Immigrants Working at Mexico City’s Largest Market Seek the Mexican Dream

In the chilly early morning of Mexico City’s Central de Abasto — a sprawling wholesale market — days begin long before the sun can offer any warmth. Among the thousands of workers are a growing number of Haitian migrants, a notable shift in the labor force of the world’s largest food market. Ralph Sunday, an energetic 18-year-old Haitian, urges his colleagues forward with a spirited, “Alright, let’s get the next one!” He and his Mexican coworkers have been loading and unloading produce trailers since 5 a.m., part of the vast system that feeds the metropolitan area.

The story of Ralph and other migrants in Mexico City working hard to improve their lives have been featured in a Telemundo Video Clip which has been making the rounds, and given Mexicans a lot to think about. 

The market, a colossal hub inaugurated in 1982 on the city’s eastern edge, is a city within a city. It stores over 120,000 tons of food, supplies the nearly 22 million residents of Mexico City, and provides a livelihood for more than 5000 migrants and tens of thousands of Mexican citizens. 

Veteran merchants like 84-year-old Eduardo Gómez, who has spent over six decades in the food trade, confirm that the visible presence of dozens of Haitian men and women as loaders, clerks, and warehouse workers is a recent and unmistakable phenomenon, one also seen in other markets across the capital.

The reasons for this influx are rooted in the profound challenges facing Haiti. Experts point to a combination of economic collapse, political instability, rampant violence, and environmental vulnerabilities that make emigration a difficult-to-eradicate necessity. The migrants themselves echo this sentiment. “There is no work, we have no president and no peace; what else can we do but leave?” summarizes Edith Ossias, 35, who now works in a kitchen in the historic La Merced market, which a century ago welcomed waves of Spanish, Jewish, and Lebanese migrants.

The jobs they find are often physically demanding. At the Juárez Market, which serves both middle-class locals and international digital nomads, Haitian workers blend into the vibrant backdrop of piñatas and traditional foods. For many, like 28-year-old Mackinson Joseph, the work is a means to an end. His daily labor of cleaning and bagging potatoes earns him about $16 USD a day, but his aspirations go further. “My dream is to save enough to practice my profession as an electrician, start a small business, and bring my family here,” he confides.

Their journey to this point is typically arduous and expensive, involving a treacherous overland route through Central America and payments of thousands of dollars to smugglers and officials. Once in Mexico City, they often demonstrate a remarkable capacity for adaptation. 

“Haitians are very resilient. They can integrate into Mexican society, despite coming from quite a different culture,” observes Andrés Ramírez, coordinator of the Mexican Commission for Refugee Assistance.

Aside from Haitians, work sites like La Central De Abastos also employ large numbers of migrants from Central America, Venezuela, and Cuba.

While some are likely to attempt to cross the northern border, several others argue that it is not worth the risk and that their future is in Mexico. 

Evidence of this integration can be seen in the camaraderie of the warehouses. Mackinson Joseph, for instance, now shares jokes in local Chilango slang with his Mexican colleagues. Having endured the perilous journey to escape a desperate situation, he, like many of his compatriots, is now building a new life, finding a sense of place, and calling Mexico City home.