Capacho, Venezuela. Since four in the morning people with different ailments, physical disabilities and their family members have been gathering in a small hospital in Táchira, Venezuela, a bordering state with Colombia. Because free mobility between the two countries was severed seven months ago, we are hoping to receive an administrative authorization which will allow us to cross the border in order to buy medication, which has been scarce for months, or to receive critical medical treatment such as dialysis, chemotherapy or major surgeries that are no longer being provided due to, primarily, the lack of medical supplies.
For many of us the prospect of accessing pharmacies in Colombia makes the long wait worth it, after having exhausted all the possibilities in Venezuela. Conversations between family members across the country revolve around what medication could be found and where. Local networks of friends, acquaintances and even old high-school classmates are explored in search of vital medication. In the event that medicines are found in a different part of the country, then another set of hurdles arises. Mailing them is no longer an option as this has been forbidden by the national government; flight and accommodation costs are highly prohibitive and road transportation has to be purchased the day of departure, having to wait in long lines since the early hours of the day. Crossing over to Colombia is our best chance.
Two days later, around 30 people are lining up in the first of two border checkpoints before boarding a bus that will drop us off in the middle of the International Bridge Simón Bolívar in San Antonio del Táchira, the literal spot that divides the two nations. I am hoping to buy medication to treat my mother’s high-blood pressure. This is a highly coveted basic treatment that has been scarce in the country for months due to a combination of heavy price regulation, lack of production and a very high demand.
When it is my turn I am very nervous. The National Guard checks thoroughly the documentation and at one point she takes out her mobile and starts dialing the phone number on the doctor’s report. After confirming the validity of the information I provided she goes through the papers a couple of more times and takes a look at me and tells me “you need to keep the receipts of the medication you are going to purchase and present them once you are back” and then she signals towards the bus.
When she comes back she tells me all the medication is available and hands me a piece of paper with the prices. Earlier in the morning my mother had given me reference points for the high-blood pressure medication I was to buy. When found each box of pills had an approximate cost of 400 Bolivares back in Venezuela. However, in Colombia each box of 14 to 30 pills is priced 6 to 25 times higher. I leave the store empty-handed.
After four hours of search, having bought just one box of pills and a pack of toilet paper, I decide to return home.