Mohamed* sat cross-legged on the carpet before Friday afternoon prayers at a mosque in the South Bronx in New York City and shared memories of his crops.
He recalled growing maize, watermelon and peanuts on his family farm in the town of Diourbel, Senegal, on land he had inherited from his grandfather in 2005.
Twenty years later, Mohamed is one of thousands of migrants from west Africa who crossed the US-Mexico border in recent years to seek out a new life in New York City.
The decade before he came to the US was one of great challenges, he said, as his region in Senegal faced recurring cycles of flooding and drought, compounding tensions between him and his extended family.
“When it rained, everyone was caught off guard because for a very long time we didn’t have any rainfall, there was drought,” said Mohamed, 45.
As he spoke inside the mosque, about 40 other west African immigrants, many also recent arrivals from Senegal, sat next to him. When we asked the group who had also experienced floods and droughts, a show of hands indicated about a third of them had.
Migration from Senegal’s western and central regions to the US has increased after more than half a dozen major floods occurred in 2020, according to a data analysis by Columbia Journalism Investigations (CJI) and Documented. Between 2019 and 2024 – following years of accumulating climate events – more than 1,800 Senegalese migrants from these regions crossed the US-Mexico border – a rise from virtually none.
Graph of border apprehensions of people from Senegal, showing steep increases in ‘23 and ‘24
This is one of the findings of a year-long investigation by CJI and Documented. While there is more research and observation of climate migration inside countries and regions, we wanted to better understand how the climate crisis may be influencing irregular migration to the US.
Mohamed reads in a mosque in New York City. Photograph: Jazzmin Jiwa
Our research found that tens of thousands of migrants who crossed the US-Mexico border in 2024 have come from localities repeatedly hit by hurricanes, floods and droughts, according to an analysis of federal data on south-west border apprehensions and international data on major natural disasters.
In countries including Guatemala, Bangladesh and Senegal, migrants are leaving places where storms, floods or droughts have piled on, again and again, since 2010. These extreme weather events have strained fragile economies, pushing people to a breaking point. Few migrants blame the warming planet for their plight. But its impact manifests in their collapsed houses and failed crops.
CJI and Documented analyzed more than 9m records of people apprehended by US Customs and Border Protection (CBP) from 2010 to 2024 that included information on the cities, towns and municipalities where they were born. The CBP data was obtained through public-records requests by researchers at the University of Virginia and CJI. In 2024 alone, CJI and Documented identified more than 520 distinct birth places in Guatemala, close to 350 in Senegal and about 100 in Bangladesh. An analysis of the data shows that about 55 countries that saw higher than average external migration rates also were devastated by three or more climate catastrophes from 2019 to 2024, according to the international disaster database known as EM-DAT, which tracks major events reported by UN specialized agencies and other official sources.
Bar chart showing countries by the number of natural disasters in 2019 to 2024.
The data has gaps. It cannot say why a person left, and it doesn’t account for gradual, long-term shifts in weather patterns like excessive heat, diminishing rainfall and sea level rise that may be less dramatic than major disasters but nonetheless have profound impacts. But CJI and Documented used the data as a guide to find migrants affected by climate catastrophes who fled their home countries.
The list includes cities and towns like Quetzaltenango in Guatemala, Feni in Bangladesh and Diourbel in Senegal – places that recent migrants left to build new communities in New York. CJI and Documented interviewed scores of migrants – in cafes, food pantries and other gathering places throughout the city – who say they moved here to escape the worsening effects of hurricanes, floods and droughts back home. Most are among the more than 237,000 migrants and asylum seekers that have arrived in New York City since April 2022, putting pressure on the local shelter system and prompting the use of hotels and large tents as emergency housing.
After arriving, the migrants spread across the five boroughs, often ending up in enclaves established by immigrants from their home countries. Guatemalans, now one of the city’s largest Central American migrant groups, left the country’s western and northern highlands, where repeated storms and prolonged droughts have destroyed livelihoods.
From Asia, Bangladeshi migrants, primarily clustered around the desi grocery stores and restaurants of Brooklyn’s Kensington neighborhood, came from coastal areas where monsoon rains have caused the Brahmaputra, Ganges and Meghna rivers to flood.
There is rarely a single, simple cause behind an individual’s decision to migrate, but understanding how natural disasters exacerbated by climate change can push people to leave their home countries is “absolutely important”, said Felipe Navarro, associate director of policy and advocacy for the Center for Gender and Refugee Studies at the University of California’s College of the Law.
“It’s not simply that a hurricane happened,” Navarro said. “It’s that the hurricane caused devastation, and how the state responded.”
