My Month Volunteering with Venezuelan Refugees in Colombia: A Narrative Essay

For one month, I volunteered with an NGO called On the Ground International (OTGI) that provides aid to Venezuelan refugees in Colombia. Their mission is to support Venezuelan refugees along their route, through their own projects, and by supporting independent and locally run organizations. To understand the events that follow, you must first understand the Venezuelan Refugee Crisis. Shall we?

What is the Venezuelan Refugee Crisis?

The Venezuelan Refugee Crisis is the largest recorded refugee crisis in the Americas. It refers to the departure of millions of Venezuelans from their native country during the presidencies of Hugo Chávez and Nicolás Maduro. Roughly 5.5 million Venezuelans have fled their homes due to an extreme lack of resources, human rights abuses, and economic collapse. The Venezuelan Government has denied that there is a crisis and denied humanitarian aid. They've claimed that the United Nations are attempting to justify foreign intervention, and when they have acknowledged the country's economic problems, they've blamed them on US sanctions. In reality, Venezuela's economy collapsed due to the mismanagement of oil wealth and corruption under the Chavez administration that continues today under the Maduro administration.

Under Maduro, nearly all Venezuelans live in poverty. There are shortages of medication, food, water, gas, and electricity. The lack of medication has caused millions to die from preventable deaths. When food is available, it is sold at a very high price due to hyperinflation, and only the most well-off can afford it. Their money is so worthless that an apple costs more than what a doctor makes in a month. Many people go days without running water, and power outages are commonplace. The police are corrupt and are more akin to gangsters with badges. Violent and sometimes fatal robberies and kidnappings are a real threat. Many Venezuelans can't afford a bus fare, leaving them no choice but to walk hundreds and sometimes thousands of miles in search of a better life. The journey is dangerous, but they are leaving because they feel they will die if they stay there. I cannot stress the urgency of this crisis enough.

As I was sitting in the back of the Colombian police car, I knew I had messed up this time. And it wouldn't have bothered me as much if it wasn't entirely my fault.

Just 17 hours before, I was scrambling to get my belongings together and bring down the suitcase full of powdered Gatorade that my volunteer coordinator sent to me to bring to the Venezuelan refugees. It was 2 am, and my Uber driver was waiting outside to drive me to the airport. I could hear my roommates' boyfriends' Irish accent booming through our not-so-thick Brooklyn walls as they argued, and I wondered what the best way was to carry the colossal suitcase down the stairs of our two-story walk-up. There was a faint smell of sweat, hot garbage, and cigarettes, and I laughed to myself the way that you do when you're overtired. I was so happy to finally live in New York City and to be having my first big post-pandemic adventure. Still, I couldn't help but wonder if the chaotic start to my trip was foreshadowing the events to come.

After a series of delays, one missed flight, and getting hit on by the much older Ukrainian man sitting next to me on the plane, I arrived in the Colombian border city of Cúcuta. It was nighttime, and I had no pesos, phone signal, or fluency in Spanish. One of the workers at the airport tried to help me and got some nearby police involved. I became a bit of a spectacle as they tried to figure out what to do with me. The bus ride from Cúcuta to the volunteer house in Pamplona takes two hours, and there were no cashless transportation services open at that time. After what felt like ages, the police finally settled on driving me to a nearby hotel. Upon arrival, I collapsed on the bed, relieved but shaken up by the encounter. To me, the hotel looked like the site of a sex trafficking operation. But my discomfort was no match for my exhaustion, and I fell asleep almost immediately.

The next morning I went to an ATM and had continental breakfast with coffee and Papaya juice. After, I heard a knock at the door which made me uneasy, unable to shake the feeling that I was in trouble from the night before. However, when I opened it, the concierge handed me a note that said my name with a heart underneath it. It was a love note. After the tumultuous events of the last 24 hours, the novelty and sweetness of this gesture made me feel lighter and ready for whatever came next. Then I took the two-hour car ride from Cúcuta to Pamplona. The driver had a neck tattoo and played Spanish rap music loudly, and I felt cool and calm as I watched the changing Andean landscape outside the open window.

