As their fellow travellers rested along the side of the road, Walter Hernández and his four-year-old son David tossed a bouncy yellow ball back and forth amid the black soot of burned-off brush. The acrid smell of smoke still lingered as they played.

But all was not well, confided Hernández.

“My son has a cough and can’t sleep, and my daughter has a fever,” he said, nodding towards two-year-old Génesis, whose face was buried in her mother’s shoulder.

In the three weeks since setting out from San Pedro Sula in Honduras, the caravan of migrants travelling across southern Mexico has crossed two borders and covered more than 1,000 km (621 miles), passing through police roadblocks, disaster zones, sweltering heat and torrential downpours.

Migrant caravan in Mexico en route to the US – in pictures Read more

And the trek is taking an increasingly heavy toll on the travellers, especially parents and young children – many of whom are too small to understand the epic journey.

The group – which at one point swelled to around 7,000 people – has now shrunk to about 4,000 as members chose to seek asylum in Mexico or succumbed to exhaustion and illness. Members of the group complain of coughs and colds, blisters and sunburns, insect bites and eye infections.

Nobody knows how many children are with the caravan now, although last week the UN children’s agency put the figure at around 2,300. They travel sprawled in strollers, or slung sweatily across their parents’ chests – or they trudge along the roadside.

There has been at least one death – a man, who fell from a truck soon after the group entered Mexico – and one birth: a baby girl was born on Wednesday, to a Guatemalan woman in the town of Juchitán.

On Thursday, the first members of the group reached the town of Matías Romero on the Isthmus of Tehuantepec, the slender waist of Mexico where Pacific and Gulf coasts lie just 220km (137 miles) apart.

Although few in the caravan have a clear idea of their eventual route, crossing the isthmus will lead them to the Gulf state of Veracruz – a region which has long been a death trap for migrants.

Facebook Twitter Pinterest Fany Lizeth Cruz uses cords on her wrists to keep her daughter, right, and another little girl close, as they walk through southern Mexico. Photograph: Rebecca Blackwell/AP

Farther away, Donald Trump has seized on the caravan ahead of US midterms, tweeting feverishly about an “invasion”, mobilizing troops on the US border, and promising to intern migrants in “tent cities”. By now – thanks mainly to the sizable media pack which has followed the caravan for most of its journey – most members of the group are aware that Trump does not want them.

But they remain hopeful that they will reach the US, a country they often see as an idealised country of justice and opportunity – in contrast, they say, to the corruption and violence back home.

And parents say they have no choice but to bring their children to avoid forced recruitment, sexual assault or murder by the gangs which dominate many Central American towns.

Hernández, a wiry farmhand from the north coast of Honduras, fled with his family after gangs gave him an ultimatum: join “or we’ll mess with your family”.

Migrant caravan seen as safer option for travelling: 'Going alone is risky' Read more

Like many others, he heard about the caravan on local news, and decided that travelling with others would improve his chances in Mexico, where migrants are often targeted by organised crime.

On a recent afternoon, he and his family were travelling in a party of 10, who had taken a break amid the burned-out scrub at the roadside.

He had turned down offers of rides for his wife, Kénia, and their ailing daughter Génesis, because they didn’t want to risk being separated, and they were hoping that a Red Cross ambulance might pass by and give them a lift as they had before.

Others weren’t so choosy: a family of four climbed out of the bed of a farm vehicle hauling cows and goats, dung still stuck to the wheels of their stroller, which had given them a lift.



The journey remains fraught with danger: when the group crossed the international bridge from Guatemala several families were separated in the crush; some parents bound themselves to their children with lengths of cord so they could stay together.

Facebook Twitter Pinterest A girl carries a stuffed teddy bear as she walks with her mother near Arriaga, Chiapas state, Mexico. Photograph: Rebecca Blackwell/AP

Rumors abound that child snatchers are shadowing the caravan, said Keila Castro, 29, who was begging by the roadside with her son Gerson, six, to raise money for a ride in a minibus.

They left Honduras with nothing more than the clothes on their back after a local gang threatened Castro’s husband. Gerson grinned bashfully, but Castro said it was tough to travel with a six-year old. “He’s not as tough as us and he gets very tired.”

The caravan tends to splinter throughout, as each member makes their way to the next way station, only to regroup each night in the square of the next town, where they often sleep.

Castro and her husband always try for a spot in the centre of the group, and squeeze Gerson between them for safety. “You sleep with one eye open,” she said.

So far, the group has averaged about 60km (37 miles) a day. They gather in evening assemblies, and vote on major decisions, such as when to rest, and where to head to next.

All the way, they have depended on the kindness of strangers, hitching rides in rubbish trucks and taxis, and sleeping in town squares, local people’s homes, or collapsed on the wayside.

Earlier this week, they reached the town of Niltepec, which was almost completely destroyed in a 2017 earthquake, where residents – who still live amid the rubble of that disaster – welcomed the caravan with homemade soup. “We wish we had a space dignified enough to offer our visitors,” Zelfareli Cruz Medina, the local mayor told the Associated Press.

Facebook Twitter Pinterest In Niltepec, members of the migrant caravan wait for water and food from the residents there. Photograph: Spencer Platt/Getty Images

At each stop, a team of missionary nuns has tended to the migrants’ blistered feet; many of the walkers are on their second or third pair of flip-flops or crocs.

Churches, municipal governments and generous locals have kept them clothed and fed. The local distributor of the baked-good behemoth Bimbo donated more than 1,000 loaves of white bread at one of the stops.

The caravan sets out early, often hitting the road at 2am or 3am to take advantage of the cooler temperatures before sunrise.

But the day was already sweltering on a recent afternoon when a group of weary marchers caught up with a line of traffic which had ground to a halt at a federal police roadblock.

One exhausted father yelled out to a taxi stuck in the jam: “How much for a ride? I’ll pay you double.”

“I’m full,” the driver replied.

“I’ll pay triple.”

The taxi driver shook his head.

The unseen driver behind the migrant caravan: climate change Read more

Meanwhile, young men from the caravan climbed aboard slow-moving vehicles, including delivery trucks and a gasoline tanker. They also swarmed a double flatbed trailer, pushing past families to take the coveted spots.



“They’re just so selfish,” said Sebastian Castillo, who was pushing his five-year-old daughter in a stroller.



Jenny Gutiérrez, 18, watched the trucks laden with young men roll past her as she walked along the roadside. She was four and a half months pregnant – something she had only discovered after setting out on the journey.

“The worst is the sun,” she said, but that was closely followed by the nausea, the sore throat, and having to bathe in rivers.

Gutiérrez had fled her home to escape gang members who demanded a cut of the meagre income she made selling fruit on the streets. She had no idea where she was heading, but no intention of turning back.



“There’s no future in El Salvador,” she shrugged.