The Odyssey of Alex Escobar: a Venezuelan migration story
In the first part of a three-part series, Hannah Lahoz W. Interviews Venezuelan migrant Alex Escobar for Puntorojo about his experiences coming to the U.S.
My name is Alex Escobar, and I’m from Venezuela. I’m 32 years old. I studied two degrees in my country: human resources management and some psychology. I left my country because the economic conditions were bad. There were times when there was no food in my house. The conditions in my country were also very violent; there were many murders where I lived, a lot of gang warfare with gangs killing each other. I decided I couldn’t stay there any longer because my life was in danger.
Hannah: Why couldn’t you buy food?
Because large food distribution companies started closing, and food supplies became limited. Instead of, for example, 10 bags of flour arriving at the store, only one would arrive, and one family would eat while nine went without. And on top of that, there was an economic war, and the Bolívar lost value. Everything became much more expensive and much less accessible.
I’m talking about the time after Chávez, with Maduro. In my opinion, under Chávez, it wasn’t a bad country. In my opinion and in my experience. I think everything happened under Maduro, and much later. Chávez had already died by then.
Hannah: Your family was working, but it was impossible to buy enough food for everyone, and everyone was thinking: “maybe someone needs to go somewhere else.”
Yes. From Venezuela, I went to Colombia to be able to help more at home because my mother is a retired teacher, but her salary was too little to cover our needs. I wanted a little more stability for myself and my family, my mother and two younger siblings. My brother is a physical education teacher, and my sister is a production engineer. We all have careers, we all studied for free in Venezuela, at the university.
It was very easy to study because the university was free. But there were very few opportunities. From there, I went to Colombia to find work, but my degree wasn’t valid in Colombia. I stayed there for three years, and I started working in another field called “visual merchandising,” which is what I do today. In Colombia, I got a job at Mango [an international retail clothing chain where he now works in New York City]. I was in Colombia for five years before I left for the United States.
Hannah: Are there other reasons why you left Venezuela?
Yes, I also left because I belong to the gay community, and in my country, we don’t have rights; we don’t even have the right to express our preferences freely, and that’s also a risk you face. In Venezuela, it’s not necessarily illegal to be gay or homosexual, but it affects your life there in different ways. You always have to be hidden; always hidden. I pretended to be straight. And you can’t have a normal life, like holding your boyfriend’s hand. They consider it illegal if a child sees two people holding hands, and they can put you in jail.
Always having to pretend to be normal, to be heterosexual.
You can end up in jail. And it’s hard for gay people to get services they need. For example, PrEP doesn’t exist either [Pre-Exposure Prophylaxis, an anti-HIV preventative]. Nothing at all. And if you have AIDS, there’s no treatment available. Neither for preventing AIDS, nor for treating it once you have it. You can’t get married, and it’s dangerous to be openly gay. If someone doesn’t like you or doesn’t agree with you and sees you on the street, there can be a lot of discrimination. It’s hard to get a job if you are gay, because they say that gay people in my country are only good for hairdressing or beauty salons; you can’t be a lawyer or a doctor, for example.
Hannah: You stopped making enough money to send to your family?
Yes, I could only send just a little. Whatever little I left over, I sent it to my mother, because I’ve always been the one to cover all the expenses of my household. Because my father abandoned us at the beginning. And I was the oldest male figure, and I took care of my grandmother, my mother, my siblings. It wasn’t an obligation. I decided to do it. And for that reason, I decided to go with some friends in Venezuela—my best friends—to the United States. My friends came before me. I just needed to do it. I was alone in Colombia, and I was worried about my future. My friends went from Venezuela to the United States, and I started thinking about going too.
Hannah: And why did you need to come from Colombia to the United States?
I came to the United States for the same reason. There started to be many attacks on the gay community in Colombia. Violence was increasing; street violence, robberies, drug-related robberies, and people breaking into houses. There were shootings targeting the gay community, and kidnappings. And then, there was also high inflation, so my salary at Mango wasn’t enough anymore.
At that time, I didn’t go to the US through the jungle [a 100-mile walk through the swamp/jungle of the Darien Gap], but through Mexico. At that time, it was possible to fly to Mexico, but not anymore. In the beginning, you could fly from Venezuela or Colombia to Mexico and then cross the desert. It was easier…different…much easier. It was like a wave. A wave that happened at a time when many people from Latin America, Venezuela, and Colombia came here. That was about four or five years ago. When there were many refugees at the border.
My dream had always been to live in the United States, but I thought it as unattainable. I always dreamed of New York. Since I was little, I always watched American TV shows.
RuPaul.
It was like my escape because at that time, since I was gay, I couldn’t express myself. Because of my family, society, etc. And my escape, or my happiness, was locking myself away to secretly watch RuPaul, MTV, or things from the U.S. And at that time, I was very poor. But that’s what I saw on television, and I would think, what must it be like to live there?
