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Kidnapped by Human Traffickers / 14ymedio, Georlys Olazabal Drake

14ymedio, Georlys Olazabal Drake, Florida, Camagüey Province, 19 October
2016 — At 29, like many of the young people here, Georlys Olazabal Drake
fled the lack of opportunities in Cuba for undertake the risky journey
to the United States. A member of the opposition movement Somos+ (We Are
More), Olazabal Drake, who studied computer science, signed up for an
exit that would end up with his being kidnapped in Mexico by
human traffickers.

Now he shares his story with the 14ymedio’s readers, with a notable
number of details that reveal the framework of extortion, complicity and
that surrounds many of these journeys to follow a dream.

This story started last July 23, when my cousin’s wife told me there was
a boat leaving to take people to Mexico, some of them from Florida, the
name of our town in Camaguey. She said the trip would cost between 2,000
and 3,000 dollars a person, but along the way – when I could no longer
turn back – I discovered the real cost was 10,000 dollars.

The journey came like a hope, because everything was going badly for me
at that time. I had had problems with the inspectors and the had
taken away my business license. I also had problems in my personal life.

Previously I wanted to leave the country and several of my family
members had abandoned the island. Although I’m not in agreement with the
system of government, the reasons that led me to leave had nothing to do
with my political ideas, but with personal circumstances. I was a way to
escape: I was presented with an opportunity and without thinking about
it I undertook the journey.

I left in a rented car from Fontanar headed to the bridge of the PRIMER
ANILLO of Havana, where a group of people had already gathered to be
picked up. From there we were taken to the city of Pinar del Rio in a
private truck being used to passengers.

During this leg of the journey I still felt sure about what I was doing.
I believed it was the solution. On arriving in Pinar del Rio a gentleman
picked us up outside the station and took us to his house. Then, in
another truck, we took the highway to a town called Las Marinas. They
collected us in these carts that they call spiders and took us to a farm.

We were 32 people, 20 from Pinar del Rio, 6 from Santiago de Cuba, and
the other 6 from my town of Florida. There were no children, just 29 men
and 3 women. Among them were 2 young men who had deserted from the
border guards, taking their uniforms, their guns and leaving their jeep
abandoned.

Once there, there was already no way to turn back. The only chance to
abort the trip was if the border guard troops found out about it and
interfered, or if the boat was intercepted at sea. They made it very
clear that if we tried to leave or if we didn’t want to go, they would
put an end to our lives.

There was no way to communicate with anyone, because we had to give up
our cellphones. We could only go with a change of clothes, a package of
cookies, a bottle of water and the money we had. We weren’t even allowed
matches.

I wanted to call my wife but I knew they wouldn’t forgive me if I did
so. However, I consoled myself thinking that I was making the journey
for the two of us and if it worked out, I would find a way to get her
out, to leave all the problems we were going through and to start again.

At the farm they didn’t give us any . Many things were going through
my head. I felt insecure, but the only thing left to me was to go
forward and ask God for things to turn out well. The people got that
far, although we didn’t know each other, were pretty communicative. We
tried to help each other.

We slept one night at that farm, where there were several animals like
cows and horses, but fortunately no mosquitoes, only some MORO crabs who
were all around us because we were near the beach. Some farmers watched
us at night with their faces covered, so they couldn’t be identified in
case the border guards raided the placed.

During the night the time the boat would leave was changed several
times, until some demanded to know the truth. After some pressure they
told us it would leave at 7:30 in the morning. Then they gave us more
warnings and brought us a jug of water

Around seven in the morning the farmers returned to tell us to get
ready, the boat was about to some. When we approached the rock along the
shore we could see in the distance what looked like a dove in the water.
At that point I don’t know what I felt, I just remember telling myself,
“Yes, this is what I should do.”

We were content. However, until that moment I also hoped that the boat
wouldn’t arrive. I felt a desire not to make that journey, to put it all
behind me and to return to the people I loved. At the moment you leave
Cuba, that is when you value it.

Around 7:20 in the morning on July 24 the boat arrives. When we were far
from shore I put my hands to my head and said, “My God, what have I
done?” But I could no longer throw myself in the sea. The boatman pulled
out a pistol and let off two shots in to the air to let us know we were
under his control.

The crew was made up of two people: a boatman and his helper, both
Cubans. The helper was called “El Menor” and was originally from a town
in Pinar del Rio called El Cayuco, while the boatman was called “El
Yuma” and was from Güines. Both of them live in Mexico and can’t enter
Cuba legally, because they are wanted to drug trafficking, human
trafficking and murder.

The boatman bragged about having killed his previous helper, a Honduran
who was a boat mechanic.

The two men took security measures, like making us throw away our shoes
so no one could escape when we landed. One of them told us that from the
same place we had left from, they had made more than 30 trips last summer.

They bragged about coming and going from the island as if it was their
house. According to them, in Cuba there are no teams to pursue fast
boats. They leave Mexico like a fishing charter, and at night stay 60
miles out and advance slowly as if it was a fishing boat. When the sun
rises, they rush in at full speed, pick up, and leave in the same way.