I arrived around 2 pm and met Matti and Ryan, the volunteer coordinators. Matti was at the whiteboard, coordinating who would be on what projects for the week as I would see her do many times. Then Ryan gave me his orientation speech along with a tour of the volunteer house. Meeting them was a breath of fresh air, and I felt taken care of. That day I went on my first project called "Simón Bolívar" with Bri, a 26-year-old engineer turned backpacker from Brazil and the US, and one of my first friends at OTGI. Simón Bolívar was the name of the stadium where we played soccer with the local Venezuelan migrant kids whose parents worked at the shelter. Sarait, a precocious and charming 10-year-old girl, came right up to me, hugged me, and held my hand without hesitation as we walked to the stadium to play soccer. The night before felt like a distant memory. Then I got hit in the face with a soccer ball. It hit me so hard that one of my contacts fell out, and I needed to go to the optometrist the next day to get new ones. Emily, my new friend, former volunteer coordinator, and writer from Oregon, accompanied me there. She translated as I took the eye exam, and we laughed when I mistook "Z" for "2" and at the general novelty of the situation.

The coming weeks were colored by new faces and experiences, accompanied by Pamplona's quaint colonial college town backdrop. There were white buildings and burnt orange Spanish-style roofs, nestled snugly in a bowl-like shape by a lush green part of the Andes Mountain Range. When Bri and I hiked up to what we called "The Cross," we agreed that from that high up, Pamplona looked like a bowl of frosted mini-wheats. Colombian Pesos (COP) are colorful and display the faces of artists like Débora Arango on the 2 mil peso; a poet called José Asunción Silva on the 5 mil, Anthropologist Virginia Gutiérrez de Pineda on the 10 mil, and author Gabriel Marcía Márquez on the 50 mil. When I think of Pamplona, I see La Plazuela, La Calle Real, and El Parque (the small square, Real Street, and the park). I see my favorite Cafes like Café Real and Café Academia, the grocery store called Justo y Bueno, Pollo places, drogeurías on every corner, and taxis that you can get for a flat rate of about 4 mil (the equivalent of 1 dollar). I think of the museums on religion and architecture, and how for some reason, I see Bart Simpson everywhere (seriously, on street art, t-shirts, and so on).

I can hear sounds from the occasional peaceful protests and recall sitting in traffic due to roadblocks set up by anti-government protesters. The protests were initially in retaliation to Colombian president Iván Duque's tax reform bill but continued even after he withdrew it, transforming into a general objection to Colombia's growing inequality and poverty. Pamplona's architecture and Andean backdrop reminded me so much of Cusco until it didn't anymore because it became its own. The outskirts of the city where the urban setting gave way to the mountains, were informally marked by these orange flowers called "Ojo de Poeta" (Eye of the Poet), and I felt like I was in a Velasco immersion experience at one of those trendy New York pop up museums. This lush new place, combined with my lack of words in Spanish, brought to mind my favorite line from the novel 100 Years of Solitude, "The world was so recent that many things lacked names, and to mention them, you had to point your finger at them."

The different projects included Aid tent, mobile aid "Up," mobile aid "Down," Vanessa's shelter, Simón Bolívar, English class, Marta's shelter, meal prep, food prep, trash cleanup, slacklining in the plazuela, and community dinners prepared by a local chef named Reiner. Aid tent is a shelter south of Pamplona that's run by a Venezuelan migrant family. They provide food, medical aid, and foot massages to the Caminantes (Locals refer to the refugees as "Los Caminantes," which translates to, "The Walkers"). On Mobile aid, a select few local Colombian drivers drive volunteers up or down the mountain to hand out food and supplies to the Caminantes on their route. We gave out ham and cheese sandwiches, hard-boiled eggs, Gatorade or "Suero," fruit, Oreos, pads for the women, propel packets, shoes, and sometimes clothes. And sometimes, we gave rides to the most vulnerable of them. It was always a welcomed break when I was put on meal prep because we only had to walk next door to make sandwiches and cook eggs. I have fond memories there of Harmonie, Diane, and I listening to "Abracadabra" by a french rapper called Keny Arkana. I remember Julie, a physical therapist from Oregan, telling me that the book of John is the best place to start when reading the Bible and talking about music with Elijah and Noah.

Vanessa's shelter is run by a young Venezuelan woman in Pamplona who provides shelter for one night to the Caminantes along their route. At Vanessa's, volunteers could be assigned cooking, clinic, or kids play (my personal favorite). My favorite projects were a tie between Simón Bolívar, English Class, and Vanessa's shelter because that’s when I got to spend time with the resident Venezuelan kids. I will never forget their beautiful and sweet faces, humor, and genuine kindness to each other and to me. They have something special. One of the boys, named Eduardo, recommended a couple of songs to me by Venezuelan rappers (they were very good, I still listen to them all the time), and I would recommend songs and albums that I liked. Even though it was sometimes hard to connect due to the language barrier, this small bond meant the world to me.