People looked so happy there because I also saw people with better phones, better houses, and my surroundings were very poor, and I grew up with that mentality; like, I used to think that living in the United States meant I would live in Miami because the Venezuelan telenovelas were often set in Miami or New York. I also thought about New York because most of the drag queens were from New York. And I became very interested in the topic when I discovered I was gay, because that is where the LGBTQ+ movement originated. And I thought, oh, if it started there, everyone could be free and happy there. That’s why I was also so fixated on New York.
Something else happened at that time that impacted my decision to go to the U.S. My grandmother died, the most important person in my life died. My grandmother was the one who took care of me as a child when my mother worked, because my mother was a teacher. And she had to go to campuses to teach children, always outside the city, in rural areas. And my grandmother was the one who took care of me so that my mother could bring food home. And I grew up mostly with my grandmother. My grandmother died at 103 years old.
But my grandmother’s death was beautiful because she faded away. She didn’t suffer. She wasn’t sick. It was a natural death. She died within a week. We’re all going to die. When can you do it with grace like she did? And I already had the idea of going to the United States in my head because of my friends who were already here. I was thinking I didn’t need to be here anymore for my grandmother, because I knew that if I came earlier, I wouldn’t know when I could go back. In Colombia, I could go back and forth from Venezuela to Colombia.
But the United States would be different, not as easy to return.
So that was what made it hard to leave: seeing my mother again. But I realized it’s very different. Because my mother was younger than my grandmother, and I thought I could return at some point.
There was another issue. In Colombia, I was very emotionally dependent on my social circle there. Because in Colombia I didn’t have any family, no siblings. My circle of friends was like my family. And I was dependent on them. But I was very dependent, was in a bad relationship, and soon realized the situation was not good for me. I found out that when I needed them, they weren’t there for me. I also developed a drug problem. I took refuge in drugs at that time. And they didn’t want anything more to do with me.
And that’s why I wanted to come here alone and start living from scratch, and for a better future for my family. I hoped I earn enough money there in the U.S. to send to help buy a house for my mom and for my brother. Because things were getting worse in Venezuela. And I couldn’t pay for my things and my household expenses with my Mango salary anymore. It was very difficult. And I had spent a lot of money supporting my grandmother. So, I asked my friends, and they said: “Yes, yes, come, it’s not easy, but you can make it.” And they explained everything to me.
That was on December 31st, 2021—four years ago. I made the decision alone, on New Year’s Eve, to go. I sold everything I owned: motorcycle, car, apartment. And on January 28th, 28 days later, I was already here alone in New York City.
I paid for my journey myself. I paid for everything with the money I earned from selling things, approximately $10,000 dollars in total. I bought a plane ticket to Mexico, and then I had to pay a smuggler all the money I had left to arrange for all of the expenses to get me to New York. This included consultations, bus tickets, hotels, bribes, etc. But it turned out to be a scam because I later discovered that the cost was only supposed to be $1,000 dollars, but the person charged me 9,000 more…
I came, I arrived in Mexico, I passed through as a Colombian—and not as a Venezuelan—because by that time they were already requiring visas for Venezuelans and not for Colombians. I had a Colombian passport. In Mexico there was a lot of corruption because to be able to enter Mexico as a Colombian I still had to pay 1500 dollars extra at customs because otherwise they would send you back.
Hannah: How did you get from Mexico to the U.S.?
Getting from Mexicali airport to the hotel was horrible. There were many gangs that wanted to kidnap, to demand money for you. It’s very dangerous. And you had to pay everywhere. And sexual violence too. Yes, it exists, but I didn’t experience it. For migrating women especially. But I was lucky, because I paid the bribes.
I went to Mexicali, where I was supposed to meet the coyote.
I spent five days alone in a hotel in Mexicali; I couldn’t even go out the door. Because if you went out, there was a danger of being killed. I was alone, single, without friends, without companions, nobody. You couldn’t talk or trust anyone. I just had to wait for the coyote to tell me, I’m coming for you. It was very tense and dangerous. Of course. Everything was dangerous. If you are out in the street, you can get picked up and can go to jail for three months, four months, five months.
I had to hide my money in my socks. I paid for the corruption. Cartels and police, because the police can also catch you and take your money.
Hannah: How did you cross?
The smuggler called me with a number. “Your name is so-and-so; I’m going to pick you up at such and such a time.” The car ride was very dangerous. They arrived very quickly at the hotel, picked me up, and the journey began. Two hours from Mexicali to the desert, which is already the border, the edge. There they locked us in a horrible house with about 300 people, and I didn’t have my suitcase or clothes; I had left them at the hotel.
I only brought a backpack with an apple, water, juice, Gatorade, Red Bull, pills, a sandwich, and things to help people. Because we had to walk many kilometers through the desert. I walked for about five hours. During those five hours of walking, there was a lot of adrenaline because you see many people dying. Dead people. Everything was dark. The desert. The river where you could drown. Very bad. But we joined a group of about 30.
