McALLEN, Texas — Jairo Anael Avila Cabreras, 29, is a typical example of the roughly 1,000 Central American migrants who pour into this small border city every day — triggering what the mayor calls a “humanitarian crisis.”

Unable to speak English and illiterate even in his native Spanish, the Honduran native also has epilepsy, and he suffered a seizure and fell during the grueling 21-day trek through Guatemala and Mexico with his 5-year-old daughter, Deilis Danora.

Cabreras, who left behind a wife and a 2-year-old son, also admits that while he’s seeking asylum on grounds that his homeland is overrun with gang violence, his primary motive for coming to the United States was to seek a better life.

“My dream is to have a house for me and my family,” Cabreras, speaking in Spanish, told The Post.

“I feel there are good people here. There are no good people in Honduras.”

Cabreras’ nose still bears deep scratches from the fall — and credits his daughter with keeping the human traffickers who led their group from leaving him behind.

“She told them I had fallen, and told them where to find my medicine,” he said.

“She is my savior.”

But Deilis isn’t in much better shape than her dad.

She had a high fever when they were taken into custody by Border Patrol agents, and looked bedraggled in stained sweatpants and uncombed hair.

The father and daughter were released pending an April 24 court hearing in Tampa, Fla., where Cabreras has a friend who paid for bus tickets and is willing to put them up while the legal asylum process plays out.

He said he was hoping to quickly find work as a farm laborer so he can pay back the $17,000 his family owes the traffickers who brought him to Texas.

Asylum decisions can take anywhere from six months to several years, according to the National Immigration Forum, a pro-immigration advocacy group.

As of July, there was a backlog of 733,000 pending applications for “defensive asylum,” which involves people caught trying to enter the country without proper documentation. The average wait time for a hearing was nearly two years, the Washington, DC-based nonprofit says.

Cabreras and his daughter were helped at the bus station by McAllen’s Catholic Charities Humanitarian Respite Center, which gave them sandwiches and water for their trip.

The dad was also handed with a large white envelope containing his and Deilis’ court papers, the name of a public defender in Tampa and instructions on how to find free medical care there.

On the outside of the envelope, bold black letters read: “Please Help Me. I Don’t Speak English. What Bus Do I Need To Take?”

Earlier this month, McAllen Mayor James Darling sent a letter to Texas Sens. Ted Cruz and John Cornyn, pleading for federal aid to deal with what Customs and Border Protection describes as the “caravan-equivalent” groups that arrive weekly in the city of about 140,000.

“This situation which has been ongoing since June of 2014 has reached the point where the strain on our resources to deal with it is not sustainable,” Darling wrote in an April 2 letter obtained by The Post. “In addition, the numbers are also more than our private [charitable] partners can handle and sustain.

“I have urged, and I urge again, the federal government to find some solution to dealing with these individuals, a solution that does not involve simply dropping them off onto the streets in our city.”

Former Marine Rolland Garcia, who served in Iran, Grenada and the Philippines, is among the handful of volunteers at the bus station where border agents drop off migrants after processing.

“They don’t know how to use a vending machine,” said Garcia, 60.

“We explain things to them three and four times, and just before they get on the bus, they ask us again what to do.”

Garcia, who’s battling the final stages of pancreatic cancer, displays infinite patience as he speaks slowly with each migrant, handing out food, clothing and blankets.

He also gives them maps of the US and highlights the asylum seekers’ routes across the country.

Then he provides them lists of phone numbers to call for help at their destinations — although many have no idea how to navigate an automated operator, even with a Spanish-language option, he said.

Garcia said he usually arrives at 6:30 a.m. and stays until 4:30 p.m. — unless the side effects of chemotherapy leave him too sick to stay.

“We need to help each other,” he said while handing a blanket to a young mother waiting for a bus to Houston.

“If I pass away now, I’m happy with my life. I did what I could to help.”

Additional reporting by Bruce Golding