Carlos Perez, a 30-year-old migrant from Bogota, Colombia, had been carefully planning his journey to the United States with his wife and 11-year-old son. Their goal was to reach the U.S. border by the beginning of the new year, after a long and challenging trek through Mexico. The family was hoping for a better life and opportunities, but their journey was filled with uncertainty as they navigated the complexities of migration and the potential challenges ahead.
The difficulties for Carlos Perez and his family began when his wife became physically exhausted as they reached Tapachula, a city in southern Mexico. By that point, they had already covered a staggering 2,500 kilometers—over 1,550 miles—on foot. In an effort to help ease the burden, Perez bought a bicycle. He often rode it while his wife and 11-year-old son sat on the handlebars. When the roads became particularly dangerous or when they traveled at night, Perez would walk beside the bicycle, guiding his family slowly through the darkness.
However, their journey took a painful turn in mid-November when the family was involved in a road accident. Perez suffered severe injuries to his shins, with the skin torn off, and both his wife and son were left with bloodied arms. A day after the accident, from a temporary migrant camp in Santiago Niltepec, Perez shared his concerns that their injuries might prevent them from reaching the U.S. border in time to cross before President-elect Donald Trump takes office on January 20, 2025.
“I don’t know if it’s possible to reach the border in time now,” Perez confessed, his voice filled with uncertainty. Like many other migrants and asylum seekers, Perez feared that Trump would carry out his promises to “close” the U.S. border with Mexico. Trump, a Republican, has previously suggested that his administration might declare a national emergency and deploy military forces to stop what he describes as an “invasion” of unauthorized crossings.
In late November, Trump boasted on social media about the success of initial talks with Mexico, claiming that the Mexican government had agreed to take more action against migrants heading to the U.S. “Mexico will stop people from going to our Southern Border, effective immediately,” he wrote. “THIS WILL GO A LONG WAY TOWARD STOPPING THE ILLEGAL INVASION OF THE USA.”
However, it remains uncertain whether his tough rhetoric will actually slow the flow of migrants toward the U.S. or inadvertently intensify the rush before Trump’s inauguration. For Perez and others like him, the fear of being blocked from their destination looms large, even as they continue their perilous journey northward.
As blood slowly soaked through the fresh bandage on his legs, Carlos Perez still clung to the hope of reaching the U.S. border, despite the setbacks. His gaze shifted toward the mobile clinic nearby, where white curtains hung shut, concealing the work being done inside. “My son is inside,” Perez explained, his voice tinged with worry. “They are cleaning and bandaging his body. We can only wait and see if we can heal in time to make it.” The uncertainty of whether they would recover in time to continue their journey weighed heavily on him.
Perez, like many others at the camp, had fled his home in Colombia due to the violent gang warfare and constant extortion that had plagued his family’s life in Bogota. His story, though heartbreaking, was not unique. Others in the camp had escaped similar horrors—poverty, death threats, and the general instability that made their lives unbearable.
One such person was Omar Ramirez, a Venezuelan man in his forties, who shared his own painful story. Ramirez had been a respected digital journalist in Venezuela, but he was forced to flee his home country due to political persecution under the regime of President Nicolás Maduro. In the camp, Ramirez’s physical condition had deteriorated, and the harsh realities of life on the road were evident. Insects crawled in and out of the open sores on his feet, a grim reminder of the conditions many migrants were facing as they sought refuge in Mexico.
For Perez and the others, their journey was not just one of distance, but of survival—enduring the trauma of past violence while clinging to the hope of a safer future, wherever that might be.
Omar Ramirez tightly held an A4 plastic folder against his chest, inside which were several important documents he hoped would help him secure asylum in the United States. The folder contained scanned copies of paperwork proving his address, his university degree, and his Venezuelan bank accounts. Among the documents was his press pass from the 2007 Copa America football tournament and a large photograph of him smiling next to a 19-year-old Lionel Messi, capturing a moment from his past as a respected journalist.
However, his journey away from Venezuela began after the country’s contested presidential election in July. Ramirez explained that since that time, he no longer felt safe in his homeland. President Nicolás Maduro had been accused by human rights organizations of using oppressive tactics to silence his critics, including detaining journalists and activists who challenged his authority. As someone who had been an outspoken critic of Maduro’s government, Ramirez knew that his position had made him a target.
“I was an outspoken critic of Maduro,” Ramirez said. “And I supported those who opposed him.” As a result of his activism and vocal opposition to the regime, he realized that it had become too dangerous for him and his family to remain in Venezuela.
