Alfonso’s life was always marked by extraordinary circumstances. Adventure and extreme situations have always been a part of his life to such an extent that even the way he came into the world was itself an odyssey.

Back in 2018 of the Western calendar, the situation in Venezuela was unsustainable. Dictatorship, lack of basic living supplies, unemployment, violence and insecurity in the streets have prompted many Venezuelans to unleash an exodus never seen before in this part of the world. Hundreds of thousands of people crossed the border to Colombia and then continued towards Ecuador or Peru. Some remained in these countries, others went even further south, to Chile or Argentina.

The humanitarian crisis was extremely serious. Children, pregnant women, the elderly and the sick even travelled on foot and in inhumane conditions, preferring to die trying rather than staying in their country awaiting certain death due to starvation or high levels of violence and insecurity.

Vanessa was a pretty 29-year-old woman and seven months pregnant. She was travelling alone by bus, accompanied by a group of women, men, children and older people heading to Huaquillas in Ecuador, a town on the border with Peru and where the last leg of her journey to Lima, her final destination, would begin.

Gone were the memories of that fatal night in her home town of Caracas when, due to an infection that endangered her pregnancy, her husband went to get antibiotics on the black market and never returned. His body was found the next day, with several bullets. His belongings were stripped from him and the little money he had left and the medicine he had purchased were gone.

The pain of her loss was the heaviest baggage she carried with her, alongside a lifetime’s worth of belongings in a small suitcase. So, she had nothing, she had lost everything and she was resigned to it. Her most precious treasure was carried in her womb and she would protect it at all costs.

• Are you okay? – asked an old man who was in the seat next to her
• I’m feeling a bit sick, the bus is bumpy and the altitude has hit me I think
• How far along are you?
• Seven and a half months, do you know where we are?
• We are passing through Riobamba. We still have seven hours left to travel…
• What!  At least the trip goes straight to Huaquillas. How did you get to Quito to get on this bus?
• I came with my son and my grandkids. We were able to go through Colombia by car to the border with Ecuador. We went through Tulcán, then we took some buses and we walked a bit, and then on to Quito. Are you travelling alone?
• Yes… I was lucky some Colombian friends helped me cross the border to Ecuador, then I continued alone by car to Quito. Where are your son and grandchildren?
• They left on the bus yesterday, there was not enough room so I told my son to go first. Girl or boy?
• A girl…
• And have you already thought of a name?
• Well – with tears in her eyes – I don’t know, her father and I didn’t get to come up with a name, he didn’t even get the chance to find out that he was going to have a little girl…

The old man didn’t even bother to ask details about how Vanessa’s loss had happened, everyone on that bus had lost someone, it was like an unspoken agreement, only talk about the future and not the past.

The bus was old and the number of passengers clearly exceeded what was legally permitted, but that was how everyone travelled. The Venezuelan transport industry had thrived over the past 2 years and if profits could be maximised, then breaking the law didn’t matter.

Hours passed and night fell when Vanessa got a headache and was shivering with cold, symptoms of a fever that had been incubating for several days. Vanessa had kidney problems which regularly caused infections. Since the beginning of her pregnancy, she had had an episode, that fateful episode which triggered the death of her husband and which she was fortunately able to recover from, thanks to the charity of her neighbours, who after learning what had happened, paid for her antibiotics.

The trip to Huaquillas would be long.

It was 3am when the bus reached its destination. Vanessa was having a cold chicha with her husband on a sunny day in the countryside when the screeching of the brakes brought her back to reality. She woke up feeling really ill. She had a fever, but the urge to finish the two-week journey and to start a new life across the border was much stronger than a few bacteria breeding in her kidneys.

Hundreds of her compatriots were already queuing to pass immigration control at the border. All she had to do was wait patiently. So the hours passed until it was Vanessa’s turn.

• Documents, please – said the official lady at the checkpoint. Her gaze blank and voice monotonous
• Here you go, thank you very much for having us! God bless you! This is a new start for me and my daughter!
• Next! – responded the official lady who had been awake for twenty hours and had heard countless stories and thank yous. She was just doing her job and she was trying to do it as efficiently as possible, despite the large number of people. Therefore, didn’t have time to be sentimental. Intrigued by the official’s attitude, Vanessa only managed to smile nervously and continue on her way. After a few yards, she turned around after hearing a voice calling her
• Mrs. Jiménez! – said the official with an energetic but always monotonous voice
• Yes?
• Mrs. Jiménez, how long have you been pregnant?
• Seven and a half months, Ma’am
• You look pale. Go to one of the health centres that have been made available. Get checked over – always with that same robotic voice
• Thank you! I will do
• Take care… Next! – addressing the next in line.

Vanessa continued on her way. She entered Zarumilla, a town district of the same name in the Tumbes region. Finally, she was in Peru.

The Peruvian government had declared a health emergency in the districts of Aguas Verdes, Zarumilla and Tumbes because of the thousands of Venezuelans who had crossed the border in recent months. The situation was chaotic and the government could not handle it.

[CO3] Zarumilla was a poor district that survives on fishing and informal trade. Not long before, the illegal trade in goods between Peru and Ecuador fed many families, however since they built the border separating the two countries, trade dwindled, cutting off a source of income for many Zarumillanos. Added to this precarious situation is the lack of infrastructure and basic services such as drinking water and, for several months, the arrival of thousands of Venezuelan immigrants that caused the city to collapse.

Vanessa was walking, looking for this difficult-to-locate health centre, among the thousands of people who had inundated the streets, parks and squares. She was not feeling well, the fever had increased, she felt nauseous and there was pain in her lower and upper back. Clear symptoms of a kidney infection.

Her life was in danger.

Under these circumstances, Vanessa could hardly walk. Her pain was getting even more critical. It felt as if a hot iron was pressing deeply into her back. The excitement that she had felt when she had first stepped onto Peruvian soil was now transformed into a fear of dying. The harsh reality slapped her awake from her trance. Her beloved Venezuela reminded her that her life was not really changing. Zarumilla’s filthy streets suddenly reminded her of the streets back in her neighbourhood in Caracas. The vision of the people in the streets suddenly made think of her homeland. Her homeland which had been kidnapped by a tyrant who had stolen her dreams and who seemed to not want to let her go.

A sense of dread seized her, making her feel like her life was worth nothing. She had lost everything, her home, job, husband and she was now on the verge of losing her own life and perhaps even her daughter’s. Desperate in the midst of the crowd and drawing strength from the anger within her, she screamed.

“Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaarrrgh! Those sons of a bitch! Chávez! Maduro! They took everything from me! You motherfuckers! Bastards! They have screwed up my country! They fucked up my whole life! While you guys, living like kings, fucking us all! Stealing from us! Starving us! I have lost everything! They took everything from me! Cuuuuuunts!”

Immediately, Vanessa lost consciousness. Iris was born prematurely at seven and a half months of gestation. Her mother, Vanessa Jiménez, died in the operating room due to sepsis caused by several days of an infection without receiving any treatment. Vanessa fought with all her might for her life, but in vain. As a final thought before leaving this world, she told the doctors the name she had chosen for her daughter. That would be her only legacy. Vanessa’s existence had been swallowed up by the tyrant who ruled her beloved homeland. And Iris, well, she came into this world alone.