Yahir*, a survivor of extreme violence in his home country and along the migration route, shares his story of reaching safety at the Comprehensive Care Center (CAI) of Médecins Sans Frontières in Mexico City.
Driving was my first passion, learning how to drive. Then I discovered painting. Those were the only things I had, and if someone told me, “Hey, we have to go paint to this place,” even if I was tired or hadn’t slept, I grabbed my tools and went. We spent days without eating, but painting filled me.
But things changed with time. Painting cost me a lot; I lost many things, like my family and everything I owned, until I had to leave for Mexico. My goal was never to come here, like many friends who say, “Let’s go to the United States.” That wasn’t my dream. I wanted to paint, to grow as an artist, but that brought consequences: losing my two-year-old daughter, becoming an enemy of the mara, and losing everyone I loved.
It all began when they started charging me the war tax. At first, I paid, but I got tired and said no. The first time, they shot me and sent me to the hospital. I still felt angry and thought I could take revenge. But the second time, they killed my mother and my brother and sent me a message: “We’re coming for your daughter.” I never believed they would take her from me. That day I had to go paint; I said goodbye to my daughter and hugged her. When they called me, I went to see her and she was on the floor.
I felt like a coward and said: I have to leave. They left me a note saying, “You have three hours to leave the country or you’re next.” In Guatemala they threatened me again and said they would kill me. That same day, I crossed into Mexico however I could, and migration authorities detained me. They were going to send me back to Honduras, but an angel —a lawyer— told me I had rights. He offered to help me and said I would spend a month detained, but I would be released.
I spent a month and a half in immigration detention in Palenque. I didn’t care about sleeping badly, being cold, or eating poorly; I only wanted to avoid being sent back, because if they returned me, I would last half an hour or an hour before they killed me. After a month and a half, I finally left that prison. I came out crying and shouting. I went to Veracruz barefoot, with open wounds on my feet, thinking about my family, crying, exhausted. I just wanted to die. Thanks to a photographer or journalist who gave me a bottle of water and took me to a shelter, I survived. He stayed with me during the four months I was there. He bought me medicine, clothes, shoes, everything, until I received my documents. He told me, “You’re free now; they can’t deport you anymore.” But at that moment, I made the wrong decision to head to the United States.
A group of fifteen or eighteen of us left together. When we reached the border, before Ciudad Juárez, a criminal group captured us and took us to a warehouse. There I saw how they raped girls and tortured people. I thought: When is it my turn? The National Guard rescued us. Only a few of us survived, maybe four, and we were taken to a shelter where we received psychological support. That is where I met Médecins Sans Frontières. They flew me to Mexico City, and they received me with a hug. Since then, they have never left my side and have helped me with everything I needed. I feel calmer and safer here.
My fears were that they would find me and kill me or harm others. Now my fear is facing life. I am afraid of being around many people, I isolate myself, but here with MSF I feel safer. My dream is to be independent, open a candy business, remember old times, and start a painting group again. Painting has always been my passion. It fills me with joy and makes me feel humble. I remember my painter friends as my second family. When we painted together, I felt love and support. That gave me strength to continue. Even though I lost my family, they are still my strength. When I think of them, I get up and keep going.
Today, thanks to Médecins Sans Frontières, I have a job, I have received psychological support, and I feel safer. Here I found another family, a third one. When they hugged me when I arrived and told me that the plate of food and the roof were mine, I felt like my mother had given them to me. That gave me the strength to continue and to dream again.
*Name changed to protect the person’s identity.
The Comprehensive Care Center (CAI) of Médecins Sans Frontières has operated in Mexico City since 2016. It provides psychological, psychiatric, medical, social work, and health-promotion services for survivors of extreme violence in Mexico or their home countries. The goal is long-term recovery and reintegration after severe trauma that disrupted their ability to lead their lives.
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Related:
- Mexico
- Migration crisis
- MSF in mexico
