Jessica sits in a corner of a closed store on the capital's busy Sixth Avenue, near Guatemala City's Central Park.
She seeks the relief of shade on this hot January day.
Her children, Carolina, 17, Daniel, seven, and Laura, five, rest next to her while they watch the coming and going of the people at noon.
Jessica is 36 years old and is already the grandmother of Valery, a six-month-old girl that Carolina carries half asleep in a quilt, more to protect her from the sun than to keep her warm.
Jessica's husband, Jorge, walks non-stop from one traffic light to the next, torn between the desire to ask for financial help from people crossing the street and the need to protect himself from the sun.
Since the end of December, Jessica's family has spent their days on Sixth with signs that read “Give me a coin that comes from your heart.
God bless you” and the Venezuelan flag drawn.
They take turns walking down the street showing the sign, without adding too many words.
There are people who give them something, but most just look at them and avoid them.
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“We left Machiques, in Venezuela, in 2017. I worked in a shoe store and my husband was a bricklayer, but with both salaries we couldn't even cover 50% of the monthly expenses,” Jessica says with a sad grimace.
“Then we went to Cúcuta, in Colombia, and then to Bogotá.
We were there for six years, but it is no longer possible to get a decent salary.
Since October 28, we have been traveling to the United States and we stopped here in Guatemala because we no longer have money to move forward.
That is why we ask people to collaborate with us,” she adds.
The corners of Sixth have become tiny temporary homes for Venezuelans.
A few meters from Jessica, Leidy, 39, is sitting on a cardboard with her son and her husband, Enrique.
Six months ago, they left Peru, where they lived for a year.
“Inhale and exhale” is written on her shirt, but Leidy knows that she can never relax.
“I want to return to Barquisimeto, in Venezuela.
The American dream for me no longer exists,” she laments.
“Leaving Honduras, the Guatemalan police stole the $1,100 we had to continue the trip.
Now we have been on the street for two months,” she recalls.
A short distance away is Fabiola.
She was also a shoemaker in Venezuela.
She was.
All these migrants talk about what they used to be and their occupations in the past.
That life on which they built their future no longer exists.
“I want to stay here in Guatemala if possible, because they have told me that in Mexico they can kidnap us and we have already suffered enough,” she confides.
A Venezuelan family in the dining room of the Casa del Migrante.
More than 7.7 million Venezuelans have fled their country in recent years due to economic and political instability.Simona Carnino
Venezuelan migrants ask for help on Sixth Avenue in Guatemala City, January 9, 2024.Simona Carnino
Flor de los Ángeles López, nurse at the Casa del Migrante in Guatemala City, cares for Venezuelan migrants, on January 10, 2024.Simona Carnino
Some migrants passing through Guatemala ask for shelter for one night in the shelter run by Scalabrinian missionaries.
They are looking for a bed where they can lie down and forget the day.
In the image, some guests wash the dishes after dinner.Simona Carnino
Venezuelan migrants in the room during an informational talk at the Casa del Migrante.
Every day, the Guatemalan national police detain and expel dozens of them after a brief stay in the Immigration Care Center for Foreigners.Simona Carnino
Venezuelan migrants go up to the second floor of the Casa del Migrante, where the bedrooms are located.
“Last year 32,000 people passed through here and more than 90% were Venezuelans,” explains Gabriela Girón, pedagogue at the Casa del Migrante.
“10% of the migratory flow are children who arrive with great hopes, but also with sadness.
Despite their age, they are aware of reality and are very afraid that drug traffickers could kidnap or kill them in Mexico,” she adds. Simona Carnino
Hundreds of Venezuelans arrive in small groups in Guatemala City at night.
Some ask for shelter for one night at the Casa del Migrante, where they can rest and eat something hot.Simona Carnino
Thousands of migrants are stuck in Guatemala on their way to the United States because they run out of money.
Many of them ask for help on the street to be able to continue or return to their country.Simona Carnino
Blocked without money
Fabiola, Jessica and Leidy share the same destiny.
Venezuelan women stranded, with their entire family, in Guatemala without enough money to continue the trip to the United States or to turn around south and return to Venezuela or other Latin American countries.
