The sun disappears early in December, sinking behind the mountain that looms over the Barretal migrant camp in Tijuana, Mexico where about 3,000 members of the “migrant caravan” are being housed. A cold wind whips through the tents that line the courtyard as two barefoot children with candy-stained lips run screaming and giggling through the maze of tents made of tarps.
The caravan, which originated in Honduras in October, arrived in Tijuana, Mexico by mid-November. Many of them are headed for the United States, but some have their eyes set on any place but home. The group, which at its largest was estimated to consist of about 7,000 people, includes migrants from Honduras, El Salvador, Guatemala, and Nicaragua.
They have made their way through Mexico by foot, by bus, or on the backs of trucks. Some decided to stay in places like Huixtla or Mexico City while figuring out how to get to the next location in their northward journey. Others in the caravan made it to Tijuana, which many migrants deemed the safer of the border towns. From there, the United States is just a stone’s throw away.
Many members of the caravan have been looking to escape violence in their home countries. Business Insider ranks El Salvador as the most dangerous country in the world in 2018; Honduras is fifth, and Guatemala sixth. Others are spurred by dire economic hardship.
Now in Tijuana, those wanting to present themselves for asylum in the United States have to put themselves on “La Lista” or “The List,” a book of names and corresponding numbers for asylum seekers. As of the first week of December 2018, there were over 5,000 names on the list and a potential wait time of three months.
About 75 percent of asylum seekers pass the “credible fear interview,” in which a U.S. officer determines whether the applicant has a legitimate fear of returning to their home country. Even so, only around 22 percent of Central Americans end up being granted asylum in the United States. Those who are not granted asylum are deported back to their home countries, only to face the severe poverty and gang violence they fled.
In the first week of December, I traveled to Tijuana to capture the endless wait that so many individuals and families are now enduring. Here are a few of the people and stories I found — including a family that ultimately decided to scale the wall to the United States and turn themselves into authorities and begin the asylum process earlier, instead of waiting potentially months in a camp for their number to be called.
All last names have been omitted for personal safety.
Ronan, 25, from Honduras holds his 7-year-old daughter in the Benito Juarez camp in Tijuana. “I left Honduras because there was no work,” he says. He and his wife had been traveling with their two young children, but his wife decided to go back to Honduras from Tapachula, Mexico. He hopes to cross into the U.S. with his two children with the hope of being granted asylum and finding a steady job. “There is no opportunity for anything in Honduras,” says Ronan.
Daniel, 19, from Honduras stands on a ledge at the Barretal camp. “I left home because there was no work, I left so that I could move my family forward,” he says. He made it to Tijuana but doesn’t think now is the time to try to cross to the U.S. He has decided to stay in Mexico for the time being. But his dream is to someday live in California. When I ask him about the American flag around his neck, he shrugs: “The truth? I’m so cold.”
Paola, 30, from Honduras left her country because of the combination of violence and lack of work which made her feel like she couldn’t stay. “I’m just looking for a better life,” she says. In Honduras, a gang member wanted her to be his girlfriend, and then when she declined, he threatened to kill her. “The caravan hasn’t been so bad,” says Paola. “The Mexican people have really helped us a lot.” She plans to wait for her turn to apply for asylum here in Tijuana, and in the meantime is applying for work permit in Mexico so she can start making a living, however meager.
Dulce (left), 10, and Maryliz, 11, are cousins from Honduras. They pass the time playing hand games and giggling quietly between themselves. “It’s better here than there,” says Dulce. When I ask if “there” means the old shelter or Honduras, they burst into laughter and skip off to their next activity.
A line of people forms in front of the Barretal shelter in Tijuana, waiting for buses to take them downtown so they can apply for permits to work in Tijuana.
Josué, 24, from Honduras and Elida, 29, from El Salvador met on the caravan and struck up a romance in Huixtla. “I’m here because it is so difficult in my country,” says Josué. “There is no work. No money.”
“It is the same in El Salvador,” Elida adds. “You work from 4 a.m. to 5 p.m. for $3 a day.” Josué left his brother and mom behind in Honduras, while Elida left behind her two children. “I just want to work enough to support my children in El Salvador,” she says. “I want to work for some time in the U.S. and then I want to go home. I miss everything about my country, my family, my home.”
Selvin, 34, and his dog Negra, are from Honduras. Negra made the journey with Selvin but the pair was separated between Puebla and Tijuana. Another caravan member found Negra and returned her to Selvin when they arrived in Tijuana. Selvin, who plans to apply for asylum in the U.S., joined a hunger strike with other members of the caravan in protest of the U.S.’ stance on asylum seekers. Negra, he says, will not be participating in the hunger strike.
Mexican police stand outside the Benito Juarez shelter in downtown Tijuana as members of the caravan move by bus from Benito Juarez to a new shelter, Barretal, on the outskirts of the city.
Leonel, 22, from El Salvador lies in a tent that he shares with two other people. “I had to leave El Salvador because of discrimination, because I’m gay,” Leonel says. “I even had to take my rainbow bracelet off while I’m here in the camp. People here will discriminate too.” His dream is just to have a normal life — a home, a partner, and a family.
Marta, 26, from Guatemala sits in her tent with her husband (who declined to give his name) and their two sons, ages 8 and 6, from Guatemala. “We left because of economic and personal problems,” she says. A member of Marta’s family was assaulted in Guatemala, and when they attempted to file a police report, the family received threats directed at Marta’s two children. “We had to leave to find a better future for them,” says Marta.
Marta, her husband, and their two sons have been weighing whether to wait for their asylum number to be called — as they were already on “The List” — or whether to jump the wall and turn themselves to U.S. authorities, thereby speeding up the asylum process. Ultimately, waiting for months in an overcrowded camp with two young boys proved too daunting a prospect. They made the hard decision to climb the wall.
Marta is hoisted over the border wall. The two boys whimper as they too are hoisted over the wall.
Marta and her family approach U.S. Border Patrol agents with their hands up after getting over the border wall from Mexico. They were initially detained for several weeks, and have since been released. They are now living in Oklahoma and are in the process of applying for asylum.