Many who travelled to the US south-west border in recent years have come hoping to seek asylum in the US. But there is no clear category for protection of those fleeing climate disasters, leaving them in immigration limbo.
Now, as Donald Trump rolls out increased immigration arrests, detentions and deportations, migrants displaced by hurricanes, floods and droughts are at risk of being sent back to places hollowed out by the climate crisis.
‘There was a lot of flooding’
Gricelda* experienced her deciding moment in 2018, when she chose to leave the country where she was born after years of not being able to stop the stormwater from seeping into her mud-wall home in the western highlands near the city of Quetzaltenango, Guatemala.
Drought only added to her difficulties.
Her home’s earthen walls opened up into holes, unable to withstand the rain during Tropical Storm Agatha in May 2010, the first of what would become seven total cyclones, floods and hurricanes over the ensuing years.
“There was a lot of flooding,” said Gricelda, sitting in an empty cafe in East Harlem and discussing the incident in Spanish. “The rain was very, very heavy.”
Throughout her childhood, Gricelda’s life revolved around her family’s harvest: corn, beans, potatoes, apples. In her village, there were clear signs the growing cycle was changing: the beginning of the rainy season was constantly shifting, and when it did come, the rain fell hard – like Tropical Storm Agatha, which inundated fields and obliterated crops. These shocks, paired with recurring droughts that left cropland parched, diminished family harvests.
If the rain arrives too late, a family’s harvest may not grow as it normally would, said Gricelda, whose relatives still live in her native village. “Maybe it won’t yield 100%, it will yield 50%,” she said. “And because the season is over, it’s already a loss for the year.”
What Gricelda witnessed on the ground mirrors what climate researchers have tracked across Central America, especially in Guatemala. Climate disasters have played a major role in driving people north to the US-Mexico border. According to a study by Sarah Bermeo, who helps direct Duke University’s program on climate, resilience and mobility, climate change is intensifying droughts and storms – a dangerous mix for families who depend on the land.
While some families might have the resources to leave their countries and migrate elsewhere, others stay and can become “trapped”, Bermeo said. Her research found a significant spike in families migrating from rural areas in Central America to the US when drought hit the region in 2018. A more recent study tied intense drought during growing seasons in rural Mexico to higher rates of undocumented migration, and found that the severe conditions discouraged people from returning home.
As a young adult in Guatemala, Gricelda noticed the drought was getting worse. Some days, the only way to get water was by truck. Other days, Gricelda had to trek down to the river to collect her own. “There wasn’t much rain any more, and when storms hit, they left the river dirty,” she said. “It became harder just to have clean water.”
Hurricanes and heavy rains punctuated the drought and swept through the village, destroying homes and disrupting the harvests. Gricelda remembers rain repeatedly soaking through the walls in her in-laws’ mud house. As the dry spells stretched longer and the rains poured down harder, sustaining the family’s livelihood became difficult.
Around 2013, after multiple flooding incidents, Gricelda’s husband decided to leave for New York City, where he worked in restaurants cooking and cleaning. She stayed behind with her two children, watching as her in-laws’ house grew weaker with each storm. By May 2018, torrential rains had inundated swathes of Guatemala, including Quetzaltenango. Subsequent floods damaged roads and interrupted essential services for 5,500 people.
With no clear future in her country, Gricelda finally made a choice: she took out a loan, using her father’s land as collateral. With the help of a smuggler, she led her children on a three-week trek to the US-Mexico border. Arriving in Texas, federal agents asked for her children’s birth certificates and escorted the family to an immigration shelter. Her husband eventually bought them bus tickets to New York.
Two years later, in November 2020, Hurricanes Eta and Iota touched down on Guatemala, battering houses and swamping farmland already strained by years of storms. In the country’s western highlands, communities like Quetzaltenango have seen rising numbers of families leave for the US in recent years – not always after a single climate catastrophe, but rather after years of accumulated stress. While migration from Guatemala has decreased overall, the share of migrants coming from this region has grown slightly between 2019 and 2024, the analysis by CJI and Documented shows.
Seven years have passed since Gricelda arrived in New York City. She now raises her four children in a two-bedroom apartment in East Harlem.
She tried to apply for asylum once, but says she was defrauded of thousands of dollars by one of the people who was helping her. She has yet to trust the system enough to try again.
“I don’t want to go back,” Gricelda said.
Hopes of a better life in New York City
When flooding hit Mohamed’s home town of Diourbel in Senegal, water pooled on the land, sitting there for months, turning green and mosquito-ridden. His family couldn’t spend time outside. Mohamed had to build a brick path so his wife and children could enter their home.
He decided to switch from the area’s traditional crop of peanuts to maize. Without in-depth knowledge of the changing climate, Mohamed thought that, since maize grows between 5ft and 12ft tall, it might survive the harsher conditions. But each of the stalks eventually withered and died. “The land was basically useless,” he said.
