Buenaventura fears earthquake recovery will deepen state neglect of Colombia's poorest port city

287 people killed nationwide including 19 in Buenaventura; 330 injured in the city; 540 homes collapsed and 3,416 damaged; residents displaced and vulnerable to looting.
We are an incredibly resilient community, so that means we fall once and get back up ten thousand times
A social worker describes Buenaventura's response to the earthquake and decades of institutional neglect.
Mark

Why does Buenaventura matter so much to this story? It's a port city—shouldn't that mean resources flow there?

Mimi

It should, but it doesn't. The city hosts Colombia's largest port, yet it's been systematically under-invested in for decades. The earthquake didn't create that abandonment. It just made it impossible to ignore.

Mark

The hospital was already broken before the earthquake. How does a city function like that?

Mimi

It doesn't, really. People survive through community networks, not institutions. When the earthquake hit, there was nowhere for the injured to go. The hospital couldn't absorb the shock because it was already on the edge of collapse.

Mark

You mentioned that 88.5 percent of the city is Afro-Colombian. Is that relevant to how the government treats it?

Mimi

It's part of the pattern. Colombia has a long history of marginalizing Afro-Colombian communities. Buenaventura is majority Black in a country where that often means less political power, less investment, less attention.

Mark

What struck you most about the residents' responses?

Mimi

The clarity of their analysis. They're not confused about what's happening. They know the government visited for an hour. They know help came from neighbors, not the state. They're not waiting for someone to explain the problem to them—they're living it.

Mark

Is there any reason to think recovery will be different this time?

Mimi

The experts quoted in the story are skeptical. They see the earthquake as likely to deepen existing poverty and violence. But the community kitchens, the volunteers—that's where actual aid is coming from. The state's absence has created a vacuum that residents are filling themselves.

Mark

What happens to a city when it realizes the government won't help?

Mimi

In Buenaventura's case, it turns inward. People organize. They cook meals together. They stand guard over rubble. It's resilience born from necessity, not choice.

  • A 7.4-magnitude earthquake killed 287 people across Colombia and left Buenaventura with 540 collapsed homes, 3,416 damaged structures, and 330 injured residents — yet government aid arrived for only one hour before disappearing.
  • The city's main hospital, already crippled by unpaid staff and chronic underfunding, was forced to treat the injured in parking-lot tents under the open heat, a collapse that surprised no one who had watched it deteriorate for years.
  • With no security forces deployed, looting began almost immediately after a military unit was pulled away for a prison riot, leaving residents whose homes had lost walls and roofs with nowhere safe to shelter.
  • Experts warn the disaster will accelerate poverty and violence across the Pacific region, where 72 percent of Buenaventura residents already struggle to find work and 70 percent eat fewer than three meals a day.
  • Community members — not the state — are filling the void, with social workers running kitchens serving 400 meals daily and neighbors coordinating relief in gang-controlled neighborhoods that require police escorts to enter.

Three days after a 7.4-magnitude earthquake tore through Colombia's Pacific coast, the port city of Buenaventura — home to the country's largest commercial harbor yet one of its poorest communities — waits in the rubble for a state that has long looked past it. The disaster killed 19 people in the city, collapsed hundreds of homes, and overwhelmed a hospital already broken by unpaid workers and scarce supplies, revealing not a sudden crisis but a chronic abandonment made suddenly visible. For Buenaventura's predominantly Afro-Colombian residents, the earthquake did not change their relationship with power — it simply stripped away whatever remained to obscure it.

Lorena Hipis stands inside what remains of her home, one entire wall gone, open sky where her roof once was. A five-story building next to her house collapsed during Monday's earthquake, destroying half her structure and flattening her mother's home nearby. Three days later, the debris has not moved. Neither has the government.

The earthquake measured 7.4 in magnitude and killed 287 people across Colombia. In Buenaventura — a Pacific port city of 432,000 — 19 people died, 330 were injured, and more than 3,900 homes were either destroyed or damaged. Residents fear that in the recovery to come, their city will again be passed over in favor of larger provincial capitals like Cali and Pereira. That fear is not abstract. It is built from experience.

At the Luis Ablanque de la Plata District Hospital, entire wards were shuttered after the quake. Patients lie in beds under parking-lot tents in the heat. Before the earthquake, hospital workers had gone on strike over unpaid wages. Bryan Reyes, 29, fractured his leg jumping from a window to escape the shaking. From his outdoor bed, he said the response confirmed what he already believed: 'It is a total abandonment. It's like the people here just don't matter.'

The data supports him. Some 15.4 percent of Buenaventura's population lives in multidimensional poverty — more than double the rate in Cali. Nearly three-quarters of residents struggle to find work. Around 70 percent eat fewer than three meals a day. The city is 88.5 percent Afro-Colombian, a community historically marginalized across Colombia. The earthquake did not create these conditions. It made them impossible to ignore.

In Barrio Oriente, Betsy Tenorio lost her grandfather when his house collapsed. He could not escape because of partial paralysis. The mayor visited the neighborhood on the day of the quake. Since then, Tenorio has heard nothing from authorities. 'We only received help for one hour,' she said. Community board president Alfonso Grueso estimates 750 homes in the neighborhood were damaged, with virtually no state assistance following the mayor's initial tour.

Security has become its own emergency. In Cali, soldiers patrol. In Buenaventura, a military anti-extortion unit was pulled away Monday night for a prison riot, and looting began almost immediately. Aid volunteers say they need police escorts to enter gang-controlled streets.

