Cuando Sali de Cuba.....

This is the story of my little illegal immigrant....

We left Cuba on March 16, 1960. It is a day I will never forget. As much for what led up to it as for the traumatic day itself. I have been working on a slightly fictionalized version of it for years, but I still can't convey the actual fear and drama of the day.

I was born in Cuba of mixed parentage. Father Cuban and American mother. When I was born, there was a law active in the US that a child of mixed American-foreign parentage born in a foreign land, was legally considered to hold dual citizenship until age 21 (then extented to 23 or 25, I think) when they had to choose one.

For me, the time came in March 1960 when I went to the American Embassy in Havana to claim my American citizenship and get a passport. To do this, I had to go to the Cuban State Department and turn in my Cuban passport and get a receipt. I was called everything
in the book by the people milling around there for giving up my Cuban citizenship.....I will not dwell on this detail, but needless to say, it was pretty bad.  The least insulting name I was called was gusano (worm), so you can imagine the rest!

I had an almost 5 year old son by my first marriage which had just ended a year before. My divorce was by mutual agreement, which I would not have agreed to if I had known at the time that under those circumstances boy children got to live with their fathers and girls with their mom....The time was coming close to when I was supposed to legally turn over my son to his father (and his parents, who were the ones really wanting to keep him) His 5th bday would be on March 19.

For a whole year we tried to find a legal way to get him out of Cuba with me and could not find one. My mom and her American husband of (then) 4 years (my father had died years before) had gone to Cuba to live with me and try to figure out a way to get my son out.

Finally a lawyer in Havana told us that the only way he could figure out we could get by with it was doing the following. Since we had family in the States, try to get an airline ticket for my mom, step-father and my son (as if THEY were the family unit and Anthony was their son) to
return to the States. At that time Americans could still travel to Cuba without passports or visas.

We had a cousin in Miami who was private secretary to a VP of some kind at PanAm Airlines. My parents contacted her via a letter sent through a tourist so mail could not be read by authorities (just in case). My cousin then went to her boss and explained the situation. He had a ticket issued in the name of my parents and "their son" as if they had already flown to Cuba and were now returning home. Since
I was already getting my American ID and passport, I had no problem leaving on my own.

We got word back to be at the New Gerona airport in the Isle of Pines - now known as Isle of Youth, where we were working and living at the time - to meet a PanAm pilot who would bring our tickets to us. Can't remember too many details now, but we somehow connected and got the papers from him.

On the days before our flight, we had gone over all our personal stuff and gave away what we could not bring with us and packed the rest in the Dodge Station Wagon my stepfather had ferried to the island from Tampa a year before. Mostly photo albums and some personal stuff we hated to just leave. The friends who moved into our house two weeks before we left (so they could keep the house
after we left instead of the government taking it over) were in charge of getting the wagon to the docks when the ferry next touched port, a few weeks after our departure.

The day of the flight we all flew to Havana....my mom, step-father, my American grandmother who had come down to help us, my then 13 year old sister, my son and I.

Since Anthony was supposed to be my mom's son and be an "American tourist" returning home, we spent the whole time in the ladies room with him, taking turns explaining that we were playing a game.....during this game, Abuela (grandmother, my mom) was his mami and I was his sister. He had to speak English at all times during the game and at that time he only knew some scattered words and a few phrases and nursery rhymes....During this game, Spanish was against the rules. Our refrain was "Remember, if you need to say something, say it in English, if you can't say it in English, keep your mouth shut!" "Remember, this is your "pretend" Mami and I'm Sonia ....Isn't this fun????"

Though we did not live in Havana...you would be surprised at how many people we knew we ran into at the airport!!!!! People from our hometown of Cienfuegos, people from the Isle of Pines and even friends who lived in Havana or other places!!!!!! So much for "traveling incognito". While some of us were in the ladies room drilling my son, some of us would take turns staying with my stepfather, who did not speak Spanish and who has always been "straight as an arrow" and petrified at breaking the law.

The hours between the time we got there and the time we were to board crept and crawled....When we finally made it to the plane, it just sat there for the longest time....taxied and then sat again. I just knew someone had caught on to us and that was why so many jeeps filled with "barbudos"  (bearded ones), soldiers in green fatigues and carrying guns were dashing around all over the place.

In the plane, I sat with my step-father a few rows behind my mom and Anthony, to eliminate a chance he would blurt something out to me and call me mami. We sweated bullets until that plane finally took off ....then the stewardess (as they were called at that time) started talking to my son and trying to draw him out (he was a cute little thing) and even took him to the cockpit to meet the pilot.....We were all petrified until we saw him come back out, sporting his "flight wings" pin.....and a big grin!

After we arrived in the US, we had to wait in Tampa for a day, to hear if my sister and grandmother, whom we had to leave behind, because my sister's papers were not completed yet...had left ok.......They left via Miami and our cousin there called us at the motel in Tampa where we had holed up to tell us they had arrived ok, 24 hours after we did.

We all made our way to Atlanta, where my mom's family is originally from and where my grandmother lived. My grandmother had already talked to her family lawyer and he in turn went to Immigration to explain what we had done and how we got a child illegally out of Cuba and into the US........

After a conference where all involved had to be there, at Immigration (scary!)... much red tape and a trip to Mexico (with the ensuing visits to consulate, doctor, photos made, etc, etc.....) so that Anthony could re-enter legally, we finally made it back and my little 5 year old was a legal alien with a valid green card.

As soon as I could after that I made sure he became an American citizen and I was the one who took the oath for him when the time came.

While Anthony and I were still in Atlanta, before we went to Mexico, the FBI came knocking at my mom's door in NC looking for a little Cuban child who had been reported as kidnapped ..............but that is another story....also with a happy ending.

Check out my food and garden blog