Eventually, the torrential rain and prolonged dryness deepened tensions among his relatives, who were living in separate houses on the family compound. Mohamed’s brother, who earned more money as a teacher, constructed a new house with a 6ft foundation made of sand, gravel and cement. When it flooded, the water wouldn’t enter his home. Yet Mohamed would have to scramble to dump buckets full of water out of his house and use towels to mop up.
His six children, ranging from ages two to 13, got bullied about their dilapidated house. Taunts and jeers followed the family at school, work and home, leaving them feeling alienated.
Dina Esposito, who ran a global resilience and food security program for the US government from September 2022 to January 2025, said pressure caused by climate change can exacerbate conflict. “Inter-family or inter-community conflict comes about when climate stresses create economic strain,” she said.
Sheep are herded along a flooded road as the water level rises in Odobere, Senegal, on 22 October 2024. Photograph: Guy Peterson/AFP via Getty Images
When Mohamed watched scenes of New York City’s Times Square on television in his Diourbel home, he admired the flashing lights and supersized digital screens.
Videos on TikTok and Instagram, often made by smugglers posing as travel agents, promoted what seemed like comfortable journeys. Speaking Wolof, the predominant language of Senegal, they told viewers it was easy to get work permits and jobs in the US.
Mohamed saw the videos about how migrants had entered the US by traveling through Nicaragua. A friend introduced him to a smuggler who was advertising to help people get visas and airline tickets, and connect them with other smugglers along the way. “I was told that once I get to the US: ‘Everyone is equal before the law. Nobody can deport you,’” Mohamed said.
By October 2023, he had sold a horse, some cows and a cart for about $4,500 and borrowed money from relatives to pay more than $10,000 to travel to the US. He turned himself in to border patrol agents in Arizona, who detained him overnight before releasing him.
In New York City, he found a different world than the flashy videos he had seen.
He stayed at a migrant shelter near Times Square, where he tried to navigate the US asylum system. But he didn’t know his encounters with droughts and floods would mean little for his asylum claim, he said, and mentioned the climate disasters that had diminished his livelihood in his application.
“The more time I spent here, the more I realized the reality is different,” he said.
Within a month, Mohamed said, the shelter evicted him after another migrant had complained that he entered the female bathroom. He had mistakenly entered the bathroom because he couldn’t read the sign, he said. A shelter spokesperson declined to comment.
Mohamed resorted to sleeping on a subway car, where he met other Senegalese people. Many had headed for New York City with contact numbers for imams who lead mosques here, much like their grandfathers did in Senegal. They suggested he seek help at the Bronx mosque. There, he made friends with other struggling farmers from Diourbel and Kaolack.
A flooded street in Kaolack, Senegal, on 15 October 2022. Photograph: Godong/Universal Images Group/Getty Images
“We would talk about how our family members are anticipating the rainfall and the flooding that comes with it,” said Mohamed, who found solace sitting on a prayer mat reading verses from the Qur’an. It reminded him of his father, a religious teacher.
In the months since, about a half dozen local WhatsApp groups have emerged, connecting thousands of migrants from west Africa who have settled here. The chats have functioned as support groups of sorts. Members circulate information about jobs and rooms for rent. Some have offered their brethren more. The Bronx mosque’s leader, imam Cheikh Tidiane Ndao, hails from Kaolack in Senegal, where his grandfather was a well-known religious figure. He said he had conducted 40 marriage ceremonies for migrants who met through his mosque’s burgeoning community.
Recently, the community has focused on the Trump administration’s deportation threats. In voice notes on one WhatsApp group, which the imam shared with CJI and Documented, a migrant who had left immigration court warned that officials were giving migrants just two weeks to present all their documentation before deciding whether they could stay in the country.
News of the threats has yet to make its way back to Senegal. Ndao said he continues to receive more than 10 phone calls a month from farmers there, asking for help. Often, they tell him they can only afford to eat one meal a day. They are allured by the promise of making more money in a week in the US than they can in months in Senegal.
“They still want to come to America,” Ndao said.
*Some interviewees requested only to be identified by their first names because of their immigration status.
Jazzmin Jiwa and Carla Mandiola reported this story as fellows for Columbia Journalism Investigations, an investigative reporting unit at the Columbia Journalism School.
Malick Gai and Subhanjana Das contributed reporting and translation services for this story. Fabien Cottier, a political scientist at Columbia University and the University of Geneva, contributed to the data analysis.
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Link to full methodology box here.
The story is being republished by Prothom Alo, in Bangladesh, and Plaza Pública, in Guatemala.