Escaping Cuba: My Story

Hello everyone!

I can think of no better way to introduce myself than by sharing the most amazing story of my life. Stay tuned folks, it’s going to be a long one.

Have you ever heard the joke about Cubans riding on a raft to America? Well, that’s basically how it went down.

I was born in communist Cuba in 1990. From what my parents have told me, it was not a great time to live there (not that things are much different now.) The thing my parents wanted most of all was for me to have a “chance.” A chance at what? Simple. A chance at a better life than the ones they lived. So, they did something crazy. Something that I’ll never be able to repay them for. It’s what every immigrant family in the world has done at some point. They left everything they knew behind, and risked their lives for their child.

I was 6 years old at the time. People always ask me, “How can you still remember this story?” I’m not sure myself, but it’s something I’ve never forgotten. Even my parents can’t believe that I can still recall what happened.

It was during my first year going to school. I remember having to wear a uniform with a red bandana tied around my neck. I remember walking to school with my mother, each morning waiting for the train to pass before crossing the tracks. The first thing we did each day was sing the national anthem. I can’t remember much about my school day, but I know that it was hot. Very, very hot.

Then one day, my mother told me that we would be moving to the USA. My uncle had moved there 3 years prior, so we would be living together with him. I remember crying, because she told me I wouldn’t be able to bring any of my things. No toys, clothing, pictures…nothing. I later came to find out that it was because there was no space on the tiny boat we rode.

Cuba has a lottery system in place. People can enter to win the “lottery,” which is basically a plane ticket and green card to the USA. Everyone enters, but only a lucky few win. My family entered for years, but they had no luck. I don’t know what it was, but my parents seemed to have given up on the possibility of winning. They saw me getting older each year, and with each year that passed so did my chance at a “better life.” So, they did something drastic.

During the 90’s, it was common knowledge that as long as you “set foot” on US ground, then you would be allowed refuge. So that was their plan. It was a group of 12 people, including my parents, who planned and funded everything. They purchased a boat. No, not a raft, a boat (you know, with an engine.) And together they planned their escape from Cuba.

This part of the story is where the details are a bit foggy in my mind. I haven’t asked my parents to describe in detail everything they did. They don’t really like to talk about it. But I do remember my mother waking me up in the middle of the night one day. She said it was time to go and helped me get dressed. My grandfather drove us to a meeting place where we joined the other people coming on the trip with us. You know those big construction trucks that carry sand in the back? Well, we all got into the bed of that truck, hiding below a cloth cover so as to not be noticed while driving across the country towards the beach. Everything went surprisingly smoothly, and the next thing you know we are all on that boat drifting in the middle of the Caribbean. 12 adults, and me. The only child.

Now, I think most people know that Cuba is not that far from Florida. It’s about 180km. Just over an hour if you fly there. If the seas are calm and you have a fast boat, the trip will take about 10 hours.

Our trip ended up taking 3 days.

The seas were not great. I was sea sick the entire trip. Although everyone packed plenty of food and water, I couldn’t keep anything down. The only thing I ate for three days was milk. We got a bit lost along the way as we passed Key West. We had to make it to Miami. That’s where we planned to meet my uncle who was supposed to pick us up before police arrived. But unfortunately, he was too late. We arrived in the wrong place, in the middle of the day. Someone saw our boat come to the shore and they called the immigration police. Before we had a chance to contact family members, the police were already there taking us away.

My father recently received this photo from another person who was on that boat with us. It was taken when we arrived in Miami. It’s not great quality, but there’s one thing in this photo that really stands out. It’s the little child. It’s me! My parents have gotten this a lot: “Were you crazy? Taking a child on such a dangerous trip? She could have died.” Their answer? “If we had stayed in Cuba, she might as well have died.” That’s how they truly felt about a life in Cuba during those times. No different than death.

After arriving in the US, we were all taken to an immigration prison. I, of course, was too young to be there. So, I was sent to an orphanage instead. Yup, nuns and all. Not forever, but just until immigration could verify that my parents were not criminals in Cuba.

So…there I was, 6 years old, in a new country. Separated from my parents and placed in a whole new environment all alone. I didn’t speak a word of English. And most of the nuns didn’t speak Spanish. I remember crying and crying. The happiest days were always Sundays. On Sundays someone from the immigration prison would come and pick me up so that I could spend a few hours visiting my parents. But the rest of the week was torture. I didn’t want to eat and lost a lot of weight while I was there. All I wanted to do was to be with my family.

There is one happy memory from that orphanage though.

Have you ever seen a commercial or maybe flyer about donating toys for kids in need? Sometimes they do special events outside of stores where charity organizations will try to fill a whole bus full of toys to donate to kids. Well, I got a whole bag full of toys. Not a tiny bag, I mean one of those huge black trash bags full of toys. I had never seen so many toys in my life. Those toys were all that I had at that time, and they were the one thing I could look forward to when I was in that orphanage.
After about 1 month, immigration let my mother go. Why? Because of me. Since she had a child, the amount of time she had to spend in jail was less than others. My father, for example, was in jail for about 3 months. It was the happiest day of my life. I could finally leave the orphanage and go live with my mother and uncle.

The rest is just history.

I got my chance at an education and a better life thanks to everything my parents did. I hope one day I will have even a fraction of strength that they have.

So who am I now?

I’ve always been artist at heart. I work as a freelance graphic designer whenever I have extra time. I’m also an English teacher. My husband is Korean and we are currently living in South Korea. I’ve been teaching English here for about 3 years now. Language is a part of who I am. I remember struggling learning English when I was the same age as my students. I hated it (as they do) but now that I have grown up, I understand all of the benefits and opportunities that learning a second language can bring.

Education is the greatest gift that anyone can give you. We live in a big world. There’s so much to see and learn. I hope that I can share all that I have learned and will come to learn with anyone who wants to listen.

See you soon!