Below, there are over a hundred colorful pop-up backpack-style tents and dozens of hammocks suspended from the wooden poles. As we approach we see hundreds of people chatting, playing dominoes or sitting outside what I can only describe as a jungle internet cafe. This is northern Colombia. We are in the middle of nowhere and there is electricity provided by a noisy generator on the hillside, makeshift shops, cafes, running water and clean toilets and showers – although they charge a dollar a pop for almost everything, and some here can’t to bear this. Las Tecas is an organized slum with few extras. I have been to more refugee camps, transit camps and immigration centers than I can count, but this level of organization surprised me. The reason is money. The camp is operated by a large smuggling network and its clients are migrants heading north to the United States. Ahead of them is a dense jungle infested with poisonous snakes, spiders, insects, criminal gangs, terrorist groups and a 65-mile journey through rivers and mountains. It is the Darien Gap – the gateway to Panama from Colombia and the gateway to the United States of America. For the migrants their last night in this camp is their last night of safety for a while. If Everest has a base camp, the void has Las Tecas. We set up our hammocks before nightfall and wandered among the emigrants, explaining that we would join them for part of their journey. They are from all over the world – Nepali, African, Asian, Haitian, but mostly South American. They were friendly and looked excited and nervous. What struck us was the sheer number of families and the highly unusual number of small children. I’ve read about the Darien Gap for years, and the only logical conclusion one would come to is that it’s too dangerous to cross as an adult, let alone a child. But the stream of migrants attempting this crossing is equally remarkable. In the first nine months of this year, 150,000 people did. More than 20,000 of them were children. A decade ago, just 200 migrants attempted it. Smugglers facilitate these daily movements and make a fortune. The migrants are desperate and one can only imagine how awful their life must be at home to face this nightmare that lasts at least five days in the heat and extreme humidity. I’ll be honest, I was kind of scared and only trying a small part of the trip. At 4 the next morning the camp is awake, tearing down tents and gathering what they can carry. Moms and dads get their kids ready, get them dressed, feed them breakfast, fill their tiny backpacks and slip into their colorful wellie boots. A baby had been bitten by insects during the night. She was covered in bites and her mother scratched her back to try to ease the itching. They haven’t reached the jungle yet. At first light they gather to receive instructions from a man speaking into a megaphone. Then a gate opens and they are flooded. One of their first obstacles of many is a river, and within minutes of starting everyone is wet. Slipping on rocks under the water, the young grab their parents, the parents grab their children, hoisting them onto their backs and shoulders to try and keep them dry. But everyone keeps moving. We cross the rivers following the migrants as they make their way along the valley floor to higher ground. It takes them at least a day. Despite my usual judgement, we, like many here, are told by our guides to wear wellies. The reason is that if you step on a snake, it bites and if you think about it, that’s about at the level of the calf muscles. Out here you won’t last more than 30 minutes from a really bad snake bite, so we used the starter option. The problem is we were walking through rivers so every 10 minutes or so you carry two extra boots of water – and believe me they are heavy. They showed me how to lean against a tree and bend my knee towards my back to drain the water. Simple, but annoying, although I now accept that the common galoshes could really save someone’s life. Michael Zambrano from Venezuela holds his sleeping two-year-old son, Lucien, in a baby carrier on his chest and a heavy pack on his back. His four-year-old son Jordan is close to his parents. Mom – Mariangela – is seven months pregnant. They are expecting a girl and have already named her Ana. This family has been walking for months. They left Venezuela seven years ago, lived in Chile for a while, then came to Colombia, where Michael worked as a street performer, making enough money to continue their journey north. The family is at the back of the group. “We need to conserve our energy and go slow,” Michael told me. “I have this backpack plus my baby, so it’s harder, but this one is four years old, so at least he’s able to walk,” she continued, pointing to Jordan. Every now and then another Venezuelan immigrant, Eduardo, whom the family met on the trail, helps them, lifting the little boy on his shoulders into the deeper water. Along the route there are wooden signs nailed to trees urging them to continue. One reads, “Fear not,” the other, “Difficulties disappear when you face courage.” But the jungle is full of deadly snakes, spiders and insects. It’s hot and humid. And very quickly the immigrants begin to thin out, the younger and stronger leaving behind the weaker. The last of her company is a woman who has already sprained her ankle, it happened in the first hour. He now uses a stick for support. Her husband stops her every now and then and takes off her boots to drain the water and check the swelling. And then they continue. It is impossible to imagine that he will succeed. But she continues. They know they have to climb to the top of at least one huge mountain, but the whole journey is arduous. Rivers can swell if the rain is heavy, and that can simply lead to people’s death, especially if they can’t swim, which many can’t. The first major challenge our group encounters, after the river, is a high hill made entirely of mud and rock. It’s steep and it’s like setting up clay. Migrants have to overcome this to continue their journey. Simple wooden steps have been cut into the mud, with ropes to keep people from falling into a ravine. Without these steps their passage would take hours. My wellies sank to the top in the mud as I pulled myself up. At the top a narrow gap has been dug between mud-covered rock that only one person can pass through at a time. I scramble my way down the muddy ladder, slip and slide and hold on to the rope for dear life. All I can think is, if I’m struggling, how can someone who has everything and their kids manage it from a distance? And yet they walk through deep mud. Some of the men grunt as they climb and then descend the steep embankment, the women and children look terrified. We meet Carlos Chinchin washing his boots and hands in the river water after going through the muddy hill. Carlito’s toddler is strapped to his back, with a Spiderman hat on his head. Carlos is from Ecuador. His wife and their second child have already made the crossing and are in the United States. I ask them where in the US they are, they say they don’t know. “I’m only told they’re in a shelter…” he replied. It must be painful to carry such a young child in the jungle, but Carlos says he is driven by his desire to see his wife Katrin and his child’s desire to see his little brother Joshu. As he starts again, he sings to Carlito, calming him down and comforting this little boy who can’t know what’s going on. In a few hours we meet Michael again. He looks tired this time – the family just went through the mud. It is difficult, he says, but he has faith. “There is nothing stronger than God, he will give us strength to pass all the mud that lies ahead of us.” It’s a remarkable amount of faith given that the US border is now closed to Venezuelans. The recent change in border policy means many Venezuelans are now stuck in countries along the migration route, unsure of where to go. Michael’s is one of them, but they are determined to continue. He says he believes the Americans will understand his situation and have mercy on him. But they continue. This is a huge movement of people that is only expected to increase. And it’s hard to see how it will stop. Credits: Dominique Van Heerden, Gustavo Aleman and Carlos Villalon, producers Richie Mockler, camera operator
