6 de enero 2025
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Costa Rica-Nicaragua Border. Every December, bus terminals in Costa Rica's main provinces experience a massive influx of travelers. Passengers arrive from all corners of the country. Many are Costa Ricans, but as the buses approach the northern border, only Nicaraguans remain, using their end-of-year holidays to visit their families "on the other side."
At the end of 2024, the journey was marked by fear and uncertainty after changes to immigration laws in Nicaragua, hastily approved by the regime. The new laws now impose fines of up to $1,000 for "evasion of border control for illicit purposes" and prison sentences of six months to two years for Nicaraguans who leave or enter the country irregularly, allegedly to commit "acts that harm national integrity, sovereignty," or supposed "acts of conspiring or inducing terrorist acts or economic and social destabilization of the country."
Human rights defenders consider these new measures arbitrary, as they grant government agents the discretion to decide who represents "a risk to the country's security" and authorize them to use their weapons if deemed necessary.
Despite widespread fear, Joaquín – a former teacher at the now-defunct Universidad Centroamericana (UCA) – switches buses at the Ciudad Quesada bus terminal on his way to Las Tablillas, a border crossing in central Nicaragua. Joaquín, 38, shared his experience but requested to remain anonymous when speaking to CONFIDENCIAL.
'We can't return to Nicaragua because we're considered terrorists by the regime, for working in defense of human rights, and because I was involved in the civic resistance since 2018,'" he says.
This is the first time Joaquín has returned to Nicaragua since seeking refuge in Costa Rica in October 2023, and he does so knowing he could be arrested if Nicaraguan soldiers or police identify him as a dissident. In his backpack, he carries two changes of clothes, a pair of sneakers, and his Nicaraguan ID—enough for a trip in which he will avoid official immigration controls both in Costa Rica and Nicaragua. "I swear it was a super difficult decision because I didn’t want to go to Nicaragua, but the reason I’m doing it is strictly humanitarian. My best friend is dying of cancer, and my dad just had surgery and needs my support, so those are the reasons I’m taking this risk. I had no other choice," he says, as he says goodbye to get off the bus in Las Tablillas and joins an endless line of people crossing into Nicaragua through the forest. We’ll see him again on his return, if all goes well.
The Peñas Blancas Border
The first bus of the day leaves the Liberia terminal in Guanacaste for the Peñas Blancas border at 4:30 a.m. It’s packed to capacity with passengers and cargo, leaving behind a long line that grows as the hours pass. “I exchange colones for córdobas,” a money changer calls out, while another vendor offers “meat empanadas and coffee.” There are always “pirate” taxi drivers around who, without permits, offer express rides to the border. “I’m just waiting for one more,” they announce, implying they’ll start driving soon. They’ll get there before the bus, but at double or triple the price.
A woman and a man traveling together exchange colones for córdobas. “We have to pay the tolls,” she tells him, referring to the "checkpoints" along the irregular paths, where a “fee” of fifty to one hundred córdobas is charged per person.
The bus starts its journey before the sun starts to rise. There are so many passengers that many have to stand. The bus's designated area for wheelchair passengers is filled with backpacks and bundles. Some passengers take advantage of the early morning darkness to sleep, while others chat about the last time they were in Nicaragua.
The bus reaches Peñas Blancas as the first rays of sunlight appear. Everyone gets off to claim their luggage. The vehicle is now completely empty, though it still has the final stretch before it reaches the Costa Rican border complex. Passengers move away from the road and begin to vanish into the brush and trees. The calls here are different: 'One thousand colones (roughly 2 USD) to cross,' 'Five thousand colones (roughly 10 USD) and I’ll guide you,' 'I’ll carry your luggage,' 'Don’t go that way,' 'There are no guards this way.'
The massive flow of Nicaraguans during this time of year boosts the informal economy.
“By December 23rd, there were so many people. It’s nice, you know? Who wouldn’t want things to be like they used to be, crossing over every day? But we have to trust in the Lord. He’s the only one who can help,” says a Nicaraguan street vendor, who agrees to speak with us on the condition that we don’t mention her real name.
María sells food and coffee at the unauthorized crossings near the border and notes that many travelers are talking about the regime’s new immigration measures. “Yesterday, so many people crossed to Nicaragua to see their families. They’re still going strong, grounded in their faith in the Lord, because, of course, they left at this time because of their faith. Just as the Lord has kept them safe on the way there, He will keep them safe on the way back,” she says.
