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They put food on the tables of thousands of Costa Rican families, but they do not own the land they cultivate. In Santa Cecilia de La Cruz, in the Costa Rican province of Guanacaste, 25 Nicaraguan and Costa Rican farmers grouped in the “Promised Land” cooperative have spent nearly two decades renting plots every six months to grow corn, beans, cassava, yam, and malanga. We traveled to this border region to learn their stories.
Unlike most Nicaraguan migrants, who upon arriving in Costa Rica usually find work in domestic service or construction, this group of farmers has organized itself to continue practicing a trade passed down from generation to generation: working the land.
Without access to bank loans or the possibility of buying their own land, each season they must pay out of pocket for plot rentals, seeds, herbicides, and fertilizers, while also facing the uncertainty of contracts that expire every six months. Added to that is the climate threat: one storm can wipe out the effort of an entire planting season in a single blow.
Since 2006 they have operated legally as a cooperative with one clear objective: that the Rural Development Institute (INDER) help them gain access to land of their own—not as a gift, but to purchase it themselves. Nearly two decades later, they are still waiting for an answer.
Behind every plot of land lies a story of uprooting and reinvention. Some arrived as children, brought by their parents in search of better opportunities. Others crossed the border as adults, with their children in tow and without knowing where they would end up. What unites them is not just their nationality, but their calloused hands, the smell of wet earth, and a shared conviction: that farming is not just a trade, it is a way of life.
These are people who built their lives in Costa Rica. They raised children, formed families, and put down roots in soil they till with the same passion as if it belonged to them. For them, agriculture is not a Plan B or an emergency escape. It is an inheritance they chose not to abandon, even when conditions push them to do so.
The story of “Promised Land” is not an isolated case. Across the entire border strip between Nicaragua and Costa Rica—in La Cruz, Upala, and Los Chiles—the same pattern repeats itself: Nicaraguan families who found their livelihood in the land, but who face the same barriers to gaining a piece of their own where they can plant with security and dignity.
Women Leading the Cooperative
Martha Elena Somarriba, the President Who Refuses to Let the Group Fall
She arrived from Tisma, Nicaragua, in 1994, crossing the border through unofficial points with her children. She began by washing and ironing until she discovered agriculture. Today she is president of “Promised Land” and divides her time between the crops and a catering business. She is the pillar of the group. “I’m always there, encouraging them. We’ve already spent so many years, but we’re close now to seeing the light,” she says.
Maria Esther Garzon Loves the Land, Even Though It Is Not Hers
She was brought to Costa Rica as a child, and her mother taught her how to plant. It is the only trade she has ever known and the only one she wants. She lives beside the land she rents, among rows of corn and beans. Bad years don’t stop her. “They tell me to get out of this. I tell them no—I love doing this, it’s my work.”
Yamileth Obando Finds Joy in Watching What She Plants Grow
For Yamileth, farming is about more than just making a living. It’s something she feels but finds hard to put into words. “You feel a sense of excitement, a joy, watching the crops grow,” she says. A joy that, she says, only those who have planted a seed in the ground and waited for it to grow can truly understand.