They sell pacifiers, food, drinks, but most beg for quetzals on the corners.
“We get around 100 quetzales (about 11 euros) per day and it is not enough for food, lodging and the trip.
A room in a hotel already costs 100 quetzales,” explains Jessica.
“We are missing about $1,500 to get to the United States and so far we have spent $2,700.
So we almost always sleep in Central Park, but we are afraid of being attacked.”
We walked three days and three nights in the mud, climbing slippery slopes.
We counted 14 bodies along the route, almost all children who drowned in the rivers
Jessica, Venezuelan migrant
More than 7.7 million Venezuelans have fled their country in recent years due to economic and political instability.
The majority have taken refuge in Colombia, Peru and Ecuador or Chile.
However, the pandemic and economic crisis that have hit these countries have driven a new Venezuelan exodus to the United States.
They all face the heartbreaking Darién jungle, between Colombia and Panama, where almost half a million migrants passed between January and November of last year, of which 65% were Venezuelans.
Jessica thinks that the hardest part is over anyway, having survived the Darien Gap.
“We walked three days and three nights in the mud, climbing slippery slopes.
We counted 14 bodies along the route, almost all of them children who drowned in the rivers,” the woman recalls.
“Leaving there, we went to Honduras, where we spent a month on the street begging for alms.
I hope to raise enough money to go from here and from there to Chicago,” she sighs.
With her enthusiasm, Jessica seems to forget that Guatemala, as well as Mexico, plays the role of a wall for migrants traveling to the United States without a visa.
From January 1 to October 31, 2023, Guatemala rejected 20,932 people, of which 71% were Venezuelans, 7% Haitians and 7% Ecuadorians.
Every day, the Guatemalan national police detain and expel dozens of migrants, mostly Venezuelans, after a brief stay in the Migration Care Center for Foreigners.
Finish the trip
While Jessica and her family seek refuge in a corner in Central Park for the night, at the other end of the historic center, July knocks on the door of the Guatemala City Migrant House.
She carries a backpack and a bag in each hand.
Behind her come 12 people with plastic bags and all of her belongings.
The average age of the group does not exceed 25 years and the youngest of them is a baby of just four months.
They raised enough money to continue their journey to Mexico and plan to leave Guatemala behind with the first light of dawn.
“I am the guide of the group.
We left Venezuela months ago and live and work on the streets.
The only thing that gives me hope is that as soon as we are in Mexico we can apply for a visa for the United States and hopefully in a few weeks this trip will be over,” the woman confides.
From January 1 to October 31, 2023, Guatemala rejected 20,932 people, of which 71% were Venezuelans, 7% Haitians and 7% Ecuadorians.
Since January 2023, migrants in Mexico must download the free CBP One application on their mobile phone to schedule an appointment at one of the ports of entry on the southern border of the United States and request refuge.
If, on the one hand, the application aims to speed up the planning of appointments, those who do not have access to mobile devices or the internet are excluded from the possibility of requesting international protection.
The logic of the application's operation has generated numerous reactions in the world of activism, to the point that Amnesty International has declared that "the mandatory use of the CBP One mobile application as the only means of entry into the United States to request international protection is a clear violation of international law.”
Like July, hundreds of Venezuelans arrive in small groups in Guatemala City at night.
Some ask for shelter for a night at the Casa del Migrante, run by Scalabrinian missionaries.
They are looking for a bed where they can lie down and forget the day.
They often arrive with foot wounds, infections, dehydration and needing nursing care.
When dawn comes, they fade away like a dream and continue their journey, carrying the children who can walk at their side, and the little ones, wrapped in a jacket tied to their backs.
“Last year 32,000 people passed through here and more than 90% were Venezuelans,” explains Gabriela Girón, pedagogue at the Casa del Migrante.
“10% of the migratory flow are children who arrive with great hopes, but also with sadness.
Despite their age, they are aware of reality and are very afraid that drug traffickers could kidnap or kill them in Mexico,” she adds.
A few minutes before retiring to the room, Manuel, one of July's nephews, asks for a photo with his brothers.
Two days, the boy sends a message: “We are in Mexico, in Tapachula.
We don't have money anymore.
Only God knows when we will reach the United States.”
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