Lima, Peru — The crack of the bat against the ball and the sight of Venezuelan children running around the bases of the soccer field transformed into a baseball field on the outskirts of the Peruvian capital are observed with confusion by residents accustomed to football.
The questioning looks don’t deter young Venezuelans, for whom baseball reinforces a strong bond with their homeland at war. And there is no shortage of players with more than 1 million Venezuelans estimated to live in Lima, a city with around 10 million inhabitants.
Immigrants, mainly Venezuelans, opened five baseball academies in the Peruvian capital. One of them is the Astros, located in the far north of Lima and coached by Venezuelan Franklin López.
López believes his team had to abandon a field in San Juan de Luringancho, Peru’s most populous district, because neighbors didn’t want Venezuelans to use it. When they arrived every Tuesday and Thursday to train, they found the field stuck in mud.
López does not hide from his players that the road ahead will be difficult if they want to play baseball in a country crazy about football and where the sport is practically unknown.
“Here we improve through suffering,” the coach told his players as they wiped the sweat from their faces during a training session.
Of the more than 7 million Venezuelans who left their homeland during the complex crisis that marked President Nicolás Maduro’s 11-year presidency, more than 1.5 million went to neighboring Peru, the majority arriving after 2017, when the Then-president Pedro Pablo Kuczynski said they were “welcome” and would be paid for their work.
The migrants brought with them a passion for baseball, a sport in which Venezuela is a global power, sending many players to Major League Baseball in the USA.
While Venezuelan children practiced baseball in Lima, many residents had no idea what they were doing.
“What is this sport?” a girl asked when she saw the young people playing. Her mother replied: “It comes from another country.”
Baseball is not the sport of choice in Peru, which has produced soccer players like Teófilo Cubillas, Claudio Pizarro and Paolo Guerrero, and was a leading contender for women’s volleyball tournaments four decades ago.
But the passion for baseball burns among immigrants in Peru.
“There’s something in my heart that likes baseball,” 8-year-old Dylams Yépez said during a recent practice.
Born in the Caribbean city of Puerto La Cruz, he said his best memories of Venezuela are sunny mornings with his father, Raúl, teaching him to throw rocks into the sea like baseballs. The boy arrived in Lima two years ago and shortly after found the Astros.
His father, a taxi driver and leukemia survivor, bought him a baseball glove online because he couldn’t find any in local stores.
Venezuelan Deremi Becerra, 10, clearly knows why he likes baseball.
“My dad liked this sport,” Deremi said in his living room, which has two baseballs, a baseball cap, a photo of his father and small Venezuelan and Peruvian flags. His father died of COVID-19 in Lima three years ago.
Deremi’s grandmother, Bertha González, 62, takes him to practice and watches him play from the stands, remembering watching Venezuelan baseball teams with her late son.
“We bought some beers, fried bananas and started watching the games,” she said. “I support Los Tiburones de la Guaira, my son supported the Leones del Caracas as did my grandson.”
Different Venezuelan accents can be heard as families of the young Venezuelan players watch the action. Kids compete in a league created in April by the five baseball academies. Each child pays US$24 a month to be on the team, which is named after MLB teams or Venezuelan clubs.
In a recent game, the team coached by López, named after the Houston Astros, faced the Dogs, who wore the red, blue and white uniform of the Chicago Cubs.
The lines and bases of the diamonds were previously marked on the football field by Roberto Sánchez, a baseball referee and motorcycle messenger, and Rigoberto Roso, a food app pilot.
“The idea is to play at a good level, not just for fun,” said Roso.
“Come on my jug! Come on my catcher! Don’t let him see, don’t let him see, don’t let him see! she sang a group of mothers in support of their children playing in the field.
One father adjusted his son’s belt, while another gave instructions to his son.
“Do you see these moms and dads?” Sánchez said as he put on his sunglasses. “Without them, without their memories, without their joy…baseball would be over” here.
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