The border between Venezuela and Colombia has been under the microscope of some international press due to the increased flow of Venezuelans who have decided to leave the country in search of what they consider "better living conditions". This mobilization of people who manage to leave Venezuela and enter other Latin American countries without major threats to their integrity has wanted to show itself as one of the biggest migratory crises in the world. U.S. government officials have come to observe the dynamics live and to make appeals and denunciations because of the "gravity" of the situation. Officials of a government that prevents, with blood and fire, the entry of migrants whose human rights are constantly ignored and who do not even recognize the right to life, because many are those who pay with their death with impunity the attempt to cross the border between Mexico and the United States.

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The dividing line located in the Sonoran's desert in Arizona has, on the Mexican side, two barbed wire fences fixed to rotting logs, followed by a railway line, and a dirt road and two high-tech barbed fences supported by steel beams on the U.S. side. Many have left bits of lips, noses, and cheeks hanging from those spikes that separate a life plunged into historic poverty from a dream of abundance enough to lift the family they leave behind out of misery. This dream often becomes a nightmare. As Ilka, the courageous author of this testimony says: "The border steals a lot, it dries the soul little by little, the joy turns it into poison that consumes every desire for subsistence. There are no dreams, no illusions about tomorrow; we are the ghost clandestine migrants.

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Ilka Oliva Corado, writer and poet born in Comapa, Guatemala, who graciously allowed the Fundación Editorial el perro y la rana, in which I work as editor, to republish her book Historia de una indocumentada. Travesía en el desierto de Sonora-Arizona, originally published by her own publishing house, says that she decided "to write to give life to the disappeared without identity who died in the attempt" of what she was able to achieve, "to relate that which many see and pretend not to know, what is real and swallows the lives of thousands". To write it, she had to wait ten years for serenity to finally reach her soul and "take out the poison that wouldn't let me breathe. Because it is necessary that what we live on the border comes out of the sore of a bitter memory that thousands of us carry in our memory. And it is not for less bitterness, since he was a survivor witness of horrors, injustices and atrocious crimes along a desert border covered with the lifeless bodies of migrant men, women and children who perish in the attempt, many with bullet holes, victims of the Border Patrol, criminal groups or squads of "spontaneous" who claim to defend their nation when they rape, shoot and chase their dogs fattened with human flesh, and who are invisible to U.S. justice.

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A book written without rhetorical adornments and with the direct language of one who does not write fictions or seek to awaken pity or mercy, but rather to appeal to conscience and serve as a "powerful denunciation of U.S. immigration policies, now intensified for chrematistic and discriminatory purposes by President Donald Trump," as Lenín Brea, who assumed responsibility for this edition published by the Venezuelan publisher and corrected by Yessica La Cruz, pointed out in the Presentation. On the occasion of the 13th Anniversary of the creation of the Editorial Foundation, this courageous publication was presented to the press, shouting what many keep quiet and what the establishment's media prefer not to comment on. It is an effort to "join the protest, the struggle and claim the slogan: No human being is illegal!

"The border is not as they tell it, that is why so many lives are lost in the attempt to reach the United States. You don't hear about cops shooting undocumented immigrants when that's an everyday reality. But who accuses them? And worse, who believes in an undocumented person's word? No one. We undocumented people are not worth as human beings within this nation, we will be, if anything, the cheap labor that millions of Anglo-Saxons benefit from, but nothing more. "

"It was the second day in the desert and the lifeless bodies of migrants who perished in the attempt were exposed, some only bones and clothing, others with days of decomposition; men, women and children. None of them had belongings, many had bullet holes, which indicated that it had been the migra, criminal groups or the famous - and invisible to the American justice system - men dressed as particulars. What averno were we involved in?"

"Nobody tells the reality of what one lives when one crosses the border in an undocumented way, because the coyotes if they tell the reality do not get customers. And those who have arrived do not tell how it was because they want to block those memories or simply because they want someone else to live that torture."

"It has taken me ten years to be able to write it because finally serenity has reached my soul, because I have managed to get rid of the poison that didn't let me breathe. Because it is necessary that what we live on the border comes out of the sore of a bitter memory that thousands of us carry in our memory."