Social worker Iveth Dalissa Caceres sees the earthquake as one more turn in a cycle that has defined the Pacific region for decades — poverty, underdevelopment, and disaster reinforcing one another. But she also coordinates a community kitchen serving 400 meals a day, and she speaks of Buenaventura with something that outlasts the rubble. 'We are an incredibly resilient community,' she said. 'We were born in this situation. So that's what we've learned: to keep moving forward no matter what.'

Lorena Hipis stands in what remains of her living room, staring through the kitchen doorway at nothing in particular. The afternoon heat presses down on the exposed interior of her home. One entire side of the structure has been torn away. Where her roof once was, there is now open sky and the skeletal frame of metal rebar reaching upward like broken fingers.

On Monday, a 7.4-magnitude earthquake shook Colombia's Pacific coast. In Buenaventura, a port city of 432,000 people, a five-story building next to Hipis's house collapsed entirely. The impact destroyed half of her home and flattened her mother's house nearby. Four people died inside that building. Now, three days later, Hipis waits. She waits for someone to clear the debris. She waits for the government. She waits for help that has not arrived.

"The municipality, the state and the government haven't come here," she said on Thursday. In her daughter's bedroom, chunks of concrete and brick hang suspended from the ceiling, threatening to fall. The weight of the neighboring building's rubble presses down on what little roof remains. Hipis is afraid it will collapse on top of her. She is desperate for someone to remove it. "The government is taking too long. And this is an urgent situation."

Across Buenaventura, the earthquake's toll is visible and measurable: 540 homes collapsed entirely, 3,416 more sustained damage, 330 people were injured. Nationally, the quake killed 287 people. Buenaventura accounted for 19 of those deaths. Yet residents fear that in the recovery effort to come, their city will be overlooked. Buenaventura is home to Colombia's largest port, yet it remains one of the country's poorest urban centers. The worry is that resources will flow instead to larger provincial capitals like Pereira and Cali, leaving the Pacific coast behind once again.

This fear is rooted in lived experience. At the Luis Ablanque de la Plata District Hospital, entire wards have been shuttered since the earthquake. The injured lie by the dozens in beds positioned under tents in the hospital's parking lot, waiting for treatment in the sweltering heat. Bryan Reyes, a 29-year-old shipyard worker, sustained three fractures in his leg when he jumped from a first-floor window to escape the shaking. From his bed, he described the earthquake response as confirmation of what he already knew: that Buenaventura does not matter to those in power. "It is a total abandonment. It's like the people here just don't matter," he said. Before the earthquake, hospital workers had gone on strike because they had not been paid. Supplies are perpetually scarce. Doctors and specialists go unpaid. The hospital's collapse under the weight of disaster is not a surprise to anyone who lives here—it is simply the expected outcome of chronic under-investment.

The numbers tell the story of a city left behind. Government data from 2024 shows that 15.4 percent of Buenaventura's population lives in multidimensional poverty—a measure that captures deprivation across education, healthcare, and basic infrastructure, not just income. In Cali, located in the same department, that figure is 6.7 percent. Buenaventura's rate is more than double. A civic monitoring group found in 2025 that 72 percent of residents struggle to find work. Approximately 70 percent reported eating fewer than three meals a day due to insufficient food. The city is 88.5 percent Afro-Colombian, a minority group that has been historically marginalized in Colombia. The earthquake did not create these conditions. It simply exposed them more starkly.

Betsy Tenorio lost her grandfather, Arnulfo, when his house collapsed on Monday. He could not escape because he suffered from paralysis on his right side. His home was in Barrio Oriente, a neighborhood of worn brick houses and potholed roads. The mayor visited the area on the day of the earthquake. Since then, Tenorio has heard nothing from authorities. "We only received help for one hour," she said through tears. The support her family has received has come from neighbors and community members, not from the state. Alfonso Grueso, president of the Association of Community Action Boards, estimates that roughly 750 homes in Barrio Oriente were damaged—about 15 percent of the neighborhood's population. Aside from the mayor's initial tour, the state has offered no assistance. "What we need most is help from the state and the municipal government, since practically none has arrived," Grueso said.

In the earthquake's aftermath, security has become another urgent concern. In Cali, soldiers patrol the streets. In Buenaventura, no such measures have been deployed. A special anti-extortion military unit that had been patrolling near a collapsed apartment building was pulled away on Monday night due to a prison riot. Shortly after, looting began. For residents like Hipis, whose homes now lack walls and roofs, the absence of security compounds the disaster. She watches from her buckled kitchen wall as young boys kick through the debris. "We have no security, we have no walls, we have nothing," she said. Volunteers trying to deliver aid in Barrio Oriente say they need police escorts because of gang violence in the area.

Experts warn that the earthquake will deepen problems that have plagued Buenaventura for decades. Iveth Dalissa Caceres, a social worker, predicts that poverty rates will rise across the city and the broader Pacific region. She sees underdevelopment and disaster as cyclical forces that feed each other. "Disasters generally occur in the Pacific. The highest poverty rates are in the Pacific. Violence is in the Pacific," she said. Yet Caceres also points to something else that defines Buenaventura: a deep well of community resilience. She is one of hundreds of residents coordinating relief efforts. She oversees a community kitchen that prepares and distributes 400 meals daily to affected areas. "We are an incredibly resilient community, so that means we fall once and get back up ten thousand times," she said. "We were born in this situation. So that's what we've learned: to keep moving forward no matter what."

The municipality, the state and the government haven't come here.
— Lorena Hipis, resident whose home was partially destroyed
It is a total abandonment. It's like the people here just don't matter.
— Bryan Reyes, injured shipyard worker at the hospital
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