Generations of Strength

A look into the history of Jamaican migrant workers in Costa Rica, how they built a legacy in Costa Rica’s Caribbean coast, and how Black expats and tourists can responsibly engage with the Afro-Costa Rican community.

By Joy Grant

Finding Home Abroad: Black Americans and the Legacy of Limón’s Migrant Workers

During my time in Costa Rica, I had the privilege of speaking in depth with Afro-Costa Rican chef, Josefina Morales-Gallimore. In her kitchen, I discovered details about many dynamic culinary traditions that have lasted the test of time, being passed down through generations in her family. It was evident that behind her flavorful recipes lay a much richer history. Josefina’s ancestors, like many in Puerto Viejo and across the province of Limón, were part of a larger story of perseverance and adaptation.

In 2023, around 1.5 million Americans vacationed in Costa Rica. Over the past 2 years, the country has been named “Destination of the Year”, crowned as the best country to retire in, and received countless awards for tourism. As of 2016, 70,000 Americans have moved to Costa Rica. While the majority of them are retirees looking for a soft place to land, many of them are young Black Americans searching for the same solace.

For Black Americans, Costa Rica is often seen as an oasis. In her Love Letter to Costa Rica, Nina Scott shares how the country helped her feel safe in her blackness— a sentiment that resonates with many. Following the murder of George Floyd in 2020 and the racial tensions that erupted in its wake, many African Americans, aided by the flexibility of their newly remote jobs, seized the opportunity to leave. Dr. Natasha-Gordon Chipembere, an Afro-Costa Rican professor specializing in African Diasporic literature and the author of Finding La Negrita, relocated to Costa Rica for similar reasons. “We understood as my son turned 13, he was going to be inside a criminalized Black body, and we wanted something different” she recalls.

“We understood as my son turned 13, he was going to be inside a criminalized Black body, and we wanted something different.”

While I always feel safer in black cities I don’t always feel fully accepted. My American accent reveals my origins, and my fragile relationship with my homeland often switches the energy in interactions. However, when I arrived in Costa Rica, I instantly felt a bond with the Black community. That connection deepened as I began to learn more about Limón’s history and realized that this innate understanding was rooted in something bigger. The stories of Afro-Costa Ricans—many of whom have experienced a cultural disconnect from their Jamaican ancestors—helped me better understand the complexities of identity and belonging. This separation mirrors how black people across the diaspora have struggled with staying tied to their roots.

The more I explored Limón’s history, the clearer it became that this community’s openness and resilience were forged through adversity. By learning from the history, respecting the culture, and contributing to its preservation we can play an active role in uplifting the Afro-Costa Rican community, learn from it, and play a role in ensuring their stories are heard.

Black Workers and the Railroad That Changed Limón

Black people have been in Costa Rica since Columbus’s first expedition to the country.¹ However, the first large wave of Black people in Costa Rica occurred during the transatlantic slave trade. Enslaved Africans (who were likely purchased from the English in Jamaica²) were brought to work on cacao farms in Matina, Limón, plantations in the Central Valley, and cattle farms in Guanacaste along the Pacific coast. Over time, some gained their freedom until slavery was abolished in 1824.¹

The second largest wave, beginning in 1872, left an imprint that can still be felt today. Workers were brought in to support the expansive railroad project designed to connect Costa Rica’s Capital City San Jose to the Caribbean Coast and provide an easier route for coffee to be exported through the Atlantic Ocean.

In her research, Dr. Carmen Hutchinson-Miller, a Limón native and an Afro-Costa Rican historian, notes that to supply the manpower required for this project the government needed to recruit a foreign workforce. Originally European workers were preferred. However, when they did not show up in the numbers that they hoped for legislation was passed to allow Caribbeans and people of African descent to immigrate for work.³ This shift appealed to Jamaicans facing economic instability under the British Empire after the sugar industry’s collapse. The Costa Rican railroad project offered a lifeline, a chance for steady work, and the ability for many to support their families in a time of need. Following this change in legislation, representatives and boats were promptly sent out to recruit workers.³ Between December 1872 and mid-1874, almost 1,400 people of Caribbean descent arrived in Costa Rica, most of which were Jamaican.¹

The company chosen to build the railroad was run by Minor Keith whose family was known across Central America for railway construction. Originally, Costa Rica planned to pay for the railroad using a loan they received for its construction. However, the project was more cumbersome than they expected. Multiple things worked against this team. Costa Rica’s jungle was far more unfavorable than they expected. Over 100 miles of forests, mountains, and wetlands had to be cleared using only hand tools. On top of the physical working conditions, rampant malaria, and yellow fever outbreaks drove costs up. Around 5,000 men died during the railroad’s construction.

