TAMPA, Fla. — Frengel Reyes says he’ll never forget the screams in the dark, the cold bunk bed without blankets, the brutality enforced by the guards.

“Hell is real back there,” Reyes, 25, said about the four months he spent in a mega-prison in El Salvador after he was deported in March from the United States.

“I asked myself the same question again and again: What am I doing here? I didn’t understand anything, and I couldn’t believe it,” said Reyes. “That’s what I told myself every single day.”

Reyes, a painter in the Tampa Bay area, was detained during an immigration appointment on Feb. 4 and deported a month later. He was among 250 Venezuelans held in the Terrorism Confinement Center, or CECOT, a prison opened in 2023 that can hold up to 40,000 inmates. Reyes was sent to his home country earlier this month as part of a prisoner exchange deal.

In El Salvador, Reyes says prisoners were treated like animals. It was forbidden to speak to guards directly or look them in the eyes. Everyone had to lower their gaze.

“The toilets were inside each cell, in the same area where we had to wash our hands, face and body. In each cell, we were 14 or 18 detainees,” Reyes told the Tampa Bay Times via WhatsApp from Zulia, Venezuela, where he is now living with family. “We had to sleep with our shirts over our noses and faces to block the smells. That’s how we slept.”

Reyes remembers food that made many people sick for days or even weeks. They were often punished by being forced to walk in a squat with their hands on their heads.

“They called it ‘search position.’ Three hours on your knees and neck bent down, just because one person raised his voice. But we all paid for one. They said this is how terrorists should be treated,” said Reyes. “I always tried to avoid them (the guards), but there was physical torture. One of my cellmates almost lost an eye from a kick to the face. I had rib pain for three months after a beating.”

One of the worst places, Reyes said, was La Isla, a dark room where guards took prisoners to beat them for many reasons. One man was taken for complaining about the food. Another was sent for saying the toilet was broken.

In La Isla, there was no light, no chance to see each other, and no way to escape. Guards came in with flashlights and night vision goggles, armed with batons. Men left the room bleeding. Others begged for medical attention.

Reyes went to La Isla twice. The first time, he said, was because he tried to bathe. Guards pulled him out and beat him because he didn’t have permission. The second time was because the water was making them sick, and he asked them to change it.

“In La Isla we couldn’t see anything, and we had to kneel,” said Reyes. “They stepped on us, kicked us in the ribs with boots. We suffered a lot.”

The road in and out

Reyes entered the United States in December 2023 through the southern border with his wife, Liyanara Sanchez, and her 10-year-old stepson. Upon entry, he applied for asylum and protection under Temporary Protected Status.

He has no tattoos or criminal record, and says he has no connection to Tren de Aragua, a gang that started more than 12 years ago in a prison in the central Venezuelan state of Aragua.

The night of his arrest at the Immigration and Customs Enforcement office, Reyes was sent to a detention center in Pinellas County, then transferred again to Tampa the next day. Then he was moved to the Krome Detention Center in Miami, where he spent seven days sleeping on the floor in overcrowded conditions. He was later transferred to the Federal Detention Center in Miami-Dade County for about five weeks. From there, he was taken by bus to Georgia and put on a plane. The flight landed in South Texas near the border, where he was held for six days.

He was told he’d be deported to Venezuela. Instead, the plane landed in El Salvador.

The Venezuelans were deported under the authority of the 1798 Alien Enemies Act, an 18th-century wartime declaration.

More than 50 Venezuelans deported to El Salvador entered the U.S. legally and never broke immigration laws, according to a Cato Institute analysis. The report found that 42 were labeled as gang members primarily based on their tattoos, “which Venezuelan gangs do not use to identify members and are not reliable indicators of gang membership.”

Reyes’ wife said the only proof she had that her husband was alive during the four months he was jailed was a video published in early May by the far-right One America News Network. In the video, Reyes and other detainees made a hand signal asking for help while looking into the camera and shouting: “Help!” “Venezuela!” and “Freedom!”

“After that, there was a search, a big operation. They put us in the hallway, and cell by cell, they beat us with batons,” Reyes said. “But we protested because we were desperate. We just wanted to say something to the world.”

Reyes said they had no access to legal representation or any way to communicate with their families. A federal judge ruled in June that some migrants sent to the El Salvador prison must be allowed to challenge their deportations, according to the Associated Press.

“Before I was deported, I only signed a paper about my belongings,” said Reyes. “I never saw a judge. I paid a lawyer, but they didn’t let him help. They kept everything: my $150 and my Venezuelan ID.”

Homeland Security spokesperson Tricia McLaughlin said in a statement that “President Trump and Secretary (Kristi) Noem will not allow criminal gangs to terrorize American citizens.“

“We hear far too much about gang members and criminals’ false sob stories and not enough about their victims,” said McLaughlin.

Now that he’s out, Reyes is trying to rebuild his life in Zulia, Venezuela. He hopes to reunite with his wife and stepson in Venezuela before Christmas.

“For now, I live with my mom and younger sister. I’m just starting to connect with people, friends, and figure out what I can do,” Reyes said. “I’ll do anything for me and my family, that’s for sure.”

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