once more the American Dream. It is such a mystery sometimes, that these people that fill our day to day here in the Northern Triangle, potentially end up discreetly being a part of the international headlines we read.
Put into context for my fellow Canadians, that’s like walking from Halifax to Winnipeg. All your possessions in a small backpack. No papers, no passport or money to speak of. Just hope.
Next, I’d like you to meet Oneyda.
Oneyda lives in a small village on the outskirts of the city. She has five young children by two different fathers. Although she completed her secondary education and a technical programme, she is unable to find a stable job with which to support her populous family. Her husband drives a bus, seven days a week, on one of the most dangerous routes in the city. He pays a war tax to the local gang members- meaning he is extorted- to be able drive this route. Despite this, his bus is stopped at gun point at least once a month. The attackers embark and demand that all passengers hand over their cell phones and cash. The bus driver must do the same, basically losing all his earnings for that day.
One day, Oneyda hears from a cousin who promises to help her find work in Spain. It’s not an easy decision, Oneyda must leave behind four young children. They will be taken care of by their grandmother. Desperate times lead to desperate measures, so she borrows money from a loan shark and a large debt is incurred against their half-finished house in order to purchase her passport, visitor visa and return plane ticket to Spain. She hopes to find work as a maid and make enough money to send the extra “remesas” back home. She will be gone for months, maybe even years without seeing her children.
I can only imagine the culture shock she experienced once in Spain. I am told that the first job she found, under the table, was backbreaking and required long hours for very little pay. Not only was she separated from her children, but also homesick while living in a small one bedroom apartment shared with three roommates. The little money she did make, although a lot by Honduran standards, did not stretch far considering the cost of living in her new host country; that she had her debts to repay and also struggled to make ends meet. She is under a lot of pressure to send “remesas” back home to her family. The path to the dream of “making it” is a long and arduous one.
Then there are those left behind.
I remember travelling to a rural village in Mexico when I was 19. The only access to the community was by foot, mule or by horse. There was no running water or electricity. I was quick to observe that this village was populated only by women, young children and the elderly. All the men had left to go and work abroad. These mothers received monthly “remesas” or remittances, but shouldered the responsibilities of raising their families and running the household alone. Interesting fact, remittances account for around 20% of the economy of present day Honduras.
Listen to Miriam’s story
Miriam, a hairdresser, told me the story of her daughter Daniela. A young mother of two, Daniela was studying at the local public university to become a nurse. One day, while taking a “collectivo” or group taxi to save money, she was brutally assaulted and robbed. Her mother, Miriam, visibly still shaken by the events, told her story.
Daniela was on the way to an afternoon class at the university where she was studying accounting when a young well-dressed man entered the rear of the taxi beside her, asked the driver: “Do you have change for a 50 Lempira?” (This later turned out to be a code phrase between the driver and thief who were cooperating to attack innocent passengers along with the local gang in the area.) The man then took out a gun and pressed it to Daniela’s thigh saying “Give me all your money as well as your phone, if you scream, I’ll shoot.” The elderly lady sitting in the front seat of the car was also scared, gave up her meager possessions and pleaded for mercy. Once they had robbed them of their money the taxi driver continued driving for over an hour heading towards the outskirts of town. They continued to threaten with verbal, physical and sexual violence. The whole time, Daniela pleaded for mercy, for the sake of her two children. Eventually, they were abandoned in an unknown part of town and relied on the kindness of strangers to borrow a phone and call for help to come and rescue them. When she did go to report the event to the police they replied that they already knew about the gang operating and extortion ring of collective taxis on that route, but did not have the resources to do anything about it. It’s a complex operation to uncover; especially since the taxi drivers are working with the gang members.
Imagine being robbed at gunpoint on your way to school. Miriam observed that it’s less about the money and phone, which were stolen, but more the ensuing trauma her daughter endures. Daniela has recurring nightmares and lives every day in constant fear. No longer works. She rarely leaves the house, since she is afraid to take another taxi or bus and owning their own private vehicle is beyond their means. She dreams of leaving to a safer, quieter, calmer, place; of a place where you can walk freely outside. Ride a bike to work. Take a bus alone as a woman at any time of day without fear.
Sandra, who works at the Canadian Embassy told me of her recent visit to speak with the youth at a drop-in center in a gang controlled area of the city. Out of a group of 30 young boys and men every single one of them had migrated illegally to US and were eventually deported back to Honduras. Some were planning to leave again, this time with the caravan – for safety in numbers. After some prodding they revealed the strict regimen that they must adhere to while living in a gang controlled area. From the minute details of their hairstyle, to rules about the people they talk to and who they can interact and play with. Which boy a girl can and cannot date for example. The self-imposed nighttime curfew and sometimes even daytime curfew, when things with a nearby gang are heating up. Which jobs they can occupy. If they do not comply with the rules they are threatened with violence and often death. Packing a small backpack and joining the caravan to walk north towards a chance at a better future seems very appealing to these young boys trapped in this most vicious circle of violence.
Although the numbers have dropped in recent months, Tegucigalpa is still considered a violent and dangerous city. There were 272 murders across Honduras in the month of January 2019 alone. (For comparison, there were 660 homicides across Canada in 2017, the worst year in 10 years, and Canada is 5 times more populous than Honduras). Every day the local newspaper is full of graphic details and stories and pictures of these murders in the section labeled “Succesos.” I read about dismembered corpses, bodies being found in bags, body parts thrown down the cliff off the side of the road. Violence begets violence. Stop for a minute and try to imagine the trauma of finding a loved one dead and then knowing it was a merciless, violent death. I can empathize that the desire for revenge is raw. The youth born into in these gang controlled areas have few or little options to escape the vicious circle. Freedom looks good. Walking away into anonymity. You leave everything behind and bring pure grit, perseverance and endurance as currency for a chance at a shot at a better life. These migrants are following the American dream of those who came through Ellis Island hoping to make a name for themselves. In a place where there is little hope or possibility of a good education, adequate health care, clean running water, or simply the freedom of taking public transport without risking being robbed -or worse; it is understandable that so many would want to leave.
Migration is a complex issue. Being a global spouse myself, I can in a very limited extent identify with the migrants and empathize with what they must experience having to leave behind their home, family, friends, and routine. Knowing the complex political and security situation here in Honduras, I understand why one would want to leave and I believe it is our duty as human beings to promote programmes and projects which aim to improve conditions at the local level which would in turn dissuade the migrants from wanting to leave in the first place. This issue is not about to disappear. Let’s try and tackle it in a constructive manner.
It is a heartbreaking sad situation…