Felipe Jacome comes from a documentary background. Yet, he often turns to alternative processes – he has done cyanotypes; experimented with vegetal pigments (chlorophyll) to print portraits of Amazonian indigenous tribes onto giant leaves of the jungle; and, recently, transferred his photographs of Venezuelan migrants onto the defunct Bolivar currency by using a silver gelatin process.

“Due to the tremendous number of images that are available, we are quite desensitized to them. We need to give an additional dimension to an image so people can't ignore it. By using other processes I’m hoping to get people to think more”, Jacome explains.


© Felipe Jacome 

On the road

Back in Ecuador, where he was born and still spends extended periods of time, he had made friends with Venezuelans who had fled the crisis. “I met them when they were sleeping in the parks or in bus stations, selling candies or working in construction”, Jacome recalls. Having heard stories about their experience, he wanted to do the trip, to see by himself. “Everybody was talking about a particular part of the route, which stretches 200 km from Cucuta to Bucaramanga, as being very tough, and I knew I wanted to do it.”  

He hired as fixers two Venezuelan friends who knew the road because they had done it 6 months earlier and together they joined a group of “Caminantes” - loosely translated as Walkers or Wayfarers. “You meet all kinds of people along the road, young men - a lot of young men -, but also women, families, families with babies, older people”, Jacome recounts. He even met a blind man who asked him whether he should head to Chile or Peru.

“It's very fluid. Sometimes you hop on a car that gives you a lift for an hour or so, some people join while some other stay.”


Diana María Gonzáles and her children are traveling to Ecuador to join her husband who had left 5 months before them. “He was sending us money regularly, but once converted to Bolívares it was not enough to buy food for the household,” she said. © Felipe Jacome 

Worthless bills

Aware that he could not hold people up for too long because they all had to cover 30 to 40 kilometers every day to reach the next shelter, he took portraits while walking, occasionally recording their story with his phone. Over the past few years, Jacome became interested in the relationship that people have with the material world and he found one of its most extreme expression in the economic crisis in Venezuela, where a monthly salary barely buys a couple pounds of rice or flour and bank notes are worth a piece of paper. « On the first day, a little girl gave me an origami made out of a bank note. For me that was it; there are things that we're not understanding. It's very hard for anybody to fathom the crisis, its implications and what it does to people when the entire economic system collapses in such a spectacular way - we're talking about a 10 000 000 % inflation”, Jacome says.


Ender Perez from Barquesimento, Venezuela had been walking for 5 days before reaching the Berlin highlands. He works as a barber and is on his way to Peru. © Felipe Jacome 

Not only has the currency lost its value, it’s also lost its symbolic power. “Venezuelans have always been very proud of their money. It used to be one of the strongest currencies in Latin America and the bills are actually extremely beautiful and well designed”, he continues. On one side, they feature Venezuela’s natural wonders – a giant armadillo (with the plains of Los Llanos in the background; the American harpy eagle flying over the Ucaima Falls; the Hawksbill turtle in front of the Macanao Mountain -, on the other, national heroes. They’re also conceived to reveal different motives when combined or folded. “And now they're worth nothing”, Jacome says.

Back home, a chunk of worthless bills in the pocket and a camera full of portraits of Caminantes in the other, he improvised a dark room in his bathroom and started to print his photographs on bolivar bills. It results in unique prints, each one very much imperfect, occasionally revealing the brushstrokes from the gelatin layering. And we can’t help but see a metaphor of Venezuelans’ trajectories.


 Fernando Ruiz, 25, is from Valencia, Venezuela. He decided to leave the country soon after his first son was born. "We do anything for our children," he told me. This image was taken on the road leaving Cucuta, Colombia. © Felipe Jacome 

 Jairo (18) and Julia (15) rest on each other after walking for 20 kilometers on the road from Cucuta to Bucaramanga, the first stretch on the migrant route out of Venezuela. © Felipe Jacome  

Andreina and her daughter start walking from Cucuta at 5am. They arrived from Venezuela 6 months before, but Andreina got involved in an abusive relationship with a Colombian man. They hope to find a new life in a different city in Colombia. While locals have become increasingly reticent to giving rides to Venezuelan migrants, many still try to help women and children like Andreina walking along the road. © Felipe Jacome  

Jose Miguel Albuja begins walking at dawn, after a night at the shelter in Berlin. Berlin is the highest and coldest point of the highland between Cucuta and Bucaramanga. Many migrants have died of hypothermia since the mass exodus began some months ago. © Felipe Jacome  

Luis Silva (62) from Puerto Cabello, Venezuela, left his home 3 months ago. "Seeing my grandchildren go to sleep feeling hungry broke my heart. That´s why I´m on the road," he said. © Felipe Jacome  

 

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