Throughout this project, both the Northern Railroad Company and the Costa Rican government repeatedly experienced funding issues. While they were able to agree on how to get the work completed and paid for, the laborers were left out of the equation. In 1884, Keith received a land concession as payment from Costa Rica. The concession awarded him 9% of the country’s land, most located in Limón with a 99-year lease. He was later able to obtain an outside loan and finished the railroad in 1890. Instead of the wages they were promised many of the workers were given land. This land was mainly located in areas the Northern Railroad Company (which would eventually become the United Fruit Company co-founded and led by Minor Keith) found unvaluable. Among those who received land were Josefina’s ancestors, who were part of the founding families who settled in Puerto Viejo.

The Price of Survival: From Broken Promises to New Roots

Josefina explained that it was common knowledge in her community that the promises made to them were never kept. “They told them they’d be paid and boats would be there to return them home in a year,” Josefina said, “but most never saw Jamaica again.” This sense of estrangement, of being left behind, became part of the collective memory passed down through generations.

“My family was left stranded and completely disconnected” Josefina explained with a voice full of emotion. With no electricity, post offices, or funds to return home on their own, many had no way of letting their loved ones know what happened and why they hadn’t returned to Jamaica. These laborers, many of which were skilled and educated, risked everything for what was supposed to be a temporary job and found themselves stuck in a foreign country. Cut off from the world they knew and loved, they were forced to navigate a new land and the stark reality that they may never see their homeland again. For Josefina, this severance from her ancestral home runs deep. “The first time I visited Jamaica, I tried to locate my family, but I didn’t know enough of their information to find anyone,” she shared. She described how she loved being there, but felt detached as well. Like many descendants, she carries the weight of her Jamaican heritage, but the generations of distance have made it harder to maintain a direct connection.

Though the details of how Josefina’s ancestors adapted in Costa Rica were not often shared, the general understanding within her family was clear: they had to learn to make a life in a foreign land. In my conversation with Dr. Gordon-Chipembere, she pointed out that people stayed in Costa Rica for different reasons. With their only payment coming in the form of land, many lacked the resources to leave, making returning home a challenge. Others, after spending almost 20 years in Limón, started families and were an integral part of the region’s development. For some, Costa Rica became a path forward, especially with Jamaica’s limited job opportunities.

As more Caribbean migrants arrived in search of work, Jamaicans remained the largest group. By 1927, the census recorded 19,136 Black Jamaicans in the country, with the majority in Limón.⁵ Many of these workers provided critical labor for the United Fruit Company’s banana plantations. With the help of Black migrants, Costa Rica became the world’s leading banana producer and yet they faced significant hostility.⁵ They suffered dangerous working conditions combating disease and extreme racial politics.⁶ Neither migrants nor their children were granted citizenship until 1948, consequently leaving them stateless and without access to government resources for decades. To make matters worse, an unofficial law barred the Black population from traveling beyond Turrialba, which is one of the last provinces before the capital.⁵ While these oppressive barriers may have hindered their progress in Costa Rica it didn’t stop them from building a unique and steadfast community.

Strength in Unity

”They had to rely on each other and their knowledge from home to survive” Josefina explained when asked about the challenges her family faced. One key aspect of their survival was the strong sense of solidarity. Josefina remembers a time when “there used to be an exchange within the community, a lifestyle of helping without expectations.” People traded goods, services, and support, allowing them to endure despite the challenges of being in an unfamiliar place.

Myrna Pierre Dixon, a lawyer who grew up in Limón and a descendant of Jamaican immigrants, also shared that cacao beans were often used as a form of currency within the community. With little access to formal money, people relied on bartering and alternative currencies like cacao to meet their needs. This system of exchange became a vital part of how they sustained themselves in the early years, reinforcing their resourcefulness and resilience.

Limón’s physical and cultural insulation from the rest of Costa Rica sometimes worked to the community’s advantage. With fewer outside influences and less oversight from the central government, they were able to cultivate their own systems of commerce, education, and social structures. This separation allowed them to build a thriving economy, one that served their unique needs and values. As Myrna explained, “We had our own Black Wall Street—wide streets, thriving businesses, and a bustling local economy. People from all over wanted to be part of our little world.”

By creating an economic hub independent of the rest of Costa Rica, the community in Limón not only survived but flourished. These circumstances gave them the freedom to shape their own identity and preserve their traditions, while also building a self-sustaining local economy. In many ways, their isolation became a source of strength, allowing them to grow a vibrant, resilient community.

Changing Tides

As soon as they knew they’d be in Costa Rica for the long haul they began to set up a structure that felt familiar. Limón began to grow as almost an extension of Jamaica. Dr. Gordon-Chipembere describes Limón as “facing the Black Atlantic.” Closed off to Costa Rica but open to the rest of the world specifically the Caribbean, allowing their culture and traditions to be preserved. She also notes that the United Negro Improvement Association (UNIA), as well as small businesses and churches, were the economic structures that helped to maintain the sense of community and identity that held them all together. This identity can still be seen today. Limónese Calypso and reggae music can be heard while riding down the street or on a night out. Stewed chicken, plantain, and rice and beans are readily available at restaurants up and down the coast. Rum punch is served at Christmas and pan bon is served on Easter. English is still the dominant language, and there is a movement to preserve and officially recognize Limónese Creole, a Limón-specific dialect of Jamaican Patois.

