After Covid-19 hit Peru, he walked hundreds of miles to the house

After almost two months of quarantine, they have no more money to pay for rented rooms or food. Tambo decided to return to their village in the Ucayali region, 350 miles away.

With public transportation closed, the only option is to travel by foot. “I know the danger of putting my children in, but I have no choice,” he said. “I die trying to get out of here or starve to death in my room.”

Escape from the city

I met Tambo, 40, through the WhatsApp group where thousands of Peruvians talked about how they would leave Lima to return to their homes. “I haven’t left my house since the government announced quarantine,” he said. “But I don’t have money anymore.”

He agreed to let me follow him on a dangerous journey, to tell his story, not sure what the outcome would be.

Tambo and his daughter left Lima in early May. He wore a face mask and carried a baby Melec on his back along with a large multi-colored backpack sprinkled with a small heart. Seven-year-old Amelie and Yacira walked with great difficulty by their side, bringing their own packages. A pink bear hangs on Yacira’s backpack.

Their epic journey, along dusty highways, railroad tracks and dark rural roads, will take the people of Tambos through the high Andes before they reach the Amazon rainforest – a dangerous route for a woman traveling alone with three child.

Walking in the heat, hour after hour, we watched them move on. Water and food are scarce, raw Tambo emotions. She cried when she sang softly to her baby Melec. “There is no way, you make your own way,” he murmured.

There were times of goodness and relief when they broke up the journey by riding a few rides along the road. A driver throws food at them as he passes. But most of the time, Tambo and his daughter walk.

On the third day, as they fought in thin air near the Andes, 15,000 feet above sea level, we saw a truck driver feeling sorry for the family, giving them a ride to the next town and sharing their food. “I’ve walked so much,” he told the driver, trying to hold back tears of gratitude.

It was a short pause for their feet. “My daughter’s hand turned purple,” he said. “I don’t think he will succeed.”

Checkpoints along the road

The return journey involves more than endurance. Tambo must also navigate a police checkpoint set up to prevent residents of Lima, the country’s coronavirus center, from spreading the virus to rural areas.

In San Ramon, just before Tambo entered the forest, we watched a police officer interrogate him. “You can’t pass here with children,” the clerk said. Tambo negotiated with him. “I will only return to my farm, in Chaparnaranja, where I have been for a week.”

It is a lie. He could not tell the clerk that he was from Lima, or he would not let him continue his journey.

But the tired mother survived. He did what he had to do to survive, he told us. The virus is not as scary as dying from starvation.

After seven days and nights, and 300 miles of travel, Tambo and his children made it to their home province, Ucayali region, where the native Ashaninka also lived.

A final obstacle lies in their path – entry into the area is prohibited due to viruses.

“What will happen if an infected person enters? How do we escape?” one of the local Ashaninka leaders told us. “The only respirator we have is air. Our health center has nothing to fight the virus.”

But Tambo was determined. He negotiated with local leaders and was allowed to go home – on condition he and the children were exiled for 14 days.

They arrived at night, Tambo overwhelmed when the family dogs ran to greet them. He knelt and cried, thanking God for taking him home, when the animals wagged their tails and touched the baby on his arm.

When tears flowed, her husband, Cafeteria, and father-in-law emerged from the darkness.

There is joy but distance. Nobody can touch. Nobody can hug because of a virus.

“It’s very difficult, we suffer a lot,” he told them through his tears.

“I don’t want to go to Lima anymore. I think I’ll die there with my girls.”