Migrating due to drought: the story of Miriam and the land that embraces her

She does not remember the exact date, but Miriam Cayo says she would have been 7 or 8 years old when she left with her family from the province of Cotopaxi, in the central region of Ecuador, in search of new horizons. The lack of water had left her people without work or hope, and the exodus to more fertile lands seemed to be the only option for survival.

“My parents were involved in agriculture and the situation made it impossible to stay there,” she recounts, now as an adult, but still with the nostalgia of having left part of her childhood behind with that move. “Actually, we all migrated in the village. The only ones who remained were my grandparents and two or three other neighbors,” she says. They are, in a way, the guardians of the fort, of that place that was once their entire community's shelter.

Leaving home to start over is never easy, but for the Cayo family, arriving in Machachi - the cantonal capital of Mejía, in the province of Pichincha - was almost like breathing again. They immediately discovered that the land was productive, that the climate provided respite and that the air was full of possibilities. Living in a town of just over 24,000 inhabitants and only 50 kilometers south of the capital, Quito, promised them a wider market, as well as the potential to access opportunities they could hardly have imagined before. 

Once settled there, Miriam continued with the family tradition and today she grows mainly carrots, followed by potatoes, corn and beans. But nothing is perfect. Although conditions are better than elsewhere, farming remains uncertain and vulnerable and, like nature itself, presents moments of risk and loss. 

The challenges of adapting to an increasingly relentless climate

“Six months ago we planted a hectare of potatoes, but a frost hit and damaged the entire production,” she says. But Miriam and her family, being resilient, knew how to adapt to these challenges. They explored other alternatives, such as transporting goods by truck to overcome periods of poor yields and stay on their feet.

In this sense, Machachi is not exempt from the effects of global warming. According to the soon to be published study “Migration, Environment and Climate Change in the Ecuadorian Andes” by the IOM, 82% of the people living in this area, characterized by the presence of mountainous elevations, volcanoes and snow-capped mountains, perceive an increase in temperatures and more heat waves compared to previous times. Among other impacts they also identify are droughts (53% of respondents), cold waves (37%) and heavy rains (33%). 

“It affects us in many ways. Sometimes it's the frosts, sometimes it's the rains... It's hard to predict,” Miriam reflects. So for her and her environment, life remains a constant adaptation, an attempt to survive in a rapidly changing world. And not always for the better.

This is no small matter. For Miriam, the land is much more than her source of work; it is her root and her identity, the thread that binds her past to the present and gives her strength to face the future. Pachamama, Mother Earth, is the one who provides sustenance to her and her family, and that is why they feel the obligation to honor her in everything they do. “We must also give her back everything she gives us. Taking care of the planet also means protecting our lands and our communities,” she explains with deep respect.

Echoes that will remain 

Although Miriam has found in Machachi a place where she feels at home, listening to her, one gets the feeling that returning to her hometown is a longing that, although she may not shout it out loud, will always be in her head in one way or another.

“There was a time when the government of Cotopaxi drilled the mountains to extract water, and in some areas they were able to install hoses for irrigation. My grandfather went into those lands and began to plant little by little,” says Miriam happily. Knowing that the land of her childhood is once again producing food is a reminder that someday, maybe, things can go back to the way they were.

In the meantime, no matter what happens, Miriam knows that each planting in Machachi is a reflection of her roots in Cotopaxi. Migration has taught her to value what she has, to identify climatic risks and to adapt to change. And so, with her homeland in the best place in her heart, her story continues to weave itself between the soil she inhabits and the legacy she cultivates.