At around 30 miles they made a call to Mexico, to the boss of the
business, and told him only: “We’re coming.” The boatman boasted that
five boats belonging to the same business owner to look for people in
Cuba, but only he had been able to pick up.

The trip was long because they were forced to enter Mexico at night. We
arrived at Cancun, near the area, after nine at night. We landed
on a dock where we had to pay 100 dollars each to enter.

We were waiting for two small buses and boarded them, 16 people each.
They took us to an abandoned warehouse, a sort of old rented building
with all the security for this type of business. There two groups of us
joined up with more than 50 people who had arrived on previous trips.

On arriving in Mexico we had to get the money to pay them. They took
care of the paperwork for each migrant to fly north and present
themselves at the US border. The entire trip cost 10,000 dollars, but I
had no money to pay. At that point I began my odyssey.

The abandoned warehouse had two floors. Upstairs there were four
bedrooms and a large living room where the TV was. One of the rooms was
for the guides, who are responsible for finding people in Cuba who want
to leave the country. The guides are more comfortable, with mattresses
and food, and the trip is free. They are also used to control
discipline. The other rooms are like cells.

The bosses were Cuban. They call the main one El Millo and he never
shows his face in the business. Later it was Julian, El Negro, who is
from Matanza and “attends to” the migrants and helps them do things like
call their families. He functions as an intermediary. In addition, there
are people everywhere who collect money.

A man named Rey, from Vertientes in Camaguey, is known as El Pinto and
looks after the house. He is also responsible for the tortures.

They collected all our clothes from us, our identity cards, passports,
and money to prevent any change of escape. They left us with shorts and
a t-shirt, which is the “uniform” of the people help in that place.

The next day, at seven in the morning, we had a piece of bread and a
glass of water for breakfast. Then they started the calls with our
families, most of whom were unaware of our exit plans. They only allowed
us to speak for a few seconds to they would know it was true that they
had us.

If the family said they didn’t have any money, they warned them they
would put their relative in a tank of acid and nothing would ever be
heard of them or they would put them back in a boat and take them 30
miles out and throw them to the crocodiles.

I wasn’t tortured but others didn’t enjoy the same luck. They just
punished me for not having any money and took me to a room where they
only took me out for a bath once a week. We couldn’t watch TV or talk to
anyone, and we had to be quiet and sleep on the floor.

I saw how they beat up several people, among them a young man that
almost killed. Another who didn’t have any money, they broke two of his
fingers with an ax.

If someone fell ill and they didn’t see any chance to get any money from
them, they’d take them away and they never came back. We didn’t know
what happened with them, if they kept them or killed them.
Sometimes they would split someone’s nose and send photos to the family
to scare them and threaten them.

Those who didn’t have any money didn’t receive any food. I spent 38 days
with just water but no food. Sixty-nine of us lived like this, because
in my group there were only 14 with money who were able to go to the
United States.

It was better not to be very communicative, because they could think you
were up to something, or going to flee or something else. Some, to get
in good with the bosses, brought them information, so I preferred not to
speak.

I stayed in a corner, quiet, sitting there, and when I was tired I slept
to avoid reprisals of they became violent.

I wasn’t afraid but I worried about what my mom was able to do and
thought a lot about my grandfather. On the other hand, they were
convinced I was going to get out of there but couldn’t imagine how or when.

On the 35th and 36th day they started saying they were going to toss
people 30 miles out or take us to the migrant centers of Chetunal and
Tabasco. They took a photo of me and said to be ready at seven at night.

They put me in the taxi and called the federal police, with whom they do
business. They sent the photo and the taxi information and later I just
had to get in the police car. I was with the federal police for 48
hours, with the right to an attorney and they gave me a book that
explained my rights and duties.

They gave us food and treated us well. The police were corrupt and also
offered us the chance to continue the journey in exchange for money.

From there, they took us to the migrant center in Chetumal, where I was
for 17 days, waiting for everyone. When I got there, there were 29
Cubans and on the day I left 17 more came. It was amazing to see how
Cubans who don’t demand their rights on the island, do so there. They
were protests about the cleanliness, water, food.

I knew they were going to deport me, but I still had the chance of
refuge or political asylum. I thought about this last option, but gave
up because I missed everything in Cuba. Despite all the problems I’d
left behind, my country was better.

On 22 September they took me in a can to the Cancun and the next
day, around seven in the morning, I left to fly to Havana.

They took all of us to the migrant center at Valle Grande , where
they analyzed us, took statements and checked for criminal histories.
The treatment was good, respectful and they didn’t ask us about
anything. After a period of quarantine they sent me to the police
station in my town and from there, home.

I’m happy to be in Cuba, with my family, my friends, and to have the
chance to continue my political activism. Although sometimes I thought
the solution was to emigrate to the United States, I don’t think I will
try to leave again. I just want to establish myself here and have a family.

Although it’s hard to live with the problems we have in Cuba, the
situations that face us when we try to exit illegally are harder. I urge
everyone to fight for change in Cuba, since leaving the country is also
leaving everything you love.

Source: Kidnapped by Human Traffickers / 14ymedio, Georlys Olazabal
Drake – Translating Cuba –
translatingcuba.com/kidnapped-by-human-traffickers-14ymedio-georlys-olazabal-drake/

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