translated from Spanish: Migrants are fleeing gang of Honduras with children and babies

since he left Honduras last October to join the migrant Caravan that runs through Mexico to the United States border, Karen has has a recurring nightmare.
She dreams that she falls deeply asleep.
That thousand 800 kilometers carrying accumulated caravan, between walking under the Sun, rain, and cold, and some sporadic “ride” by truck or car, due it to betrayal. And then, as a lead going slowly towards the bottom of the River, is left drag by the weight of fatigue and lose track of time.
First spend ten minutes.
Then a hour.
Two.
Three…
When you open the eyes with the first icy breeze of dawn, the Honduran’s copper complexion, black eyes, and hair laceo, don’t know if it is in Tecún Uman, on the border of Guatemala with Mexico, where he lived with the caravan first confrontation with 200 federal police that they sought to prevent the access of migrants to the interior of the country.
Or if already at the hostel of the city of Mexico where, since last Sunday, the United States authorities installed a kind of “migrant sanctuary” to cater for 5 thousand people with food, water, medicines, and legal advice, before continuing towards the border with United States.
With the breath stirred, Karen realized that in his dream looks in a gesture that is instinctive, electric, left and right.
But panic clouded her vision and didn’t find his six-year-old daughter, nor the of ten, nor to the 13-year-old male.
Then, joins as a spring on the thin mat that sleeps, pulls the blanket aside in an aggressive gesture, and begins desperate to feel two hands to her around, like those who seek blind in the middle of a closed night.
Thus, until it touches with its fine fingertips heads full of shaggy hair of his three children, and soothed, falls into the account that is already awake, which nobody has kidnapped their children, and that the dream has ended. Although the nightmare that fled Honduras continues.
“If not paid, started to kill one of your daughters” in his country, Karen has it to autoempleaba providing economic menus in the dining room. The business did not leave much, explains. Just to go to pull and keep their children in school. Until one day, they left a note on the table, in which a gang demanded the feared “war tax”. Or, in other words: 50% of the profits from the business.
From that time, gang members was given time four days to give the first tax.
But everything is complicated.
-Sales of the dining room were very low, with what money you would have them to pay? -asked the Honduran holding hand her small daughter, a torn black eyes girl carrying a backpack which is the head of a doll with worn and dirty cheeks. With the money that ate my daughters? It could not do that, then. But they don’t understand. You just say: you have four days, and if you do not pay, we start killing one of your daughters.
So Karen not thought when he learned by social networks that it was preparing a migrant caravan, which would come out of Honduras to cross Mexico to United States, where will ask for refuge.
Grabbed her two daughters, and his son, and the best thing that could explained to children that they had to flee their homes, out of school, their friends, their games, their life. All. (E) initiate other prematurely adult life as migrants without documents with just six, ten and thirteen years.
-Migrate is very difficult, very dangerous. But do it with three children, is still much harder. You have to be aware all the time so don’t go them to do something, or that to remove them. So, already I don’t sleep. I watch them day and night. Because my three children are the only things that I have in life. And I just have to me.
At this point in the conversation, the voice of Karen is broken.
It takes hands to the face and then passed them by coppery hair, to exhale a breath of air that recovers the breath.
Sometimes, said embracing its other ten-year-old girl, a spiky and high girl for her age, bulging black eyes and mischievous smile, observes in silence their children sleep at night and asked forgiveness.
Sorry for putting them to a mined road hazards. A path of rapes, extortion, assaults, disappearances, and both died in pursuit of a dream that many times ends truncated in a desert, or remains stranded at an immigration station in the southern border of Texas.
-I apologize les because they are living something that should not live – murmurs Karen wiping the tears that run it through the cheeks-.
– But I know that they see how I’m fighting honestly – it now says with anger in his tone of voice. I know the day tomorrow, when they grow up and remember all this which we are passing, you will feel proud of having a mother who fought until the end so they have a better future.
“Is a risk to bring my baby as well, but I have no other” Karen is not, of course, single mother who migrates or who flees, with minors. A simple tour of the facilities of the stadium Jesús Martínez ‘palillo’, in the Iztacalco Mayor of Mexico City, you can see at a glance a lot of minors: from babies ranging in stroller, to teenagers who travel with some family, or alone.
In fact, can be counted by thousands: according to the census, which the Commission on human rights of Mexico City, 4 mil 814 migrants who arrived at the facilities of the hostel between November 4 Sunday and yesterday Thursday, mil 726 are minors : 36%.
Antonio Javier, a Honduran in 20 years that, by its hairless face and childish look, he might miss minor, came to the hostel with a cumbersome rucksack, which takes a few tennis hanging, and a rolled up blanket, and pulling a stroller where in your inside travels a little girl of two years, weeping when you cough with effort.
-So I come from Honduras. Sometimes walking, others taking advantage of some ‘ride’, and throwing him forward with the stroller – smiles exhausted migrants, which leverages to thank the solidarity of the Mexicans who supported him along the way donating diapers and medication for the strong cough that brings the child from Veracruz, the point prior to the arrival in the city of Mexico.
-I know that it is a great risk to bring my daughter as well – looking stroller that already brings four chipped wheels. But we don’t have another. In my country, the Government has us into ruin, without work, without opportunities, and with much crime. And that’s what forces us to having to leave with the baby.
María Elena Torres is also Honduras, as almost everyone in the hostel of the city of Mexico, where 84% of the population received is from that country. The woman has both hands occupied holding the two girls just two to three years.
-When a migrated as well – smile showing hands interlaced to the of the babies-, it is more concerned about them than it does in the same. Because the children is what most cares one always. Why this path is even more difficult for us than for the rest of the migrants: because one, either way, it endures everything. But children cannot stand the Sun, the rain, the cold, and walking.
But you have faith, it ensures convinced. Faith in all the sacrifice will give a result for their daughters in the future, although it is aware that Donald Trump, nor their Government, them will receive a warm welcome, but with soldiers and border guard guarding the border that they do not come and go back to s u country.
-I don’t have anybody that I receive in United States, so I hope that we go all with the caravan.
– And if Trump does not give them asylum? -asks the journalist-.
Maria Elena returns to teach his hands entwined to the girls, and answers:-then, ask God to touch the heart of Trump, so give refuge to these girls. Because parents just want a better future for our children.

Original source in Spanish