As the sun set over the Pacific coast of Panama on September 19, 2025, Mariela Gómez and her two children clung tightly together, their bodies pressed against sloshing gas tanks on the deck of a crowded boat. For 17 hours, they endured choppy waters and uncertainty, heading toward the dense, lawless jungle that marks the border between Panama and Colombia. Gómez, a 36-year-old Venezuelan mother, was not alone in her journey. She was just one of thousands of Venezuelan migrants now undertaking a perilous "reverse migration"—a desperate attempt to return home after their dreams of reaching the United States had been dashed.
According to the Associated Press, Gómez is among more than a million migrants who, in recent years, traversed the length of South and Central America in hopes of a new life in the U.S. But the tightening of legal migration pathways under former President Donald Trump has left many stranded, penniless, and facing dangers they never anticipated. Over 14,000 migrants, most of them Venezuelans, have returned to South America since the U.S. immigration crackdown began, based on figures provided by Colombia, Panama, and Costa Rica.
For Gómez and her children, the journey back is fraught with hardship at every turn. The family, like so many others, could not afford the $280-per-person fare for the more established Caribbean route into Colombia. Instead, they joined the growing number of migrants boarding cargo boats ferrying goods between Panama’s capital and Colombia’s Pacific coast—a route that is half the price but, by all accounts, twice as dangerous.
"We lost hope," Gómez told the Associated Press. "We’re trying to return, but we don’t have the money to go back." Her words echo the despair felt by countless others who find themselves caught between countries, policies, and the unforgiving geography of the region.
In recent years, the journey out of Venezuela was already perilous. Migrants fleeing economic collapse and mounting government repression braved the infamous Darien Gap—a lawless, jungle-clad stretch between Colombia and Panama—before enduring months of uncertainty in Mexico, awaiting asylum appointments in the U.S. But after Trump’s immigration policies slashed legal entry options, thousands were left stranded in Mexico, unable to move forward or back.
Without viable options, many began the long trek southward, winding through Central America by bus, and finally boarding slow-moving cargo boats on Panama’s Pacific coast. These boats, often crammed with 15 to 30 people, offer little comfort or safety. Boat operators like 56-year-old Nacor Rivera have witnessed the desperation firsthand. "People arrive with very few resources, some with only the clothes on their backs," Rivera explained to the Associated Press. "Many can’t pay for the boat ride, so I’ve had to help a lot of them, carrying them for free."
The dangers of this route are not theoretical. In June 2025, a packed boat carrying 38 people crashed at sea, injuring a pregnant woman, several children, and a person with a disability who lost their wheelchair. When migrants finally reach Colombia, they find themselves in remote jungle regions rife with armed groups and criminal networks. There are no shelters, scant medical care, and little protection from violence or exploitation. The United Nations, in a report released earlier this month, warned that migrants often arrive severely dehydrated, burned, malnourished, and suffering from mental health issues. Those without money can "remain stranded in inhumane conditions," the report stated.
Scott Campbell, a U.N. human rights officer in Colombia, urged authorities to take action: "We urge authorities to care for people in this reverse migration to stop them from falling into criminal and trafficking networks of illegal armed groups, and turn them into victims of even greater violence."
The stories of individual migrants are harrowing. Jesús Aguilar, another Venezuelan, found himself stranded for two months in a rural Panamanian town in the heart of the Darien Gap. With no money to continue, he survived by working odd jobs—cleaning a local farm—until he could finally afford the fare for a boat ride to Colombia. His experience is far from unique; many migrants are forced to rely on the kindness of strangers or the slim chance of finding paid work along the way.
For Gómez, the journey home is a bitter reversal. She and her family originally fled Venezuela in 2017, escaping an economy in freefall and a government that was tightening its grip on dissent. Like millions of other Venezuelans, they first sought refuge in neighboring countries—Colombia and Peru. But as those nations struggled to absorb the influx of vulnerable people, Gómez’s hopes shifted northward. In October 2025, after crossing the Darien Gap and the U.S.-Mexico border into Texas, her family was quickly detained by U.S. Border Patrol and handed over to Mexican authorities, who dropped them in southern Mexico.
With no work prospects and facing threats from cartels preying on stranded migrants, Gómez made the difficult decision to return home. "It would have been risking our lives and risking the life of my child to keep going," she said. "We’re just hoping God protects us."
Even as she heads back to Venezuela, Gómez is painfully aware that her home country remains deeply unstable. The government of President Nicolás Maduro continues to crack down on dissent, especially after last year’s contested elections. Gómez confided that if Maduro stays in power, remaining in Venezuela might not be an option for long. "I would have to leave my country again, maybe go to Chile," she pondered aloud. "I would have to try my luck in another country. Again. But right now, we just have to focus on getting to Colombia."
Other families face similar crossroads. Venezuelan Abraham Castro, his partner, and her two sons were also returning home after being detained by U.S. authorities in Texas and sent back to southern Mexico. They, too, found themselves on Panama’s Pacific coast, preparing to press on toward Colombia, uncertain of what awaited them.
The scale of this reverse migration is staggering. The Associated Press reports that hundreds of migrants have already traveled the dangerous Pacific route, and the numbers are expected to rise as economic hardship and restrictive immigration policies persist. Many arrive with little more than the clothes on their backs, relying on the goodwill of boat operators or the slim hope of finding work along the way.
The humanitarian challenges are immense. With no shelters, limited access to medical care, and the ever-present threat of criminal violence, migrants are exposed to risks at every stage of their journey. International organizations have called for urgent action to protect these vulnerable populations from exploitation and harm.
As Mariela Gómez and her children huddle together on their uncertain journey, their story is a stark reminder of the human cost of political decisions and shifting borders. For now, their focus is on reaching Colombia safely. What comes next is a question that haunts thousands of families retracing their steps through a continent that once promised hope—and now, for many, offers only the slimmest chance of refuge.