When I turned on the TV, an American comedy show was airing during a late-night slot in Japan. The Americans on the screen were sitting comfortably on cozy chairs in a brightly lit apartment, eating chocolate muffins. The New York office they worked in exuded cleanliness, and the occasional shots of Manhattan’s streets evoked a sense of wanderlust.

“I used to work there…” said David as he sank into a chair and exhaled smoke from his cigarette. David, who lives in Medellín, Colombia, crossed illegally into the United States ten years ago. He paid a mafia group known as “coyotes” 1.3 million yen to smuggle him into the U.S., starting from the Colombian islands of San Andrés in the Caribbean, traveling by small boat to Guatemala, and then overland to the United States, eventually reaching New York. Along the way, he married a Colombian woman he had crossed with, and they had a son who is now six years old.

“My son was born in the U.S. and has citizenship, but I entered illegally, so I could never get legal status,” David explained. He lived under the alias Ivan Díaz, using a false identity he purchased in the underground market. However, a year ago, his luck ran out when the police arrested him. Their investigation uncovered his illegal residency. “If you ever go to New York, you should meet my wife and son. I plan to return someday, but I don’t have the money to do so now.” By this time, the New York cityscape on TV had been replaced by a Spanish-language commercial.

Civil wars, poverty, and drug-related crime—these are, unfortunately, abundant motivators driving people from Central and South America to embark on such perilous journeys. The dream of America is unrelenting.

Colombia-Panama Border

After a 30-minute flight from Medellín, I arrived in Capurganá. The emerald green Caribbean Sea stretched before me, accompanied by the sounds of tropical music. Though a small resort town, Capurganá is also a border crossing into Panama and a gathering place for illegal migrants traveling overland.

Jaime has been working as a “coyote” for seven years. For them, the job is less about smuggling and more akin to guiding. That day, he was helping a Cuban man cross into Panama. Jaime, another coyote, and the Cuban set off toward Panama, leaving the beautiful sea behind.

The Darién Gap, the jungle region bordering Colombia and Panama, is fraught with danger. Guerrillas, right-wing paramilitary groups, and drug traffickers all operate in this area, making it a perilous route. Crossing without a coyote is nearly impossible, yet many coyotes take advantage of migrants, stealing all their money. The Cuban man, a former chef in Havana, knew the risks but couldn’t abandon his dream of reaching America.

“You with your passport can go wherever you want. All I want is to make some money in America. Do you know how few countries we Cubans can enter freely?” he asked bitterly.

After four hours of trekking, fatigue etched on everyone’s faces, they reached the Panamanian border. “This is as far as you go. Don’t follow us any further,” the Cuban man said, disappearing into the jungle.

Panama-Costa Rica

Having passed through Panama, I reached Costa Rica, a relatively affluent country that often becomes a stopping point for many migrants. At the Panamanian border, unregistered taxis awaited passengers, ready to transport not just people but also drugs and weapons. The atmosphere was far from welcoming.

“Are you Chinese? Are you heading to America?” someone called out to me near the border gate. Chinese nationals have increasingly adopted this route through Central America to reach the U.S. When I revealed I was Japanese and working on a report, the coyote, named Ernesto, grimaced briefly but shrugged it off.

Two weeks later, I returned to the border and met Ernesto again. This time, he was transporting a young woman named Catalina. Dressed in a white polo shirt and shorts, she had left behind three children in Colombia, fleeing an abusive husband. Catalina planned to work in Costa Rica to save enough money for the next leg of her journey to America.

“I don’t even trust these coyotes. Every moment is terrifying,” she said, staring nervously out of the window. Despite her fears, she climbed into a dark, mafia-style sedan with Ernesto and his crew.

Guatemala-Mexico

Further north, I reached Guatemala and the infamous border town of Tecún Umán near Mexico. Here, migrants prepared to cross into Mexico by boat to avoid the perilous land routes.

At a hideout near the coast, migrants from Colombia, Brazil, El Salvador, and Guatemala awaited their chance to cross. Their shared dream of reaching America united them, despite the risks.

As a small boat braved the waves, its motor suddenly failed, and a massive wave capsized it. Migrants were thrown into the sea, with some unable to swim. The scene resembled something out of a disaster film.

Later that night, a second attempt succeeded. As the boat ventured into the dark Pacific, fear was palpable.

“Lie flat! Don’t raise your heads!” the coyote warned as they passed Mexican coast guard patrols. The migrants’ faint whispers were swallowed by the vast, dark ocean.

Mexico-U.S. Border

After 12 grueling hours, the boat reached Mexico. Migrants rested briefly before continuing toward the U.S. border by train, often riding atop freight cars.

In the border town of Reynosa, a church-run shelter called Casa del Migrante provided temporary refuge for migrants. Many were caught and deported by U.S. border patrol but returned to try again, determined to achieve their American dream.

While walking along the Rio Grande, I met a group preparing to cross. One woman, speaking fluent English, revealed she had lived in the U.S. since she was five. “I had a passport, but I lost my legal status and was deported. I have no family in Mexico, so I’m going back,” she said, embodying the cyclical, relentless nature of migration.

New York

Three months later, I visited New York and met Orlando, a long-time advocate for Colombian immigrants. I shared David’s story and called his wife. Contrary to my hopeful expectations, her response was cold:

“I’ve legalized my status here by marrying someone else. I have no connection to David anymore.”

Orlando consoled me, saying, “Life in New York without legal status is tough. You can’t blame her.”