One moment that stood out to me happened when I was volunteering at Aid tent early on in my trip. I was washing the feet of a Venezuelan man and refugee named Felix, who appeared to be in his mid-30s. I was asking my usual small talk questions like "Cuantos dias llevas caminando?" (How many days have you been walking?) and, "Tienes una familia con la que vas?" (Do you have family where you're going?). He asked me where I was from and when I said New York, his eyes lit up. I felt uncomfortable with my privilege like I was bragging, but his genuine excitement and curiosity put me at ease.

I described what it was like to live there, and he told me it was his dream to go there. I said, "Deseo eso para ti" (I wish that for you). We didn't talk about what the journey had been like for him, his family, or what he had been through to get there. My limited knowledge of Spanish and limited time didn't lend themselves to this. But I laughed as he showed me the photo album he had of J Lo on his phone. The interaction was small, but for me, it was profound. He thanked me for the foot massage and told me how much our meeting had meant to him. Later we exchanged WhatsApp numbers, and we still talk on occasion. It was one of the most extraordinary experiences of my life.

It has never been more apparent to me than when documenting the events of my life how the presence of other people shapes our lives, figuratively and literally, into chapters. I considered dividing this story into chapters with the titles of different people I met, and if it weren't for the sake of chronological order and continuity, I might have. I had many different types of bonds with people, some light and fun, and some deeper. Some were bright but much too short-lived, and some a slow and wonderful burn. Some I didn't see coming at all. Some are preserved in my memory, and some are active and ever-changing as we continue to connect and share our experiences.

The volunteer house was filled with people from all over; England, France, South Africa, Spain, Portugal, the US, and so on. I met Ryan and Matti first. Ryan was a young South African guy with a fun and welcoming presence, and Matti was probably the most highly organized person I have ever met. Fueled by deep compassion, she ensured that the projects ran seamlessly, and she was amazing at her job. She was the mom of the group and always took care of us. Harmonie was a French girl who had lived in Argentina for a while, and we were fast friends. She was one of the most genuinely kind people I've met, and being near her always felt like there was a weight lifted off of my shoulders. When I think of Harmonie, I think of how she asked me if I wanted to lay down next to her while watching Aladdin at our volunteer movie night, how she gave me a big kiss on the cheek for no reason, our little inside jokes, and her compliments. She made me feel so supported.

Elijah arrived my second week there. Our friendship started the night I met him when I heard him talking about the book East of Eden by John Steinbeck and told him I'd read it last year. He had so much depth, and I loved that about him. He was very intellectual and never in a pretentious way, but in a way that inspires you to want to know more and be more. He was always reading a book, and I got the sense that no matter how much I got to know him, there would always be more to learn. Noah was always quick with the funny comebacks and had a kid-like yet somehow still endearingly curmudgeon energy about him. He had a huge sweet tooth, and I knew that I always had a buddy if I ever wanted a milkshake. Bri made me laugh so much, and I felt like a kid around her, the way I used to feel with my older cousin that I looked up to. Catherine was my roommate and impressed me similarly to Matti, in that she had a seemingly endless amount of drive and was such a leader. She woke up before everyone else, and she'd write and plan English lessons for the kids. She was very invested in their education, and I loved that about her. I met so many kind people, but for the sake of length, I cannot mention them all here.

Some moments just made me laugh out loud, like when there was a quiet lull in the day, and Bri surprised me and herself when she enthusiastically shouted "hola!" at one of the local vendors we passed and then commented, "Wow, that was like a jack-in-the-box hola." Another time, I was picking through Bri's hair like a mama chimpanzee after she got it stuck in a flytrap. I think of when Mario, an elderly man at the shelter, took it upon himself to comb my unruly hair and of my last night at Vanessa's shelter when Carlos, my good friend and one of the local volunteers, pretended to play my guitar and sang: "Another one bites the dust." I think of watching Kate Bush music videos with Elijah and after a night out when Elijah, Noah, Diane, Harmonie, and I were having a "song circle," and Diane requested this Motown-like song, prompting us to bop up and down to the beat. I smile when I think of Sarait and Yeliana whispering all of the "drama" to Bri and I and asking if we had boyfriends. We lied and said that she was dating Channing Tatum and I was dating Brad Pitt... "They're from LA," we said.

