Charges Announced Against Haitian Nationals In $7 Million SNAP Fraud Scheme
The U.S. Attorney’s Office in the District of Massachusetts on Wednesday announced federal charges against two Haitian nationals in connection with a sprawling Supplemental Nutrition Assistance Program (SNAP) — commonly referred to as food stamps — scheme.
During a press conference, federal authorities arrested Antonio Bonheur, 74, of Mattapan, and Saul Alisme, 21, of Hyde Park, both originally from Haiti. Bonheur is a naturalized U.S. citizen, and Alisme is a lawful permanent resident.
Each faces one count of food stamp fraud in connection with an alleged scheme involving the trafficking of nearly $7 million in SNAP benefits.
Bonheur owned and operated Jesula Variety Store, a 150-square-foot retail space, while Alisme owned and operated Saul Mache Mixe Store, a 500-square-foot space. The two stores shared a single street-facing storefront at 1549 Blue Hill Avenue in Boston’s Mattapan neighborhood.
Jesula Variety Store became authorized to accept SNAP benefits in September 2021, and Saul Mache Mixe Store became authorized in May 2025.
According to charging documents, the stores redeemed extraordinarily high volumes of SNAP benefits that far exceeded what their size, inventory, and legitimate food sales could support. Jesula Variety Store allegedly redeemed over $6.8 million in SNAP benefits since 2022, with monthly redemptions often ranging from $100,000 to $500,000. Saul Mache Mixe Store allegedly redeemed approximately $122,000 in benefits over a shorter period.
Antonio Bonheur (left) and Saul Alisme (right)
Photo: U.S.Attorney’s Office
Authorities allege that the defendants personally worked the cash registers and exchanged SNAP benefits for cash on multiple occasions, rather than for eligible food items. Undercover operations reportedly documented SNAP benefits being trafficked for cash four times at Jesula Variety Store and twice at Saul Mache Mixe Store.
The defendants also allegedly accepted SNAP benefits in exchange for liquor and sold MannaPack meals — donated food packages from the nonprofit Feed My Starving Children intended for free distribution in food-insecure countries and never authorized for retail sale — for approximately $8 per package.
Prosecutors allege that the defendants used multiple bank accounts to deposit, transfer, and withdraw funds in a manner designed to conceal the source of the proceeds.
“As alleged in the charging documents, these men abused one of government’s most critical safety net programs for their own financial gain. These defendants exchanged SNAP benefits for cash, which they pocketed,” U.S. Attorney for the District of Massachusetts Leah B. Foley said during Wednesday’s press conference.
“Simply put, there is no plausible way SNAP-eligible food could have been purchased from these stores for this long, yet these two stores are alleged to have illicitly trafficked nearly $7 million in SNAP benefits. The fraud was shocking and glaring.”
The defendants were arrested on December 17, 2025, and were scheduled to appear in U.S. District Court in Boston for arraignment. The case remains under investigation, with involvement from federal agencies including the U.S. Department of Agriculture Office of Inspector General and the Federal Bureau of Investigation.
On my birthday, my sister smashed the cake straight into my face, laughing as she watched me fall backward, blood mixing with the frosting. Everyone said, “It’s just a joke.” But the next mo
On my birthday, my sister smashed the cake straight into my face, laughing as she watched me fall backward, blood mixing with the frosting. Everyone said, “It’s just a joke.”
But the next morning in the emergency room, the doctor studied my X-ray and immediately called 911—because what he saw… exposed a horrifying truth.
Part One: “It’s Just a Joke”
On my birthday, the room smelled like sugar and candles and cheap champagne. A pink cake sat in the center of the table, my name written across it in looping frosting. Everyone was laughing. Phones were out. Someone shouted for me to make a wish.
My sister stood closest to me.
She grinned, eyes bright with something that wasn’t kindness. Before I could even lean forward, her hands slammed the cake straight into my face.
The impact was harder than anyone expected.
I felt myself stumble backward, my heel catching on the rug. There was a sharp crack as my head hit the edge of the table, then the floor. For a split second, the room spun in white and pink. I tasted sugar—and then iron.
Blood mixed with frosting, dripping down my chin.
People screamed, then laughed nervously.
“Oh my God,” someone said, still chuckling. “It’s just a joke!”
My sister laughed the loudest. “Relax! You’re so dramatic.”
I tried to sit up. Pain exploded behind my eyes. My vision blurred, and the ceiling swayed like it was floating. Someone wiped my face with a napkin, smearing blood across my cheek.
“You’re fine,” my mother said quickly. “Don’t ruin the mood.”
I remember thinking how strange it was that my ears were ringing louder than the music.
I remember the taste of frosting as I swallowed blood.
I remember waking up hours later in my bed, alone, my head throbbing, my phone full of messages telling me not to be “too sensitive.”
By morning, I couldn’t lift my arm.
Part Two: The X-Ray That Changed Everything
The emergency room smelled like disinfectant and sleepless nights. The doctor asked how it happened. I hesitated, then said quietly, “I fell.”
He nodded, unconvinced, and ordered X-rays “just to be safe.”
I lay on the cold table staring at the ceiling, replaying the laughter over and over in my head. It’s just a joke. That sentence hurt almost as much as my skull.
When the doctor returned, he wasn’t smiling.
He stared at the image on the screen for a long time. Too long.
Then he left the room without a word.
Minutes later, he came back—with a nurse, a security officer, and his phone pressed to his ear.
“Yes,” he said quietly. “I need emergency services. Immediately.”
My heart started pounding. “What’s wrong?” I asked.
He turned to me, his voice careful. “This isn’t a simple fall.”
He pointed to the X-ray. Even I could see it—fine fractures branching like cracks in glass, not just in my skull, but along my collarbone and ribs. Old fractures. Healed wrong. Layered.
“These injuries happened at different times,” he said gently. “Some weeks apart. Some months.”
I stared at the screen, my mouth dry.
“I don’t understand,” I whispered.
He met my eyes. “This pattern isn’t accidental. And the impact that brought you in today could have killed you.”
The word killed echoed in my ears.
“Who did this to you?” he asked softly.
I thought of my sister’s grin. My parents’ laughter. All the times I’d been shoved, tripped, “joked” into walls. All the times I’d been told I was clumsy. Sensitive. Overreacting.
My hands began to shake.
“I think…” My voice broke. “I think it was never a joke.”
Part Three: When Laughter Turns Into Sirens
The police arrived quietly. Calmly. Like this wasn’t the first time they’d seen something like me.
They didn’t accuse. They asked questions.
Who was there last night?
Who pushed you?
How often do you get hurt?
For the first time, I didn’t minimize. I didn’t protect anyone. I told the truth.
By evening, my phone was exploding.
My mother crying.
My father furious.
My sister screaming that I had “ruined everything.”
“You’re exaggerating!” she yelled over voicemail. “It was cake! Everyone saw it!”
Everyone had seen it.
That was the horrifying truth.
Everyone had seen it—and laughed.
The investigation didn’t take long. Videos surfaced. Old medical records were reviewed. Witnesses contradicted themselves. Patterns became impossible to ignore.
What started as a “birthday prank” became an assault case.
What they called humor was documented as violence.
I was moved to a different room that night, monitored closely, safe for the first time in years. As I lay there, ice wrapped around my head, I realized something terrifying and freeing all at once:
If that cake hadn’t been smashed into my face…
If I hadn’t fallen just right…
The truth might have stayed buried forever.
Sometimes it takes breaking something visible to expose what’s been shattered for years.
