As the sun rose on the cold morning of Monday 29 July in Pamplona, Colombia, a young Venezuelan man in tattered clothes woke up to the sound of the radio playing in a refugee shelter. A news bulletin was reporting Nicolás Maduro’s victory in Venezuela’s presidential election, while phones flashing with blurry footage were passed from hand to hand showing videos of violent protests circulating on social media.
The 2024 presidential elections in Venezuela have plunged the country into a new phase of political crisis since Maduro, the incumbent president, claimed victory amid widespread allegations of fraud. The leading opposition candidate, Edmundo González Urrutia, and his supporters contest the result, which has led to huge protests, including the toppling of statues of former president Hugo Chávez.
The scarred and weather-beaten hands of a refugee in Vanessa’s shelter
International observers and diplomats from several countries in the Americas and Europe have called on the Maduro regime to publish the election results. The National Electoral Council has yet to release the final counts.
The disputed elections have caused international tension after Venezuela expelled diplomats from seven countries and suspended flights to two others, while opposition leaders are calling for peaceful demonstrations to continue.
About 7.7 million people have left Venezuela for neighbouring countries to escape the economic crisis and political turmoil. Many make the journey on foot
As the tectonic plates of power and unrest continue to shift in Caracas, Venezuela’s capital, the Colombian department of Norte de Santander, in which Pamplona is situated, lies on the fault line. Sitting only a few miles from the Colombia-Venezuela border, it is home to many Venezuelans who have sought refuge from the political turmoil and economic crisis that has gripped their home country over the past decade.
Colombia is the country most affected by the Venezuelan exodus, a humanitarian crisis that has led more than 7.7 million people to leave their homeland to seek shelter in neighbouring nations.
Refugees living in shelters along the popular migration route between the Colombian cities of Cúcuta and Bucaramanga, who often make the journey on foot – hence their nickname “caminantes” or hikers – sum up the mood of dejection and hopelessness that has gripped Venezuelan immigrants across the continent. A few days ago, many people in shelters in towns such as Pamplona and La Laguna were dreaming of returning home. Now, as unrest surges in Venezuela, they fear for the safety of their families and prepare for the strain of a new exodus as many more of their compatriots follow in their footsteps each day.
A refugee named Jose has badly injured his foot on the journey from Venezuela. He received rudimentary treatment at La Laguna, but is now unable to walk
In Pamplona, 1,850 refugees were recorded in Vanessa’s shelter in the past two months alone. This place will be one of the first to experience the new spike in migration that many expect to occur in the wake of Maduro’s victory.
Amid reduced aid and diminishing commitment from neighbouring governments to support Venezuelan refugees, it may soon become the frontline of a population surge that local services will struggle to support.
“We think there will be more migration and suffering,” says Vanessa Peláez, the owner of the shelter. “Nobody is prepared.”
A group of refugees prepare for bed on the floor of Douglas’s shelter. The walls are of plastic sheeting and the floor is loose boards covered in mattresses
For now, the futures of the people here are balanced on a knife-edge, resting on news from their home country, a response from the international community and the looming threat of exodus. Ronald, a refugee, is one of those living in uncertainty.
“There is no democracy. My heart is broken. I am a human, I have feelings. What my country is facing brings me a lot of pain,” says Ronald. “Of course, we are afraid.”
Angie, left, and Ronald are Venezuelan refugees travelling together and stopping off at Esperanza Hoy, a shelter outside the border city of Cúcuta
In the aftermath of the election, Ronald gathered his things during the savagely cold morning and set out again. His journey would take him far from Venezuela – and many would follow him.
Carlos is one of them. He lives in Douglas’s shelter in Pamplona, a few wooden shacks built on a steep hillside where walls have been replaced by plastic sheets and weather-beaten mattresses lie across a floor of loose wooden planks.
Jesus, 30, right, in his shared room in Douglas’s shelter, Pamplona. His tattoo shows how much his family in Venezuela means to him. He has walked for a month from Chile to see them, and now fears for their safety
“I left for peace,” he says, drawing on a cigarette that illuminates his face, while smoke curls upwards and mingles with the flies hanging in the dim lamplight. “This election was a fraud. If the people supported [the government], they would not be protesting.”
As Carlos speaks, a group begin to talk over each other. A phone is passed around – on it, a body lying prone in front of riot police. “They killed a minor in San Cristobal. A kid of 15 years old,” he says.
Maria, a refugee passing through Vanessa’s shelter, top. Despite an arduous journey on foot from Venezuela, Angie, left, has not neglected her nails. Stefania, right, who fled Venezuela with her children six years ago, now works in Vanessa’s shelter
Carlos’s anger is felt equally deeply in La Laguna, a town 10 hours’ walk from Pamplona. But 22-year-old Alexander’s reaction is distinct. “I’m returning to fight, to try to remove this president, to do what is possible for the future of my country,” he says, as he leans back in his chair and examines the soles of his shoes, worn thin from the long journey.
He has spent eight years outside Venezuela. Now, as an adult, he plans to join the protests sweeping the streets of his home country.
Mervin stands in a doorway at Vanessa’s shelter. Beside him, a message painted on the window reads ‘May your dreams transport you to that place where you would wish to wake up’
Standing beside him is Riccardo*. A refugee, he now works in the shelter at La Laguna. He is older than Alexander and does not share his bravado. “This hurts me. My children are in Venezuela. They are suffering,” he says.
Life in his shelter is now set against the backdrop of radio reports from Venezuela. The air buzzes with stories of violence. “Whose fault is it? The dictator,” he says.
A Venezuelan refugee lies hidden under the bedclothes in a dimly lit room, while another exhausted traveller rests on the mattresses in Douglas’s shelter
His fear is now a familiar one for many of the refugees who have settled outside Venezuela. “Possibly there will be a civil war,” says Stefania, who arrived from Venezuela almost six years ago and now works helping other refugees in Vanessa’s shelter. “I am very afraid because I have my family there. We don’t know what is going to happen.”
As Stefania speaks, children’s laughter echoes through the shelter. On a brightly coloured wall, an array of sticky notes, each one showing a different birthday, can be seen. Like several Venezuelan families living here permanently, she had hoped to return to Venezuela – something she now feels is impossible.
Riccardo at the shelter in La Laguna where he works – his children are in Venezuela; a cow’s skull outside La Laguna; Crocs ready to be handed out to people arriving at the shelter – after a long journey on foot, comfortable shoes are appreciated
* Name has been changed