Darien Gap Migrations: A Case of Ascendance, Descent, and Uncertainty
Once, the television in Luis Olea’s home would flash images of the then U.S. President, Donald Trump, thanks to the financial profit Luis gained from facilitating migrant journeys through Panama’s desolate jungle. The infamous Darien Gap, a nearly impassable rainforest along Colombia’s border, had become a thoroughfare for migrants. Over 1.2 million people globally transited northwards towards the U.S., bringing an unexpected economic surge to areas secluded from typical town life and even basic mobile signals.
Luis Olea’s home town, Villa Caleta, embedded within indigenous territories, experienced a dramatic change. Migrants, weary from the challenging journey, paid for essentials like boat rides, clothes, food, and water. This sudden influx of expenditure enriched the townsfolk, coaxing many to relinquish farming activities for transporting migrants through the meandering rivers. Even Olea, who once lived a modest life, could afford to electrify his humble, single-room wooden cabin amidst the dense jungle.
This unexpected prosperity led the locals to make significant investments in their children’s education and personal homes. It gave people the confidence to dream of brighter futures. However, this economic bubble precipitously collapsed and resulted in a void as sudden as its advent. This happened when Trump’s administration took over in January and started imposing stringent conditions on those seeking asylum in the U.S.
The once-busy Darien Gap was deserted as the flow of migrants abruptly ceases. Consequently, the newfound economy plummeted, leaving these newfound workers in a dreadful plight. ‘We used to survive largely due to the migration,’ reminisces Olea, who is now a 63-year-old. ‘But now, everything is gone.’
During 2021, the Darien Gap experienced a record surge in migration. People fleeing from economic downturns, conflict zones, and dictatorial regimes deemed this perilous journey a necessary passage to a hopeful future. Although criminal factions benefited from this mass movement by controlling the migration paths and exploiting the helpless, the economic benefits also spilled over into the historically impoverished regions.
In his younger years, Olea sustained himself by growing plantains in the jungle, adjacent to Villa Caleta, by the Turquesa river near the Colombian border. As the tide of migrants rose, he and several other locals invested in boats, thus becoming a lifeline for migrants. These boats, originating from Bajo Chiquito, the town where migrants would find respite after their brutal journey, headed to the port of Lajas Blancas, the transit point where buses awaited to transport the exhausted travellers northwards.
These boatmen, including Olea, earned up to $300 per day – a significant jump from the meager $150 per month they made from their crops. The towns along the waterways managed this economic boom democratically; they alternated migrant transport duties to ensure each community benefited. From these profits, Olea managed to buy solar panels for his home, set up protection against floods, purchase a water pump, and even a new television.
Yet, as quickly as this wealth poured in, it disappeared when migration rates plummeted. ‘The most troubling issue is maintaining daily sustenance. With no money and lack of stores, how can anyone procure food?’ expressed Cholino de Gracia, a local leader, reflecting on the grim reality.
Forced to adapt, Olea has returned to cultivating plantains; however, he admits it will require at least nine months to yield results. Despite owning a boat no longer in use, he identifies, ‘Who would purchase it? The market doesn’t exist anymore.’ Pedro Chami, another former boat pilot who abandoned farming, now carves out wooden pans, envisioning a change in luck while searching for gold in the river sand.
During the migrant influx’s zenith, Panamanian officials reported that daily, between 2,500 and 3,000 people would traverse the formidable Darien Gap. Presently, they estimate the count at a parsimonious 10 per week. The criminal group Gulf Clan, which once profited from this northward migration, is now scouting for opportunities to gain from the trickle of migrants headed in the opposite direction.
Lajas Blancas, a once bustling port known for welcoming exhausted migrants, presents an eerily different picture today. Once filled with stalls catering to migrants, offering food, SIM cards, blankets, and power banks, the port now stands deserted, with a makeshift migrant camp resembling a ghost town.
Only a handful remain in Lajas Blancas —amongst them, Zobeida Concepción’s family. Once thriving by selling food and beverages to migrants, even running a temporary restaurant, Concepción is now lost. The prosperity earned from these businesses allowed her to enhance her family’s living conditions by buying appliances and even funding a new house. Unfortunately, the abrupt migration stop left her pondering her next steps, although maintaining a glimmer of hope for the future, ‘I’ll keep the freezers ready for whatever comes next,’ she says.
With substantial losses suffered and only a modicum of savings left, her optimism reflects a shared belief – a future U.S. administration may rekindle the transient prosperity they once experienced. But for now, their lives remain in a state of limbo, clinging onto and adapting from the past, bracing for an uncertain future.