On top of the political dangers, the economic crisis in Venezuela further worsened his situation. “The minimum monthly salary is $4,” he explained, highlighting the dire financial conditions. “Journalists like me are lucky to earn $6. Doctors, who have studied all their lives, earn around $8.” These conditions made it nearly impossible for Ramirez to live a stable life, prompting his decision to leave his country in search of safety and a better future for himself and his family.
Omar Ramirez is pinning his hopes for asylum on securing an appointment through the CBP One app, a digital platform introduced during the first Trump administration in 2020. Since then, outgoing President Joe Biden has expanded its use, making it mandatory for most asylum seekers arriving at the U.S. border to schedule an appointment through the app.
However, critics have raised concerns about the app’s reliability, noting that it can be prone to glitches and that not all asylum seekers have access to the technology required to use it. Wait times for appointments have been reported to stretch as long as four months, according to Human Rights Watch, leaving many vulnerable migrants exposed to potential attacks or exploitation as they wait in Mexico’s border regions for their turn.
With Donald Trump preparing for a possible second term, asylum seekers worry that access to the CBP One app may become even more restricted. During his re-election campaign on September 15, Trump publicly vowed on social media to “terminate the Kamala phone app,” using the name of his political rival, Vice President Kamala Harris, to refer to the platform. He also made unfounded claims that the app was being misused for “smuggling illegals,” though there has been no evidence to support this accusation. The CBP One app is managed by the U.S. Customs and Border Protection agency.
The Trump administration’s increasing focus on the CBP One app is seen as part of a broader effort to limit access to asylum, a right that is protected under both international and U.S. law.
For Ramirez, this means that reaching the U.S. border as quickly as possible is crucial. He made the difficult decision to leave his family behind in Venezuela, fearing the dangers they would face on the perilous journey north. In 2023, the International Organization for Migration even called the route to the U.S.-Mexico border the “deadliest land route for migrants worldwide.”
Ramirez explained that he could not bear the thought of subjecting his wife and children to such a dangerous trek. If he is able to successfully claim asylum in the U.S., his goal is to earn enough money to bring his family safely to the country within the next year.
Ricardo Santiago, who leads MSF’s operations in southern Mexico, predicts that more migrants and asylum seekers, like Ramirez, will rush to reach the U.S. border over the coming month before Donald Trump takes office. This would mark a shift from current trends. According to government data, September saw the lowest number of border apprehensions in four years. However, Santiago has noticed an uptick in migrant numbers recently.
“The caravans are getting bigger and bigger,” Santiago told Al Jazeera. “Whereas in September and October, they consisted of only a few hundred people, now they are made up of thousands.”
His 16-person MSF team in Santiago Niltepec has treated hundreds of migrants seeking medical care, particularly as a large “migrant caravan” passed through the city in November. Perez and his family were part of this recent caravan, which Santiago estimated to be around 2,000 people.
Caravans first began to form in 2018 when hundreds of migrants and asylum seekers came together for safety in numbers. These groups offered an alternative to human traffickers, who charged exorbitant fees to smuggle people to the U.S. border.
Members of the November caravan reported walking between 30 and 40 kilometers (19 to 25 miles) per day, often traveling at night to avoid the intense daytime heat. However, experts note that these caravans often break apart before reaching their destination. Regardless of their size, they remain vulnerable to exploitation by corrupt authorities and Mexican drug cartels, who use violence to extort bribes and ransom money.
“There has been a noticeable increase in patients who have suffered violent attacks in November,” Santiago told Al Jazeera. While some conflicts arise within the caravan itself, the greatest threat comes from external groups like the cartels. Santiago has received reports of attacks on people of all ages—young boys, girls, women, and men—who are exposed to risks such as kidnapping, extortion, and sexual violence.
A migrant named Miguel, who asked to remain anonymous, mimicked a gun with his fingers as he recounted the extortion tactics used by the cartels. “If they grab you, you gotta find the money, or it’s over,” he said, pressing his fingers to his temple.
Several members of the caravan, including Miguel and Perez, told Al Jazeera that as many as 60 people from the group had not arrived at the temporary camp in Santiago Niltepec after leaving the night before. It was unclear whether they had arranged safe passage by car, fallen victim to kidnapping, or simply couldn’t keep up with the pace of the caravan.
Just a week earlier, local media reported the discovery of a 36-year-old Venezuelan man’s body along the Pan-American Highway, a key route leading north to the U.S. He had been part of a previous caravan but was struck by a car traveling at high speed, with the driver fleeing the scene.
In Santiago Niltepec, a group of Venezuelan migrants and asylum seekers were preparing to continue their journey to La Ventosa. One of them offered a forced smile and said, “Survival is a lottery. It could be us next.”
or a specific category with our 
Comments are closed, but trackbacks and pingbacks are open.