In February 2020 Ray Schellinger undertook a journey walking with Venezuelan refugees in Colombia. He walked from Palmira to Mondomo, a journey of 100 kilometers, a small section of the 2,000 km trek many refugees take from Colombia and into Peru. We are posting some of Ray’s FB posts from along the way. This post is from February 20, 2020.
The rain is coming down in buckets right now, about 10:30 PM Thursday night. Arrived in Santander De Quilichao at about 6:00, between passing storms, thankful to find a cheap hotel. ($6 a nite, not too bad.) Ran across the highway for dinner, sancocho de gallina, and then as I started back to the hotel, I saw a very, very young looking couple running in under the restaurant awning to escape the rain. They had just jumped off the back of a truck and were a bit winded and damp.
We talked for a while. 17 days on the road from Venezuela, headed for Peru. She is an agronomy engineer, he is a truck driver. They haven’t had work for months. Their belongings are stuffed into two small plastic bags, and they have no money left.
I asked about their plans for the night, if they were gonna hop back on the truck when the driver finished his meal at the restaurant. They said they had no place to stay, and had no other options, “Getting soaked on the highway was better than getting soaked in a parking lot, at least you were making progress toward a destination.” I offered to get a room for them at the hotel. That made them quite happy.
At the reception, the young woman was just finishing the check in process with a truck driver. She looked up at me and at the young couple and asked if they were Venezuelan. They said yes. She said there was no room available. I looked into the empty parking lot and the empty rooms and asked how that could be. She said the open rooms were reserved in advance. The couple was resigned to leave. I told them to hold on, and asked if they would take my room. The reception said that wasn’t possible, that it was a room for just one person. I protested that it had a double bed, what would the difference be. Then she said that they couldn’t rent because they don’t have Colombian ID or a valid visa required of all renters. I pointed at she had never asked for any ID from me.
The couple thanked me for my offer anyway and was about to leave. I asked the receptionist for a word in private, and appealed to her compassion, asking if she understood all that this couple had been through. She relented, saying that she had just one room left, which had no fan. If they wanted it, they could have it, but they would need to be out before 7:00 the next morning. “No problem,” they replied, “we will be on the road by 6:00.” “And don’t break anything!” the receptionist groaned, explaining to me that “these people” always destroy the rooms they stay in.
This receptionist is young, mid 20’s I’d say. I have seen lots of instances of racism against Venezuelans over the last several days, and I’ve heard about a lot more. Yet I was still shocked at how blatant and cruel this was. She was ready and determined to turn this young couple out into the rain. I guess I shouldn’t have been so shocked. It happens all the time, just not usually in front of me. Perhaps that’s only because I, as a person of privilege, haven’t interjected myself enough into the places where people of privilege feel entitled to do this to their neighbors. That will change.
I walked my newest friends to their door and chatted with them for a few more minutes before walking back by the reception area. The receptionist was welcoming a few more truckers in as guests. “Si, claro que si, tenemos espacio.” “Yes, of course, we have room,” she told them. She lowered her eyes as I passed by.
Tomorrow morning, 6:00 sharp, I know who I will be walking with.
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