The journey towards equality and recognition reached a milestone when Luis Guillermo-Solis, the first president of Afro-Costa Rican descent, was elected in 2014. As president, he established the Ministry of Afro-Costa Rican Affairs driven by the advocacy of the Afro-Costa Rican community. His election was followed by the UN declaring 2015-2025 the decade of the Afro-descendent. The decade’s theme was “People of African descent: recognition, justice, and development.” Additionally, Black History Month, officially established in Costa Rica in 2018, is observed every August as a time to celebrate and recognize the Black community.

Costa Rica’s Black History Month Grand Gala Parade 2024, Photo Credit: Rafael Barrientos Germé

Afro-Costa Ricans have come a long way continuing to grow upon the foundation their ancestors built, but despite notable strides, work remains to be done. As tourists and expats reap the benefits of the generations of hard work that built this community, we must honor this legacy.

A Shared Future: Supporting Afro-Costa Ricans Through Respectful Integration

As Limón continues to celebrate its heritage and forge new paths forward, the rise in Black expats choosing to call Costa Rica home is a testament to the province’s appeal. However, newcomers must recognize and respect the contributions of Afro-Costa Ricans. In each of my conversations with Josefina, Myrna, and Dr. Gordon-Chipembere we discussed ways in which tourists and expats can recognize the legacy of Afro-Costa Ricans and ethically experience this beautiful country. For Black expats, this means learning the history, acknowledging the generations of Afro-Costa Ricans who have fought for their place in this country, and for Americans especially, recognizing the privilege they now have.

For many African Americans, moving to Costa Rica marks the first time they automatically assume a position of power, with the U.S. dollar stretching further than the local currency. Expats must be mindful of their impact on the local community and resources, avoiding the pitfalls of gentrification and remembering why Costa Rica appealed to them in the first place—to ensure that their presence is a benefit, not a burden. To truly integrate, learning the language is a strong start, knowing Spanish shows a dedication to becoming a part of the culture. Black expats should also remain aware of the people around them and ensure that their personal community includes the locals who motivated their relocation and whose ancestors made it possible. Engaging in social initiatives, volunteer work, or advocacy, while amplifying Afro-Costa Rican voices, can contribute to a shared future that honors the past while promoting growth and equity.

Limón’s history, though full of adversity, is a story of perseverance and of a people who turned hardship into strength. Jamaican migrant workers were never meant to view this land as their home and still, they fought to build a place where future generations, including those of us from outside, could find belonging. As we continue to engage with Costa Rica, we, as visitors and expats, must meaningfully and respectfully support this beautiful community. By ensuring that our presence adds value to the lives of Afro-Costa Ricans we honor generations of hard work and resilience.

End Notes

Natasha Gordon Chipembere, Carving Caribbean Spaces in Between: The Life of Ruth Guorzong in 20th Century Puerto Limón (2016). Available at: Journal of International Women’s Studies, Vol .17, Iss. 3, Article 10. https://vc.bridgew.edu/cgi/viewcontent.cgi?article=1875&context=jiws
Natasha Gordon Chipembere, citing Trevor Purcell, in Carving Caribbean Spaces in Between: The Life of Ruth Guorzong in 20th Century Puerto Limón (2016). Available at: Journal of International Women’s Studies, Vol.17, Iss. 3, Article 10. https://vc.bridgew.edu/cgi/viewcontent.cgi?article=1875&context=jiws
Carmen Hutchinson Miller, The Province and Port of Limón: Metaphors for Afro-Costa Rican Black Identity (2012), University of the West Indies, Cave Hill Campus. Available at: Journal of Arts and Humanities, Vol. 1, No. 2 https://doi.org/10.18533/journal.v1i2.114
Carmen Hutchinson Miller, citing Carlos Meléndez and Quince Duncan in El Negro en Costa Rica (San José: Editorial Costa Rica, 1972), in The Province and Port of Limón: Metaphors for Afro-Costa Rican Black Identity (2012), University of the West Indies, Cave Hill Campus. Available at: Journal of Arts and Humanities.Vol. 1, No. 2 https://doi.org/10.18533/journal.v1i2.114
Carlos Meléndez and Quince Duncan, El Negro en Costa Rica (San José: Editorial Costa Rica, 1972).
Jason M. Colby, The Business of Empire: United Fruit, Race, and U.S. Expansion in Central America, 1st ed. (Cornell University Press, 2011). https://doi.org/10.7591/9780801462719.