Hannah: You didn’t know anyone?
No, nobody. They were other clients of the same coyote. Just me and a bag.
And they put us in a small van. 15 people. Stacked on top of each other. And they took us to a point in the desert. And just said, “Run that way.” You didn’t know where you were, where you were going, or where you would end up. You didn’t know If you were walking back to Mexico again. Nothing. They just told us, “If you see a wall, jump over it.” And that’s what we did. We saw a wall.
Hannah: You were a group of 30 people, and how many were able to complete the journey?
About 18. They were faster, they were luckier. Because there was a lot of confusion. Many got lost. They probably died.
There are children too. Many children, women, young people, old people, everyone. And the group disperses out of desperation. But I always stayed with the largest group. So, I wouldn’t be alone. Because I think I would have died. I said, “if I’m alone, I’ll die.”
I ran behind the people. But I remember that behind me a woman was going to jump and she fell backward. An older woman. And I think she broke a bone. But we couldn’t go back. Because the ladder was on the Mexican side. On the other side there was nothing. You just jumped. Yes. And you could break your legs, arms, or other bones.
And it was all dark. But I remember that when we were about 18, we couldn’t wait for anyone else. Because the desert cold was starting to set in, along with the darkness and animals like snakes and tarantulas, and no water. And it was difficult, difficult to walk. Lots of cacti.
But once you jumped the wall, you were safe. Because they couldn’t deport you [to claim asylum]. We had to find a place where we could wait for the Border Patrol.
When we saw lights, we would run or scream. And you, because I understand that there are many bad people at the border, Border Patrol, ICE agents, robbers, and so on; and there are also many bad men, who say “This is my land and I don’t like immigrants.” But I think there are also some good people who will help you with water, but you have to find someone like that, someone who will help.
To get through it, we all helped each other. If I had water and the other person didn’t, we shared it. Even with strangers in the group, because you could recognize each other without speaking; you could tell, “Oh, she’s going to do the same thing. She’s going to cross; she’s going to take the risk.” So, it was like we were communicating with signals, and we all helped each other. In the desert, we did share water; everyone shared, but first, the priority was the young children. After the children ate, the women ate, and whatever was left, we, the men, ate. And the same for blankets.
Yes, there were about 18 of us. We covered the children first, then the women. And we were without shirts; it was very cold. And I remember that we, the men, we covered ourselves together.
Making sure the women and children were safe was what mattered most. We spent about five hours in the desert alone, and when we saw a light, we were so happy because the Border Patrol was coming, and you just surrender.
Yes, and they’re going to detain you, but you have hope that they are not aggressive. They tell you, “You committed the crime of entering the United States illegally. From now on, your asylum process begins.”
It’s affecting me a lot right now because I just remembered that when we crossed, a woman stayed behind because she was overweight…
And I remember she couldn’t jump. And the boy did jump. And now, among many other stories, I start to wonder, what became of that boy? Who took him in? They were just the two of them. And the woman, the mother, stayed on the other side. She’s probably dead. And the boy is here in the United States alone. And we can’t do anything because we’re not his parents. [Alex starts tearing up then sobbing].
And when we all surrendered to immigration, they asked, “Which one is your child?” Everyone was separated. And that boy is probably in a shelter, alone. And I also think about when we crossed the desert, there were so many of us. And I saw how people started to fall behind.
Because they couldn’t continue. Those people could be dead. Kidnapped. Raped. Sexually assaulted. What could have happened to those people? None of us are really here because we wanted to be. Because if it were up to us, we would be in our own country with our families. Nobody came here to play or be on vacation. I think that if someone makes such a great sacrifice of being alone, without family, without being able to see anyone, it’s because we come to seek a better future.
We’re going to live, we’re going to survive, we’re going to fight, we’re going to help everyone. It’s unfair, let’s say it’s unfair what’s happening because many people lost their lives coming here. Of course. Families, friends, many of us have graduated and have never been able to practice our professions.
Because we had to leave so that my family could be better off. It’s not even for me.
Hannah: No, no, I understand. You can help your family.
And I’m very happy here. But what makes me happiest is that my family is happy. Not that I’m going to the United States because it’s better there. It’s for a better life for me and my family, not for selfish reasons. Yesterday marked four years since I’ve been home.
Because the last time I went back was for my grandmother’s funeral. That was the last time I went to my country. I went home. And sometimes I think or feel, “I want to go home”. But I don’t even know where my home is anymore. Because I’m kind of in so many places now. I’ve lived in so many places that I don’t even know where I belong anymore.
Whether here, whether in Colombia, whether in Venezuela, I don’t know. It’s like living a life, but it makes me happy that my family is happy. For me, that’s enough.
Translated into English from the original in Spanish.
