New Generation of Brazilians Becomes Part of Venezuela’s Emigration Saga

RIO DE JANEIRO, BRAZIL – On October 12th, Children’s Day, Operation Reception, led by the Army and UNHCR, the UN refugee arm, decided to hold a gathering for Venezuelan refugee parents. About 60 children from different families attended. Of these, 32 were Brazilian, children of Venezuelans.

In 2018, news of pregnant Venezuelans who crossed the border to have their children in Brazil in better circumstances became the main topic. Roraima records ten daily births by Venezuelans, according to Governor Antonio Denarium in February this year.

The bond with Brazil becomes narrower for these families, who now have Brazilian nationality among their own. In parallel, the country is changing with a new generation that tells the story of the immigration cycle of Venezuelans who left behind a shattered nation.

“In 18 years they will be able to vote, and then even run for public office, perhaps even wear the Army uniform,” jokes Colonel Emilio Brandão, of Operation Reception, in charge of the internalization program for Venezuelan families. “This chain doesn’t end here, quite the opposite. This story is only beginning,” he adds.

In Osasco, in Greater São Paulo, Saray Velandria gave birth to Gianluca seven months ago. He is Isabela’s brother, three years old, who came to Brazil with her mother and father, Robert, from the city of Maturin. “I fled Venezuela,” summarizes Saray, who came through Pacaraima on February 16th, 2018. The flight, in this case, was from the economic crisis, which took her out of college and left her husband jobless.

“I was pregnant and securing a doctor’s appointment was very difficult, they didn’t perform tests in hospitals,” Saray says. When Isabela was born there was no money to buy diapers “and this wasn’t the way”, she says. Her husband sold a cell phone to buy the bus tickets to reach the border with Brazil. After crossing through Pacaraima and Boa Vista they reached São Paulo where life began to improve.

Today, Saray works in a daycare center in Osasco, and Robert has been working for three months in the municipal government’s warehouse area. Isabela goes with her mother to the daycare center and Gianluca is under the care of a paternal aunt, who followed Robert’s path and moved to Brazil.

“I feel relieved to leave Venezuela. I honestly see my life here,” notes Saray, who is preparing documents to apply for Gianluca’s ID and also their permanent residence in Brazil. Little by little she is getting used to the culture. In her home, she listens to Venezuelan music to ease homesickness. But they have already surrendered to Marília Mendonça and Gusttavo Lima’s country music.

Brazilian descendants may one day return with their parents to Venezuela. In Pacaraima, on a plot of land near one of Operation Reception’s shelters, a Venezuelan community was born that has already gained Brazilian descendants. “We are 180 families, and 12 children have already been born here,” says Deiri Campos, one of the leaders of the community, baptized Bela Esperança (Beautiful Hope). Deiri is 16-month-old Neidali’s grandmother.

“She was born here then?”, I ask Deiri, who preserves her youth at the age of 35. “Yes”, she answers, between resignation and sadness.

“My heart would like to be on the other side of the border, I was happy in Venezuela,” she admits. However, there is something greater that sustains her. “Here no one goes hungry,” she says, firmly as if to ease the longing for her land.

The children of Bela Esperança were attending school, but with the pandemic they enjoy themselves right there. Deiri can’t see herself anywhere else in Brazil but Pacaraima, 16 kilometers from Santa Elena de Uairén. “I like living here because I feel close to my country.”

Deiri came to Brazil two years ago, following her siblings and her father, a Baptist pastor, who moved to Brazil in 2014. “We’re here for our children,” reports Deiri, who brought three children with her and would bring the fourth, an 8-year-old, once things were settled. But the pandemic came, and the border closed, giving Deiri no chance to reunite with her child. He stayed with his father, from whom Deiri had separated. She talks to him almost every day.

“I want to go there to eat chicken,” he says, enthusiastic about a certain abundance that he knows exists where his mother is. Deiri can’t wait to get his son. Faith helps her endure the hardship. Deiri’s father conducts services there, from Monday to Friday. In Spanish.

The possibility of living in an Operation Reception shelter was considered, but her family did not adapt. The opportunity to buy the plot arose, and her father seized it. The houses began to pile up, although the place was a risk area, cut through by a stream that accumulates garbage.

Nevertheless, life settled down, and today between 500 and 600 people live in the area. With the exception of the 12 Brazilian descendants, they are all Venezuelan from different cities. They do odd-jobs, get government benefits such as Bolsa Família (Family Grant) and the emergency aid, and split costs to live in this area as a means of surviving the imponderable.

“When Maduro falls, we will return,” guarantees Deiri

Source: El Pais

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