海角大神

When neighbors come to Vilma L贸pez to say they鈥檙e thinking about migrating north, the first thing she tells them is 鈥減lease, don鈥檛 risk it.鈥澛燱hen it鈥檚 a woman, she says it twice.

Out of the roughly 183 homes in her mountainous town of La Guadalupe Cedros 鈥� made up of a handful of hilltop villages 鈥� she knows of at least 35 people who embarked on the journey to the US in the past few years who were never heard from again. Almost all of them were women.

Anyone 鈥� male or female聽鈥� traveling clandestinely through Central America, Mexico, and into the United States faces a litany of dangers, from extortion to kidnapping and deadly accidents to murder. But women are particularly vulnerable: nongovernmental organizations and shelters estimate that聽听补苍诲听聽raped at least once while migrating north. Many are recruited or coerced into sex work in brothels and bars in Guatemala and Mexico.

鈥淭hey are used as pawns,鈥� says Ms. L贸pez.聽

Migrants frequently rely on coyotes, or human smugglers, to reach their destination. And they, in turn, are at the mercy of criminal gangs who control territory in the lawless badlands. To these gangs, women are currency.

鈥淚n every group of migrants traveling with a [coyote] there are at least two women, and they are there, whether they realize it or not, in case the group needs a 鈥榝ree pass鈥� card,鈥� says聽Sister聽Lidia聽Mara Souza, coordinator for Honduras鈥� National Migration Pastoral Program.

础濒迟丑辞耻驳丑听migration from Central America has been eclipsed by Europe's immigration crises this year, it hasn't gone away.聽More than 92,500 Central Americans were halted at Mexico鈥檚 southern border between October 2014 and April 2015. During the same period,聽70,448 non-Mexican migrants, mostly from Central America, were stopped at the US-Mexico border, according to the Washington Office on Latin America.

While numerous religious and nongovernmental organizations across Central America聽focus on migration, there are few here that concentrate exclusively on the needs of migrant women, either before they depart or when they come home.

An informal network of female volunteers like聽L贸pez 鈥� some 300, estimates Sister Lidia 鈥� has emerged in Honduras to help these women. L贸pez, who works with the Committee of Relatives of Migrants in Central Honduras based in Cedros, about 50 miles from Tegucigalpa, counsels them on alternatives to migrating, and prepares those who are determined to go for the risks that lie ahead.

They don't rely solely on scare tactics. Reina聽Cruz, who advocates for families of disappeared migrants in central Honduras,聽gives practical advice as well: memorize your key phone numbers and don鈥檛 share them with anyone. Bring cash, but not too much. And if you鈥檙e a minor, expect to pay more bribes and have a harder time crossing into Mexico, she says.

Sister Valdette Willeman, who runs a return center for migrants deported from the US, says:聽鈥淓veryone knows about the rapes and the sexual abuse. It鈥檚 just that no one thinks, 鈥榯hat could be me.鈥欌��

'Honduras, my country'

A bus stamped with the words 鈥淗onduras, My Country鈥� pulls up to the back entrance of a building outside聽the San Pedro Sula airport.聽Dozens of men and four women file into an open room and sit聽in long rows of plastic chairs. They鈥檙e awaiting their possessions 鈥� and their shoelaces 鈥� relinquished before being deported from Texas that morning.

This is the聽Reception Center for Returned Migrants (CAMR), run by the Scalabrini order of nuns and scores of volunteers. All adult migrants deported from the US arrive here first before arranging transportation to their towns or villages across the country聽鈥� or simply turning around and heading back north again.

The center sees numerous cases of women who suffered physical or sexual assaults both on the migratory path and once they鈥檇 arrived at their destination in the states, says Elsy Carolina Alamain Flores, a psychologist at CAMR.聽But, "it's hard to touch the theme of rape in such a short period of time," Ms. Flores says, referring to the intake process. "Most are overtaken by emotions of returning," like a sense of failure, or fear of facing the violence or unemployment they left behind in Honduras, and "aren't present" mentally. They discovered one case this summer only after a woman came into the doctor's office seeking help for a headache.聽

Yet, CAMR is one of the few formal spaces in the country where professionals can learn where these migrants have been and what they have been through.聽

Back home in their community, few neighbors or friends are willing to speak openly about sexual assault, advocates say. But this means sexually transmitted diseases may go untreated, depression can become unmanageable, and women may chose to abandon a child if it鈥檚 the result of rape.

Back home, empty handed

After completing a survey with a CAMR volunteer, Belinda Caballero sits on the building鈥檚 front stoop, waiting for a friend. She bounces her legs up and down nervously, scanning the dusty road in front of her. The mother of three left two months ago for McAllen, Texas, where her brother lives. He said she could live with him while she looked for work in local beauty salons. It was almost a year since she'd had regular employment in Honduras, and she worried that her children were destined for the same future.

"I wanted my kids to have not just an education but a great education. A bilingual school, to get ahead" she says.聽

The decision to leave was "impossible," but ultimately she decided it was worth the risk. She left her boys with a relative and traveled seven days by car with three other migrants and someone she says she trusted at the wheel.

鈥淚 tried to compartmentalize the potential terror and the potential success that could come out of the journey,鈥� Ms. Caballero says of her attitude before departing for the US. 鈥淚t was the hardest decision I鈥檝e ever made,鈥� she says. 鈥淏ut returning empty handed is even worse. I feel wretched,鈥� she adds, wiping back tears. "I failed."

Caballero says she doesn鈥檛 want to push her luck; she won鈥檛 try migrating north again.

But others will try, and many of them may never return, says Cruz, who works with families of disappeared migrants. "Even when you think you've made it, you're still at risk."

鈥� Whitney Eulich reported from Honduras as a fellow with the聽