The sun has burned so intensely that the trees ignite like kindling
Desde marzo de 2024, una ola de calor sin precedentes recorre México como una sentencia silenciosa: sesenta y un personas han muerto, los monos aulladores caen de los árboles en Tabasco, y los bosques del sur arden bajo un sol que supera los 48°C. Es un recordatorio de que el clima extremo no distingue entre lo humano y lo salvaje, y que la fragilidad de los ecosistemas y la de las sociedades comparten una misma raíz.
- Sesenta y un muertos desde marzo y trece fallecidos en una sola semana de mayo revelan que el calor extremo ha dejado de ser una anomalía para convertirse en una emergencia sostenida.
- Ciento treinta y ocho monos aulladores cayeron muertos de los árboles en Tabasco, mientras los bosques del sureste mexicano se tiñen de rojo parduzco y los incendios consumen las selvas.
- Las imágenes satelitales muestran a México cubierto de carmesí profundo, con los estados del norte y las costas del sur marcados como zonas de peligro extremo en un mapa que parece una herida.
- Los zoológicos improvisan paletas de hielo con carne, frutas y granos adaptados a cada especie para mantener a los animales hidratados, frescos y mentalmente activos ante el colapso térmico.
- Las autoridades recomiendan no salir entre las diez de la mañana y las cuatro de la tarde, mientras el país aguarda la llegada de junio con la esperanza de que traiga alivio.
México atraviesa una ola de calor que no se mide solo en grados: desde marzo, sesenta y un personas han muerto por las temperaturas extremas, y en una sola semana de mayo cayeron trece más. Veracruz concentra dieciséis de esas muertes, convertida en el epicentro humano de una crisis que se extiende por todo el país con sensaciones térmicas que alcanzan los 48°C en Tabasco.
La tragedia no se limita a las personas. En los primeros días de mayo, más de ciento treinta y ocho monos aulladores cayeron muertos desde el dosel de los bosques de Tabasco, víctimas de la deshidratación y el colapso muscular. Los árboles que los sostenían también sucumben: las hojas y la corteza, quemadas por el sol, han adquirido un tono rojizo enfermizo que precede a los incendios. Las selvas del sur de México arden mientras el ecosistema se fractura.
Frente a este panorama, los zoológicos mexicanos han respondido con ingenio: fabrican paletas de hielo elaboradas con los alimentos propios de cada especie —carne, frutas, verduras, granos— que no solo hidratan y refrescan a los animales, sino que estimulan sus instintos naturales al obligarlos a trabajar para alcanzar la comida congelada en su interior. Es una solución pequeña, casi tierna, en medio de una crisis de proporciones enormes.
El Sistema Meteorológico Nacional pide a la población evitar la actividad al aire libre entre las diez de la mañana y las cuatro de la tarde, hidratarse constantemente y cubrirse del sol. México espera que junio traiga el alivio prometido, aunque nadie puede garantizarlo. Por ahora, el país resiste: las personas encerradas en las horas más crueles, los animales lamiendo hielo, y los bosques ardiendo bajo un cielo que no cede.
Mexico is burning. Not in flames, though there are those too, but from the inside—a heat so extreme that the thermometer barely captures it. Since March, when this heat wave began its relentless march across the country, sixty-one people have died from the temperature alone. In a single week in late May, thirteen more fell. Veracruz has become the deadliest place in the nation, with sixteen deaths attributed to the suffocating warmth that refuses to break.
The animals are dying too. In early May, in Tabasco, more than a hundred howler monkeys simply fell from the trees. One hundred and thirty-eight of them, to be precise. They came down from the canopy showing the unmistakable signs of heat death: severe dehydration, loss of muscle control, convulsions. Gilberto Pozo Montuy, who directs the Usumacinta Biodiversity Conservation Association, documented the toll as the bodies accumulated on the forest floor. The trees themselves—the ancient forest that blankets southeastern Mexico—have turned a sickly reddish-brown. The sun has burned so intensely into the leaves and bark that they ignite like kindling. In Tabasco, the heat index reaches forty-eight degrees Celsius. Fires spread through the southern jungles as the ecosystem simply breaks.
The zoos of Mexico have responded with an improvisation born of necessity and creativity. They are making ice pops for their animals. Not ordinary frozen treats, but carefully constructed ones: meat, fruit, vegetables, and grains frozen together in combinations tailored to each species' natural diet. A pair of hyenas at Chapultepec Zoo can be seen working at a popsicle made of meat and fruit, their tongues working the frozen surface. The ice keeps them cool and hydrated, yes, but there is something else happening too. The chunks of food suspended in the ice trigger the animals' natural curiosity and hunting instincts. They must work to reach the food buried inside, which keeps them mentally engaged, entertained, and—perhaps most importantly—less stressed.
It is a small mercy in a landscape of extremes. The satellite images circulating on social media show Mexico painted in alarming shades of red and deep crimson. The northern states—Chihuahua, Durango, Baja California, Tamaulipas—glow with heat. The southern coasts of Guerrero, Oaxaca, and Chiapas are even darker, the color deepening toward burgundy as if the map itself is bruised. The National Meteorological System has issued guidance that reads like a warning to stay indoors: avoid exercise between ten in the morning and four in the afternoon, drink constantly, limit sun exposure, wear light-colored clothing, cover your head, apply sunscreen.
The heat wave is expected to break with the arrival of June, though no one can say with certainty. For now, Mexico waits—people staying inside during the worst hours, animals licking ice pops made from their dinner, the forests burning, and the thermometer climbing toward numbers that seem impossible until they appear on the screen.
Notable Quotes
The ice pops help keep animals cool and hydrated while triggering their natural curiosity and hunting instincts, reducing stress levels— Zoológicos de México
Up to 138 howler monkeys had been found dead by late May, showing signs of severe dehydration, loss of strength, and convulsions— Gilberto Pozo Montuy, Usumacinta Biodiversity Conservation Association
The Hearth Conversation Another angle on the story
Why are the zoos making ice pops specifically? Why not just spray the animals with water or move them to cooler enclosures?
Because this isn't a temporary inconvenience—it's a sustained crisis. The animals need to stay hydrated and cool, yes, but they also need to keep their minds occupied. Stress itself can kill them in extreme heat. The ice pops do both things at once.
And the howler monkeys that died—was there nothing anyone could do to save them?
They were wild animals in a wild forest. There was no intervention possible. They simply couldn't handle the conditions. One hundred and thirty-eight of them fell from the trees in a matter of days.
That's a staggering number. Does it suggest the ecosystem is collapsing?
It suggests the ecosystem is being tested beyond what it can bear. The forests are literally catching fire from the heat. When you lose that many animals of one species in one place, it's a sign that the system is breaking down.
And the human deaths—sixty-one since March seems like it should be bigger news.
It is, but it's also the kind of crisis that unfolds quietly. Thirteen people in one week in May. Most of them probably poor, probably without air conditioning, probably working outside because they have to. The heat doesn't discriminate, but survival does.
What happens if the heat doesn't break in June?
That's the question no one wants to answer. The authorities are already recommending people avoid the outdoors during peak hours. If it continues, you're looking at a public health catastrophe.