And then there were the hard moments. I ran out of ADHD supplements halfway through the trip, and I started to not feel like myself anymore. Well, I did feel like myself, but just an old version that I didn't like, which was the scary part. Old insecurities popped up, and I became overwhelmed and felt like I couldn't remember anything anymore. I took this trip because I thought it was the most interesting and worthwhile way I could think of to give back to the world. But the part I don't tell people is that I also felt like I had this shallowness inside me. I felt like I needed to see real hardship and experience something real to shake me awake from my "problems" that don't seem like problems at all when you're sitting across from someone who is sleeping in the street. I'm the same person I was before I left. But I have some beautiful new friends and experiences now that have informed how I see the world. I wish I had a more personal anecdote to give from one of the Caminantes on their experiences, but the language barrier and my limited time there made it difficult to connect. Luckily, one of my fellow volunteers', Catherine Ellis, has a fantastic blog where you can read an account of one man's story: The Lawyer Who Couldn't Afford a Bus Fare.

A few days before the end of my trip, my phone was stolen while we were playing soccer at Simón Bolívar. A few days prior, I had accidentally slammed it in a car door. After all of the ups and downs from the trip, I almost expected this, so it didn't phase me. The kids helped me look for it outside the stadium, but we had no luck. Since we didn't have much time left together, I was happy that Catherine took pictures of everyone to look back on. I love those pictures. The following day I had a list of tasks I needed to complete before leaving the next morning. My lack of Spanish, with no phone for a translator, made checking them off a bit more complicated. I had to get the Antigen Covid test and find a place to print my results and plane tickets. When I had lunch at my favorite spot called "Mammamia," my friend, the owner, brought his daughter to practice English with me. It was a fun break from the seemingly endless to-do list.

Finally, I reported my phone as stolen with the Colombian police. The police gave me a ride back to the Volunteer House, and I smiled to myself, thinking that my time in Colombia had come full circle since my brush with the police in Cúcuta. Finally, 6:30 pm rolled around, and there was no way I was leaving Colombia without saying goodbye to the kids. I brought a guitar with me to Vanessa's shelter, and they seemed surprised and happy to see me. I felt happy. We sat around in a song circle, and I played through my ordinary repertoire, this time, with extraordinary company. Finally, it was time to say goodbye. I walked away feeling loved.

On my next and last morning there, I dropped something off at the shelter and said goodbye to Carlos, Eduardo, and Miguel one last time. Then I stopped by the park to buy a bracelet with the colors of the Colombian flag on it. As I was walking down the always busy La Calle Real (the main street there), I felt someone shuffle past and grab me, and there she was. It was Emily! I was so happy. I had a little time before my bus got there, so we sat down in a cafe and talked. I had a few last-minute thank you notes to write, and with Emily there, the words flowed seamlessly. We both agreed that the serendipitous meeting seemed too perfect to be a coincidence. The house was quiet when I got back, but I felt like I had all of the closure I needed, and for that, I was grateful.

On the bus ride back to the Cúcuta airport, I looked out again at the changing Andean landscape where I'd found inspiration many times before, but on this day, there was no booming Spanish rap music to accompany the view. This time the only thing competing for my attention was the pen and 5 x 8" notebook paper in my hands. This time there were only my thoughts which were rich with novelty, shared purpose, and closure from knowing that their contents would be preserved in these pages.

What Can I Do to Help?

If you find yourself asking this question, then I have good news for you. There are many ways to help, and you can choose whichever one works for you.

1. Raise Awareness

Tell people. Tell your friends, your family, or post on social media. You can share OTGI posts on Instagram and Facebook or share posts from Vanessa's Shelter. Unfortunately, this crisis has gone underrepresented in the news. Still, it has been going on since roughly 2016 and is not going away any time soon.

2. Donate
You can donate to OTGI via their website or through Venmo at "OntheGround."

3. Volunteer

Come volunteer with OTGI! You can click the "Volunteer" tab on their website to learn more and send them a message through the "Contact" tab. They also have reviews from past Volunteers on Workaway.com if you need more convincing!

4. Know that Your Voice Matters

Don't underestimate the power that your voice or even your most private kindness has. You matter. These people matter. They are real and human suffering on a massive scale is real. We are not free until all of us are free.