On another path, we meet Martha, a Nicaraguan trans woman with Costa Rican residency, who traveled to guide one of her friends through an unofficial crossing to Nicaragua. “I’ve been traveling this route my whole life, but I got my residency six years ago, so now I can go through immigration controls more peacefully. My friend still doesn’t have papers, but she wanted to visit her parents,” says Martha. While she’s not traveling herself, she knows these irregular routes very well.
“If you’re traveling illegally, you face many dangers: getting robbed, sometimes even the authorities, if you don’t pay them, won’t let you pass. Sometimes they detain you, sometimes they send you back, but sometimes they just let you pass normally. You can even hide from them and get through,” says the vendor who emigrated to Costa Rica 20 years ago.
News about the changes to the immigration laws has spread quickly within the Nicaraguan community in Costa Rica. To Martha, who has her whole family in Nicaragua, these changes seem unfair: “As a Nicaraguan, I feel that every person who identifies as Nicaraguan should receive a proper welcome. Because we’re Nicaraguans, it’s our homeland. And if we leave the country, it’s because the conditions aren’t there. We have to look for other ways to earn money. It even helps the government because with remittances, we’re contributing to Nicaragua’s economy,” she points out.
The Path to Nicaragua
As they move along the path, the trail splits at several points. Some lead through the yards of the last houses on Costa Rican soil, while others cross streams and muddy areas created by the large flow of people. Travelers know they’ve entered Nicaraguan territory when they spot the first soldiers from the Nicaraguan Army, carrying AK-47 rifles.
The soldiers ask each traveler for their ID, according to migrants passing through. They also ask what’s in their bags. People stop, lower their loads, open their sacks or backpacks, and show what they’re carrying. A couple, a man and a woman, are escorted by a soldier toward Costa Rica. The soldier walks with his AK-47 in one hand, and the civilians walk silently. They carry a box that looks like an appliance. Other travelers whisper, “They’re definitely going to check their stuff at the military post.” No one dares to ask, and the scene fades as the soldier and the travelers he’s escorting disappear into the woods, off the path.
Returning Home, Leaving Nicaragua Behind
It’s January 2025, and Professor Joaquín’s journey has come to an end. “The experience for me was humiliating. It’s incredibly sad, and it’s not a dignified journey at all. You feel the fear, the desperation, because you’re suffocating with the uncertainty of whether or not you’ll make it across. And the truth is, you experience all these emotions and sensations of fear, but you have no choice. You have to do it, just like everyone else does day after day,” he says, his face filled with anguish.
“I heard many mothers saying they were desperate to bring their sons and daughters here before the regime finished closing the doors, which has caused a kind of panic and stress among the population,” he adds.
For Joaquín, the experience has been more than just a high-risk journey; he describes it as a trip back to his own wounds. “Going back there was like reopening the wound, but it also made me realize that Nicaragua’s situation seems to be getting worse, both economically and in terms of repression. So, it actually made me feel sad to return and see how people are coping with the situation in the country,” he explains.
“After spending a long time in another country, processing my grief and leading a normal daily life, going back to that stress of ‘be careful, you can’t say this here, keep quiet, speak softly,’ my friends even told me people speak in codes now. So, for me, it was stressful to go back to that situation because you feel that sense of fear, the feeling that you can’t speak, that you can’t say what you want or what you think about what’s happening in Nicaragua, in all areas and spaces,” says the former professor, who doesn’t seem willing to repeat the experience.
“To be honest, given how humiliating and dangerous this trip was, I wouldn’t do it again, unless it were for a humanitarian emergency. My family was very worried, and they made me promise I wouldn’t take this risk again,” he concludes.
Other migrants, like Martha, say that as long as they have family in Nicaragua, they will do whatever it takes to return and hug them. “Not going back would be like having your mother and not wanting her, because Nicaragua is the homeland that gave us life. We have every right to return, and I hope that one day I can go back to my Nicaragua as a democratic country where the rights of all Nicaraguans are respected equally,” she emphasizes, a smile slipping through her face and the glimmer in her eyes about to turn into tears. Her bus has stopped in front of her, and it’s time to return home to Costa Rica.
This article was published in Spanish in Confidencial and translated by our staff. To get the most relevant news from our English coverage delivered straight to your inbox, subscribe to The Dispatch.
