When I came to Guatemala, I was extorted by the border authorities. When I entered Mexico, I was extorted by the police. I slept on the street. I didn't eat. Someone tried to rape me. I went to UNHCR [the United Nations Refugee Agency]. They saw my situation and sent me to a shelter in Tapachula. When I was there, they told me about El CAI. 

I have lost my family and the life I made [in El Salvador]. I had a job — I love cooking and that's what I used to do. Now I think that in the end it doesn't matter anymore. The most important thing is that I saved my life. But [it] hurts to know that even though my mom and siblings know I'm alive, I can't be with them.  

It is a year since I left home. It has been very difficult for me to adapt. I think it's more difficult for me because I'm from the LGBTQ+ community. I have been discriminated against because I'm gay and because I'm a migrant. I have been working. I know about construction. I would like to start a home-remodeling business, be an event planner, or work in the kitchen again. 

*Name has been changed.

The clinic is important to the LGBTQI+ community because it is inclusive. We come here and feel confident getting tested. We feel at home. We have psychological problems, sometimes health problems, and some people don't know where to seek help, and Doctors Without Borders has this, with psychological and health care.

Photo: Honduras 2025 © Fritz Pinnow/MSF

I’m going to the US because I feel I can have rights there. I shouldn’t be forced to change or hide, which is basically what I did in the last year in my country. I went from town to town looking for work, and they discriminated against me. So that’s why I saved up, bought a ticket to Brazil, and then went on to Peru, Ecuador, Colombia, and now Panama—which was the worst part of the journey. 

Crossing the Darién Gap, even on the short route as I did, is very difficult and demoralizing. I feel that I put my life on the line, and I wouldn't do it again. I am in good physical [health], I am young, but on the way, I saw old people, babies, even dead people—many drowned. These are images that will be really difficult to get out of my head. When I saw dead people on the riverbank, all I could think about was running for my life. 

In the group of migrants I was with, they spoke a lot about robbery and rape—which is also very shocking, especially hearing about it from people who have suffered it. From Peru onwards I wasn’t feeling good because the authorities treated me badly for being “African” and “black”. They left me last in line, they didn’t let me stay in hostels—this has affected me. The authorities in these Latin countries believe I should sleep on the floor because I am black. They have even told me that my stomach should tolerate going without food or that I can eat garbage. 

This unease has been aggravated in the jungle by seeing so many people suffering and not eating or sleeping. I had to throw away my backpack to climb a mountain. It was very steep! Any extra weight would stop you. I saw women with children trying to climb, and that was really shocking. There were even men carrying their wives who were injured because it was so difficult. I have to go on to America, but I would never want to go through this again in my life.

One of the reasons I decided to approach MSF was because at my university, which is the country's public university, there's a space where students can receive psychological care. And we noticed a young gay student who came to seek psychological support. The psychologist told him to seek God and read the Bible, because what he was or what he felt was wrong. So that made us want to approach the MSF clinic, because we knew there was a need.

[Before coming to MSF’s clinic], I didn't know where to turn. I didn't know who to turn to. I was completely ignorant about the whole health issue, about the health I needed to take into account. I didn't get tested, I didn't have access to medication, and I wasn't aware of how important it was to access those services at that time.

I'd never had access to psychological care. The first time I did was at MSF, and I think it marked a turning point in my life. I wasn't aware of how important psychological support was. And thanks to that psychological support, I now consider myself a stronger, more emotionally intelligent person, and I feel I can better cope with the discrimination and rejection I face or may face every day in my environment, in this country, in this society.

MSF is more than a doctor's office or a clinic, it's a safe space where we can go without fear of being rejected or disrespected, and where we can receive quality medical or psychological care, with an inclusive diversity approach, and free of charge — above all, free of charge. In this country, where access to health care is very restricted, the health care system is designed for privileged people.  

I think there needs to be a lot of training, especially for staff, so they know how to care for us, the LGBTQI+ community, how to understand our needs, and how they can provide us with more humane care. I think Honduras needs to develop public policies that benefit our community, but that's a long way off, and very difficult.

Photo: Honduras 2025 © Fritz Pinnow/MSF