4700 Miles To A Dream
Yency Contreras Gambled With His Life; Feels He Hit The Jackpot
At 17 years old, Yency Contreras decided he was going to change his life or die trying. And he almost did.
He was the oldest of seven children, all living with their parents in a shack with dirt floors, no bathroom, and a leaky makeshift roof. The Honduran native felt like his only chance was to get to America. So without telling his mom where he was headed, he left home.
“I used to be really poor. I mean really, really poor,” recalls Contreras, who is now 30. “When my mom said there was no food to eat, she really meant there was no food. There was no food in the refrigerator because there literally was no refrigerator. And there was no refrigerator because there was no electricity.”
“I wanted a better life for myself. If something went wrong I didn’t care, as long as it happened while I was trying.”
Contreras took a bus across his Honduran homeland and then slipped into Guatemala, where a stranger bought him a bus ticket to the Mexican border. From there, he snuck into Mexico by crossing a river in the dark.
Next, he climbed onto the roof of a freight train frequently referred to as the Death Train because countless immigrants have died or lost limbs trying to hop on or off. Contreras’ family lives next to a man who lost both legs trying to get on the train, so he is acutely aware of the danger. The trick, he recalls, is to get on while the train is first moving and to never fall asleep.
Contreras rode atop the train for days. When he felt safe enough at stops, which was sometimes almost a day apart, he would sneak off and beg for food and water. Before he climbed back on, he’d tie a little extra water to his body, so that both hands would be free as he again scaled the moving train. The risk of getting caught was too high to get on before it was moving, he explains.
Eighteen days after leaving home, he reached the border of the United States. He says he was dehydrated, sick and hungry. With his once-tight pants held up with rope, he went into a Catholic Church and asked for help. He was given food, medicine for his fever, and a few dollars, which he used to buy a calling card.
Smuggler Promises Atlanta but Contreras Nearly Dies, Gets Arrested
He called his cousins in Atlanta who wired him $1,000 to pay a smuggler. The smuggler would help him cross into the United States and then get him to his family. The cousins would pay the smuggler another $800 once he safely arrived.
“Three days later, the (smuggler) took us to a buffet and said, ‘Eat all you can,’” Contreras recalls. “He told us we would walk for six hours and then a car would come. But the car never came. We walked for three days with no food or water.”
“He told us we would walk for six hours and then a car would come. But the car never came. We walked for three days with no food or water.”
Contreras remembers being in a group of about 10, which included women and some children. He was still sick; the smuggler gave him a T-shirt to muffle his cough so he wouldn’t be heard by border patrol.
He says he remembers a young boy — about 10 — who on the second day just couldn’t walk any more. The men took turns carrying him for a couple of hours, but couldn’t keep it up. Eventually, the smuggler told the child to walk in the direction of a border patrol station. The boy’s mother continued toward the U.S.
After three days of walking, Contreras says they crossed from Nogales, Mexico into Tucson, AZ. By this time, he was so sick that he was literally passing out. He remembers getting into a car and not being able to see clearly. The driver gave him a cold chicken breast and a can of Pepsi: it was his first meal in the U.S. and to this day, he says, the best meal he ever ate.
Contreras was taken to a home in Phoenix, where he joined other migrants waiting for transportation. A few days later, he climbed into a small sedan with 3 or 4 other men who were all headed toward Georgia.
Contreras says that in Lubbock, Texas, the car broke down. The driver told Contreras and the others to stay put — he’d go get what he needed to fix the car and be right back.
After an hour in the car, Contreras convinced the others that they all needed to hide in the woods in case the police came. The sedan was towed away by the highway patrol a short time later. The men hid in the woods for two days; the driver never came back for them. Finally, they emerged from the road and tried to hitch a ride.
“Nobody stopped except this white man with a big truck,” he recalls. “We thought he was helping us, but he took us to a border patrol office.”
He and the others were not handcuffed in the office and were left alone for a short time, so they ran out of the building and into the woods. Contreras remembers hearing men yell out, “Come to us. We are here to help you.” But he stayed where he was.
He says he was feeling really sick and his vision was blurry again. Every so often, he sat against a tree to keep from passing out. A man came toward him and he attempted to run, but couldn’t.
“I was basically dying. I didn’t have any energy left,” he recalls. “I knew if I went with them, I would not die. I knew I would be deported. But I didn’t want to die.”
“I knew if I went with them, I would not die. I knew I would be deported. But I didn’t want to die.”
Contreras says he was taken to a hospital, where he spent four days. He was then sent to a juvenile detention center in El Paso, Tx. He was told he’d be held until he turned 18 and then returned to Honduras.
He’d already decided he’d try again to get to the U.S. when an American couple who volunteered as missionaries came around looking for someone who knew how to play the guitar.
Back at home Contreras’ church had no electricity. But it did have an electric guitar, which had always fascinated him.
The man who played the guitar connected it to a car battery, which he periodically took to be charged in another town. For years, Contreras hung out with the church guitar player, watched the man’s hands while he played, and eventually learned a few songs.
So when the detention center missionaries asked if anyone played the guitar, he raised his hand.
He Played Guitar for Couple; They Changed his Life in Exchange
Every Thursday, he played traditional Latin church songs during the missionaries’ visit. First he’d play loudly and the other detainees would sing along, then he’d play softly and the Americans would preach.
One day, he asked the couple if they knew a way he could get out of the detention center. To his surprise, they said yes.
“They saved my life,” Contreras recalls.
He now refers to them as his American mom and dad.
They sponsored Contreras, took him into their home and ultimately helped him become a U.S. Citizen.
The couple enrolled him in high school, but he was 18 and only in the 9th grade. He left there and spent a year at a community college focusing on nothing but reading and writing English. After that, he took the GED test and passed it. He then enrolled in a two-year college in Florida and eventually earned a Bachelor’s in Criminal Justice from the University of Central Florida.
Contreras squirreled away $7,000 from a summer job while in college. He planned to use it to pay his college loans, but instead sent it to his parents. They used the money to build a house with a bathroom.
In 2011, he became a U.S. Citizen.
Contreras moved to Charlotte because he has cousins here. They mostly work roofing jobs, live far better than they ever have, and also send money to help their families in Honduras.
He joined the CMPD as a volunteer in 2014, so he could see what it was like. The following year he was accepted to the police academy. He struggled, but said he made it through recruit school with a lot of hard work.
Now, he is assigned to the overnight shift in the Metro Division. He is certified to translate or write statements for people who don’t know English, so he serves in that capacity department-wide. Eventually, he says, he hopes to earn a spot on the CMPD unit that investigates human trafficking.
Last year, he married and this spring he and his wife brought their baby to Honduras to meet family. He still regularly sends money to his parents.
“They are not rich, but they live in a real house now. And nobody goes to bed hungry anymore,” he says.
Contreras agreed to share his story because he wants Americans to understand why so many people will do anything to come to the United States. And he wants young people who think they have no chance at success to understand that nothing is truly impossible.
“I still sometimes can’t believe how much my circumstances have changed,” he says.
“I believe that dreams can come true.”
