RIDHE's Emergency Education program shares his memories that unfold a tapestry of stories, dreams and struggles.

Despite bureaucratic obstacles and the cost of private education, more than 300 migrants have enrolled in careers thanks to scholarship programs.

‍Katherine Ramírez felt “exhausted, mentally and physically” when she considered whether or not to enroll in a career in Costa Rica in order to finally obtain her undergraduate degree. “Starting a career for the third time isn't easy,” says the 26-year-old Nicaraguan, originally from the department of Estelí. The repression against students and the closure of universities that broke out in Nicaragua after the social outbreak of 2018 forced her to leave her studies in International Relations and Political Science; first at the National Autonomous University of Nicaragua, at the headquarters of Estelí, and then at the Paulo Freire University, in Managua. In 2022, when the persecution came to the door of his house through threats, Ramírez crossed the border.

The repression of the regime of Daniel Ortega and Rosario Murillo has led some 300,000 Nicaraguans to seek refuge in Costa Rica, according to the United Nations. Of these, the European International Human Rights Network (Ridhe) estimates that some 20,000 were students who, like Ramírez, were forced to abandon their academic training. In order to serve them, the Ridhe inaugurated the Emergency Education Program in 2022. Since then, the scholarships they grant have allowed 300 displaced people to enroll in careers in Costa Rica.

Three years after his arrival in the refugee country, Ramírez is close to finishing his degree in International Relations at the International University of the Americas, in San José. At the same time, he works at the Unlimited Foundation, a center for political research. It was “a difficult process”, according to her sitting in a cafe in San José. “Studying in Costa Rica is quite expensive and I had to deal with the red tape and explain why I didn't have my grades apostilled. The universities are not informed and they don't understand that Nicaragua is a country where you woke up today and your nationality was taken away.”

When he began his journey to resume his career, he ruled out public universities because his work and other responsibilities prevented him from devoting himself full time to studies. Although private schools were more suited to their situation, they didn't get the bills. For this reason, he applied to the Ridhe program, whose help includes financial support and advice for legal processes, as well as psychosocial and pedagogical care for students. “Although many flee in search of protection, what they often find are closed borders, hostile migratory systems and societies ill-prepared to welcome with dignity,” Elektra Lagos, director of that network, says via video call from Brussels.

In Central America, he says, the situation of the displaced is worsening due to “institutional weakness and the lack of comprehensive public policies that guarantee basic rights to migrants.” Lagos also highlights how this population, both from Nicaragua and from other countries, faces “discrimination, violence, exploitation and oblivion” in their new homes.

‍Beyond the economic

‍Since 2022, La Ridhe has had an office in San José. Marta Castillo, their coordinator, tells how they have been adapting to the situation. “With private institutions, we had some kind of flexibility. Some were able to validate subjects or study plans, but with public ones it wasn't that simple,” he explains. The latter have more complex entrance exams and enrollment processes that led some young people benefiting from the Ridhe to “start from scratch”.

“Several students who were arriving in Costa Rica were doing so without documents or notes. At the beginning, it was very complex because many had their academic records erased. Others did have grades, but if the university had closed, they had absolutely nothing to validate,” Castillo adds.

For Ramírez, psychological support was “one of the most important things” in the program. “It was very hard for me to face the fact that all those years of my life were worthless here and that it didn't matter what I had studied in Nicaragua.” In Costa Rica, he also found “xenophobic attitudes” on the part of classmates, teachers and administrators. “You can tell they treat you differently and that's something I felt at university at times,” she says.

The psychologists in the program follow up with students to address these types of experiences, which add to the trauma of political persecution and forced migration. “They have at their disposal a team of psychologists who can provide immediate care and who do an incredible job,” Ramírez says.

Like her, Douglas Peña, 22, originally from Matagalpa, faced discrimination head-on when he arrived in Costa Rica. “It was all very strange because it's getting used to a society with a culture that is sometimes xenophobic. People tell you that you speak strangely, they ask you where you're from and remind you that you're not from here,” says the beneficiary of the aid.

He arrived in Costa Rica in December 2019, when he had not yet finished school. His family decided to send him to live with his paternal grandmother in this country after receiving threats from a Sandinista mob. In 2020, he graduated from school, but he couldn't afford a private university and access to the public one was difficult: the only identity document he had was that of an applicant for refuge.

With the Ridhe scholarship, Peña was able to enroll in a degree in Psychology at the Central University, a private institution in San José, where he is now in his second year. He says he feels “grateful in spite of everything”, but stresses that his lack of an identity document remains an obstacle that prevents him, among other things, from getting a job.

‍The program continues to grow

‍Although the Emergency Education Program is funded by European cooperation and contributions from “private donors”, the director of the Ridhe explains that they face “many difficulties” with the cut in USAID aid from the United States, something that has put more pressure on non-US agencies. “There were a lot of funds that were destined for the crisis in Nicaragua and several organizations that were working in the field had to close,” Lagos warns. “The long-term consequences of this are going to be catastrophic.”

Despite the complex landscape, the program continues to serve migrants. In 2024, they expanded to benefit women with technical training grants to help them get employment. According to Castillo, about 200 have received grants for courses such as food handling, baking or sewing. One of them is Marlene González, 37, originally from Muelle de los Bueyes, in the Nicaraguan Caribbean, who is taking a Haute Couture Cutting and Tailoring course that she wanted to do many years ago, but she couldn't afford it. Now she wants to specialize in order to give a better life to her children aged 4 and 14.

Both branches of the program have the same objective: to create opportunities for migrants in danger of social and economic exclusion in a country that, despite being a refuge for hundreds of thousands of displaced persons, does not always treat them with dignity. “There is still a mentality that Nicaraguan people come here to do two things: clean or build the houses of Costa Ricans,” Ramírez says. For her, obtaining her degree is an act of resistance against a dictatorship, on the one hand, and against a xenophobic society, on the other. “It makes me think a lot about the capacity of Nicaraguans to resist,” he reflects.

“Every intern here is a living proof of the human capacity to overcome the most challenging circumstances...