(17 Dec 2018) When Emili Espinoza was finally able to make a video call to the 3-year-old son she hadn't seen since fleeing Venezuela months before, the little boy named Elvis didn't recognize her.
"No," he told her. "My mom is sleeping."
That cold denial sent a shiver of sadness down her spine. She reminded him of the chocolate-covered bananas she used to buy him, hoping to trigger a memory. But his young mind couldn't grasp the recollection.
His mother wasn't the gregarious 28-year-old woman with almond-colored eyes staring at him through a cell phone screen, he insisted, but the one taking care of him and asleep in a bed a few feet away.
Like thousands of other Venezuelans migrating in the largest exodus in Latin America's modern history, Espinoza made an agonizing choice: To leave without her three children. She did not have the money to bring them and had no idea what trials she might face in Colombia. So she left them with her brother in the hopes of earning enough to feed them and, within time, reunite.
It is a calculated, if painstaking decision that large numbers of those fleeing are making, according to Colombia's government and non-profit organizations. Echoing the patterns of migration from other regions including Central America, the Caribbean and Asia, heads of households are fleeing first. The result is a profound alteration of the Venezuelan family with sometimes devastating consequences.
Co-workers at the health foods restaurant in Bogota where Espinoza cleans tables tried to console her, explaining the child was simply confused. He likely associated the word "mother" with a woman in Venezuela who helped take care of him and not the one who delivered him.
"He would consider that person his mother and not me," she said, weeping at the memory.
An estimated 2.3 million Venezuelans have fled their nation's soaring hyperinflation, food and medical shortages over the last two years, according to the United Nations.
About 1 million have landed in neighboring Colombia after making long treks by bus and foot. In one survey by Colombian officials, 73 percent of the more than 250,000 migrant families questioned said they had left relatives behind in Venezuela.
Another smaller survey by the International Rescue Committee, a humanitarian aid group, found 52 percent of 312 Venezuelans recently arrived in Colombia reported being separated from at least one child they usually live with.
Marianne Menjivar, the IRC's Venezuela and Colombia director said the rate of family separation and separation of parents from their children is staggering.
She said the prevalence of divided families is about five times higher compared to other emergencies they respond to around the globe, driven by a need to flee quickly, find whatever work they can and send money home so their kids can eat.
Experts who have studied migrant families say the same factors typically drive the decision to flee without children, regardless of country of origin: Uncertainty about the journey, worries about job prospects in a new country and a belief that the separation will only be temporary. A rise in female migration in recent decades has also led to larger numbers of children separated from their mothers.
Experts say the impact can vary depending on age and length of time apart. Babies and toddlers are at an age where bonding is considered crucial and little is known about the long-term impact of separation.
Like other migrants, Venezuelan families are likely to try to reunite as quickly as possible, a trend Colombian authorities believe is already underway.
"I love you!" Solgreidy shouted to her mother.
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