Santa Cruz del Islote | Fishermen in Colombia: "No one is left alone"

Santa Cruz del Islote, here in the Caribbean off the coast of Colombia, is considered the most densely populated island in the world…

Today, around 1,000 people live here permanently on half a hectare of land. But this close settlement has existed for a long time. The island used to be smaller, but almost as densely populated. The island is growing with our community. I was born in 1949, right here, in the middle of the sea. Back then, maybe 200 people lived here. There were no motorboats, no electricity, no plastic . But the island has always been tiny and cramped, and the sea has always been wide and endless—and our friend, our teacher, our calendar. When the waves got higher, we knew it was going to rain. When the sea was flat, it was a good morning for fishing. The few houses were made of wood, the first ones built on stilts, directly above the reef. At night, the wind whistled through the boards, and sometimes you thought the whole island was breathing.

And how did the first inhabitants come here?

According to our own stories and studies, the first fishermen arrived around 330 years ago. They were men from the mainland. They spent the nights on the reef because there were no mosquitoes and it was safe to sleep. During the day, they caught fish and searched for lobsters and mussels. At some point, they started building small shelters and stayed for several days. Eventually, they brought their families with them. The makeshift camp grew into a village – on the reef, in the middle of the sea. Space has always been tight, the ground is naturally unstable, and people have to share every inch. But despite this, more people are coming, and above all, we are having lots of children – they all want to have their own homes later. The island is bursting at the seams, but even so, there is hardly any opportunity to leave. And most people don't want to leave.

What do people live on here?

I went harpoon fishing like my father and his father. Barefoot. No wetsuit, no compressed air. In a boat, alone. It's also a way to escape the confines of the island for a moment. Our fathers and grandfathers dived down and came back with enormous shells, as if it were nothing. And us children? We watched – full of admiration. That's how we learned respect. For our elders, for nature, for the water. The sea has always been our source of life – and our wealth.

Has it stayed that way?

Today, many also make a living from tourism. The biggest highlight here is the aquarium, where you can see sharks up close. Most tourists don't stay overnight, but rather take organized excursions for just half an hour. They snorkel in the coral reefs and take photos of the "smallest island in the world."

Are there other sources of income?

Others of us work on the mainland during the week – in Cartagena or Tolú – and come home on weekends or special holidays. That's when things get especially crowded, loud, and lively on the island – like a collective family reunion. But the most important thing is: we thrive on our community. No one is left alone. If someone doesn't have money, we share what we have. If someone is sick, we help. If someone is building something, neighbors come and help with tools.

There is no drinking water and the electricity supply is only precarious?

That's true. We have no plumbing, no public infrastructure. We organized everything that works ourselves. At some point, someone brought a generator from the mainland. Then we had light at night too. During the day, there's no television, no entertainment—life happens outside. Rainwater is collected in a large tank and distributed to the families—but it hasn't rained for months. So we have to buy water from a private desalination plant. It's delivered in large canisters by boat. The school here does have a small modem so the children can learn how to use the internet. There's a sports field on a neighboring island, but we don't have a schoolyard. Instead, we have three small shops, one right on the village square, where people gather, drink a soft drink, and catch up on the latest gossip.

How do you experience life in such a densely populated environment? What are the biggest challenges?

Because we live so close together, there are no secrets. No privacy. When someone laughs or cries, someone always hears. But that also has a good side: it creates a sense of solidarity. We organize ourselves into collectives: There is an island council, the highest authority – everyone belongs to it, and the chairmanship rotates. The tour guides have their own collective, which decides who works when. The daily takings are distributed equally. The fishermen have an association – if one doesn't catch anything, the others help out. We are extremely adaptable. We never have much, but we get by. Everyone knows everyone, everyone helps everyone. And life here leaves plenty of room for discussion, for improvisation. There is no crime, no locked doors. Day tourists are only allowed on the main path and into the aquarium. The rest of the island belongs to us.

The island continues to grow – when will it end?

Wresting something from the sea is difficult. We fill tiny platforms with rubble, coral rubble, and alluvial sand, which then become plots of land. This sometimes takes years. To the east, it ends – the reef suddenly drops 30 meters. It can't be filled in. To the west, there's still a little – but that's where the protected corals begin. The real end will probably bring about our dependence on the mainland. Because without the mainland, nothing works: garbage, drinking water, electricity. There's no police here, and the school is in danger of collapsing. A hospital is far away; there's only an emergency room, two nurses, and one doctor. Sometimes I think the government has forgotten us. We need support – also to develop alternatives to fishing and tourism. We could help with environmental protection, with biodiversity assessments. We know the sea better than any drone or diver from the city.

How is the community dealing with these changes? Has the mentality changed over time?

Yes, definitely. There's more frustration. Many young people want to go to the mainland, make TikTok videos, and live a different life. I understand and support that. Because when they come back, they bring something with them: knowledge, questions, a different perspective. Now even the Islote has an Instagram account.

And what are your hopes for the future of Santa Cruz del Islote?

We live with the sea – and with everything that moves in it. There are days when you lie on your back in the water, look up at the sky – and it feels like you're floating between two worlds. But there are also days when you know: better not go out today. People from the city look out at the sea and see a beautiful photo opportunity, a postcard. We see in it a story, a warning, a promise. The sea allows us to live – and it is our sanctuary. I want to preserve that. I hope the younger generation doesn't forget that. That they move on – yes – but that they also come back. With new ideas. And with the same heart.