Weary caravan of hope keeps marching onward to chase their American dream
In Honduras she ran a stall selling pupusas, a local tortilla, but was forced out by street gangs. “If you don’t pay them they kill you,” said the woman, drawing a finger slowly across her throat. “It’s like a tax of war, money to bandits, and you can’t not pay. They made me pay 300 lempira a week (£9.35). To you it does not sound like a lot, but for me it was. I had to close.”
After shutting her stall in July, the 35-year-old who gave her name as Carolina decided to head north. She had seen Honduran television coverage of the Us-bound migrant caravan that was then just forming.
She brought her four-year-old daughter and a small bag of clothes. There was no room for toys. The girl caught a fever as they crossed the Mexican border, and cried the whole way as she was pushed in a stroller.
“I’ve been walking so I don’t know what Donald Trump is saying at the moment,” said Carolina. “I know he doesn’t like me. There is nothing I can do about it. But I will keep going until I get to the United States. When I get there I will open a pupusa stall.”
By yesterday, along with 4,000 other migrants, she had reached the small Mexican town of Pijijiapan. They took over its pretty main square and sheltered from the blistering sun under tarpaulins. Local nuns disinfected and bandaged their blistered feet, treated infections and served them rice at the church.
Some migrants said their phones were confiscated at the Mexican border, so had only heard snippets of Mr Trump vowing not to let them in to America. His words appeared to have little effect. With the midterm US congressional elections looming, Mr Trump had put the migrant caravan at the top of the political agenda – a symbol of his determination to crack down on illegal immigration.
It is an issue that resonates with Republican voters, and one that could drive more of them to the polls on Tuesday. Mr Trump is now said to be considering an executive order closing the Us-mexico border to all asylum seekers from Central America.
Meanwhile Jim Mattis, his defence secretary, authorised the deployment of 1,000 troops to the border by the end of this month.
The caravan is still more than 1,000 miles from the border, but advancing closer every day.
The locals in Pijijiapan have sympathy for the migrants. The main square became a makeshift triage centre as charities and residents handed out medicine. A small boy cried as he was treated for a spider bite. One woman, too exhausted to talk, lay with her five young children on the ground and went to sleep.
In side roads off the square, groups of young men slept in lines, using backpacks as pillows, while others played cards.
“When we get nearer the border I’ll go over with a coyote,” one said, explaining that he planned to pay a people smuggler to sneak into America, rather than claim asylum.
Nearby, under a tree, Beatrice Pachego, 33, parked a pink baby stroller decorated with characters from Frozen. She used it to push her daughter Marie, four, 600 miles from Honduras, sometimes getting lifts in trucks part of the way.
“There is just nothing for us in Honduras,” she said, in tears. “I used to do cleaning and washing in a house. I earned 100 lempira (£3.10) a day. A friend in my village told me about the caravan and we went. Marie has cried a lot, but she’s been very good. It’s hardest for her. I tell her we’ll have a better life. I’ll clean, I’ll wash, I’ll do whatever I can in America.”
At a medical tent run by nuns, Alex Escobar, 55, was treated for bruises he said were inflicted by border police.
“I got robbed three months ago in Honduras,” he said, showing a six-inch slash on his arm from a machete.
“I saw the caravan on the TV news. I had to go. If I go back to Honduras the street gangs will kill me. The government does nothing about it.”
The car mechanic wept as he told how he left his wife and five children behind. “There was a lot of pain. But I told her I will make it, and I will. They will not stop me. I will send money back. One day my family will join me. I’m good with cars. I can make money.”
Cleiber Calderon, 22, wearing an old England football shirt, said: “Trump is loud. Very loud. He’s wrong. The country I come from, Honduras, is totally corrupt. Our president is a real madman. I want a better life. I’ll work and send money back to my mother”.
He earned 1,700 lempira (£55) a week in a Honduran sugar factory. He had seen the caravan on TV and hoped to reach Virginia, where an uncle lives.
“I told my mother I was going. She cried but really she knows it’s for the best. What else can I do with my life?”
By yesterday the caravan seemed to have dwindled partially from its peak estimate of 7,200 people, but there were still thousands streaming out of Pijijiapan on to the highway, heading north on the next stage. Passing trucks stopped to pick up some people, and groups including Jehovah’s Witnesses stood at the roadside with containers of water for the weary travellers. But on Twitter the message from President Trump was loud and clear: “To those in the Caravan, turnaround [sic], we are not letting people into the United States illegally. Go back to your Country and if you want, apply for citizenship like millions of others are doing!” He later warned that he may “play a much tougher hand” on immigration in future.