2018 Flores exhibit 37

I am 17 years old. It's four months until I turn 18.

I'm from Honduras.

I am currently being held at Shenandoah Valley Juvenile Hall in Virginia.
I have been detained here for six weeks or so.
I have not been told how much longer I will be detained.

I came to the United States to save my life from the “maras” and assassins in Honduras.
Also because an older woman was harassing me there,
and to be with my mom, who currently lives in Texas.
In my country I never had problems with the police.
The “mara” forced me to leave my studies because they were looking for me at school to get me to join them.
So I have no choice but to leave my country.

On August 22, 2016, I entered the United States by the border with Reynosa, Mexico.
I had walked alone for 16 hours on a dry field, thirsty and hungry,
when I was arrested by the Border Patrol.
They put me very roughly inside in a big and long truck, and they took me to the
immigration facility, where I stayed for about two days.
Then they moved me to what we call "la hielera” (the freezer). We were like 20 people in one room, we were packed tight. I stayed there for about three days. There was not enough room for us to lie down, no mattresses or anything.
There were small children were enduring in the cold, until I took off my shirt to lend it to a young
boy. Then they sent me to “la perrera” (the dog kennel). I spent two days there, and then they

took me to IES House Norma Linda in Brownsville, Texas.

one day, when they suddenly came to me and said, " you're leaving. Pack your things."
I thought I was going to go with my mom, but I was informed in the car that I was going to another shelter.
I was asking them why. They answered that I could not be in that program because I had too many reports. I asked them, “what reports?” because I was never warned that there were reports against me.
They gave me no more explanation or opportunity to defend myself. I started to cry because I was frustrated and also because I did not think it was right that I was suddenly moved.

Life in Southwest Key was more complicated. The staff shouted at us with insults, insulting us, calling us "putos," or "apurense culeros." A staff there gave a pen to one of my partners to get a tattoo. There, too, I watched as they grabbed the minors brutally, throwing them to the ground. I managed to avoid that abuse by taking great care of myself.

Shenandoah is a jail, though the staff speak to us better than in Southwest Key. However, life here is very difficult. We wear prison uniforms that smell bad and cause me an allergic itch. Sometimes it becomes a little difficult not to get in trouble with our cellmates. There is not much to do, and one spends a lot of time bored. Normally, we spend almost 13 hours and 45 minutes locked in our rooms, and even longer if there are problems with the behavior. We are divided into five or six pods, with a limit of 10 young people per pod. They punish us for what young people do in another pod, and that's not fair. There are four staff that can take care of us: two in the morning and two in the afternoon. Of the four who take care of us, almost always only one, who works the morning, speaks Spanish. So it is very easy that there are misunderstandings among the young people and the staff.