I'm often amazed at how little people here seem to know about the waves of Cuban immigrants refugees to this country.
The older folks seem to remember that in the early 60's there were some displaced Cuban children that needed homes. This they only know if one of the children ended up in their neighborhood. I'm referring, of course, to the Pedro Pan Flights, where 14,000 unaccompanied minors were sent to the U.S. by their terrified parents, hoping to save them from communism. They did. At great personal sacrifice. Read that story here.
But there are other stories. Some very dramatic, some with happy endings. As I start thinking about it, I realize that just about every Cuban has a "Cuando Sali de Cuba" story to tell.
The beautiful dvd Voices from Mariel tells the stories of those that left on the Mariel Boat Lift in 1980. They tell their stories. 125,000 Cubans were displaced. Their exodus was much different from ours (the first group), but super dramatic. And no, just because someone came to the U.S. via Mariel doesn't make them a felon. (You've watched Scarface a few too many times, but that's not important right now!)
I have a beautiful DVD that tells that story. It's called Voices from Mariel and it's just beautiful and oh so honest. So today's giveaway is a copy of Voices from Mariel.
To enter the drawing, please leave a comment and tell me your coming to America story.
- Start off with….Cuando sali de Cuba.… tell me about your travels and how you found things in this country.
- If you send it by email and with photos, I'll be happy to post it here, with your permission.
- In fact, I think everyone should write down their story and share it. I'd love to give you a platform here.
Please leave me a comment, here on this post and tell me 1) how and when your family left Cuba. (No matter the time.) 2) Tell me details you remember. 3) Send me photos. I want to know it all.
In turn, by leaving a comment or sending an email with story and photos, I will put your name into the drawing for the Voices of Mariel Boatlift DVD.
It's a beautiful film. I promise you'll enjoy it. We are all one people. Cuban-Americans. And proud of it.
I'll pick a winner randomly on Saturday evening, May 21 at 6 pm Pacific.
Now, come on….Tell me your Coming to America story.
Happy 20 de Mayo!
My mom arrived from Cuba in 1957. She was 14.My interest in Mariel is that I lived it in Miami. I was 13 and my school shut down for a week so that families could go claim their loved ones.
That time left a big mark in my life…lots of beautiful positives and lots of difficulties.
Love reading everyone’s stories.
sorry to say, I dont know much about this. Would love to learn.
My father and his family left Cuba before Castro. My father use to tell stories about his childhood and he always use to say “Cuando salir de Cuba” every time he started to tell a story. I would love to watch this film. Thanks, Marta
My husband left Cuba on May 21, 2006 to come to Canada. It would be wonderful to see the video and hear the struggles other had to go through to leave.
I was born in the USA, but my parents came from Cuba many many years ago.My father and mother got married in February 1968, and in June of that same year, my father left for Spain. In November, he arrived in NYC. In early 1969, my mother arrive in Spain and spent TWO LONG YEARS there while my father worked in NYC. Finally, in late 1970, she joined my father.
I don’t do the story justice, but I always think about a newly married couple, separated for two years, and then rejoined in a brand new country.
They spent the first few years in the States building a foundation and then had my sister and I.
In 1961, At age 7, my parents put me and my 10 year old brother on a plane bound for jamaica, and ultimately Miami. We did not really know why, and did not know when we would see our parents again. Our flight from Cuba was via Jamaica, and after 3 days, we ended up in Miami. We were lucky in that we had grandparents in Miami, or we would have ended up in the children’s home, like many other unaccompanied children and youth in the Pedro Pan program. Weekly, my grandmother would sit me down and have me write a letter to my mother. (About a month ago, I found those letters, written in Spanish, while cleaning out my mother’s house-she saved them all of these years!) We also were lucky that we were only separated for 6 months and when my parents and 5 year old little sister arrived at the airport, they were carrying my new month old baby sister.My family struggled for many years, but at every Christmas, someone always optimistically exclaimed that we would be back in Cuba next year! After a number of years, it became a joke – I would love to visit a free Cuba in the future, but my life is in the United States now. My father died when he was 54 and my 84 year old mother is very ill now, and I always wonder at the sacrifices they made to bring our family over with no knowledge of English and having to struggle to start over. They were very corageous and I admire their strong convictions.
Fast forward to 1980. I was working in law enforcement in Miami when the Mariel boatlift hit us and an African American motorist was beaten to death by a group of officers, led by a Cuban American officer. After a trial, the officers were acquitted and a deadly race riot erupted in Miami. Suddenly, to be Cuban was to be cursed at, and the criminals that Castro put on those boats, were the picture of what Cubans were, instead of the thousands of hard working people. A national magazine told the story as “Paradise Lost”
In Miami, we are at the heart of everything that happens, good and bad. Even the Elian saga re-opened the wounds between Cuban Americans and everyone else, and since then, we have to continue to work to seek understanding and open communications. Even the plight of Haitian immigrants is linked to us, as Cubans enjoyed a special status and aid that was not offered to Haitians.
being Cuban is an honor. Even when you were born in the USA….i’m very proud of both my cultures. So many Cunado Sali de Cuba stories, all different generations, all a version of the next.
Cuando salio de Cuba….My father was Pedro Pan and came 1961 at age 12. alone to a boys camp in Fla. City and then to a boys foster home. Everything he is about today, he worked for and he earned it. Even the meals a little old Cuban man would give him from the back door of a restaurant and the extra pieces of cardboard he would fix his shoes with.
Cuando salio de Cuba….My mom was part of the 1970’s flights to Miami and had older brothers and Sisters who took her and my grandma and showed them the ropes.But she lived the fear and food shortage of the Castro REgime, especially the wrath of the Castro intimidation, being the daughter of Capitan in the Batista Army.
Cuando salio de Cuba….My husband came when he was 10 yrs old…during the Mariel Boatlift. His father was a polititcal prisoner and had been released 1 month prior and put on a boat for Miami. My husband and his mom boarded a boat filled with political prisoners, felons, and common citizens. It was a long boat ride. During the entire time, as my husband felt sick from the waves they encountered, the meanest, most dangerous-looking of the felons took care of him and his mom the entire time, and then they never saw again. I know he would have liked to thank him today… i guess exile does bring the HEART out in everyone. but my husband’s story is just a version of many of the Cubans.
Cuando vea a Cuba would be my line….I was born in Fort Lauderdale after fate let the Pedro Pan Boy and Freedom Flight girl meet(even though their fathers had been next door neighbors in Matanzas their whole lives, they would meet by chance). I just hope my daughter understands how many moons aligned and how much sweat and tears has shed to give her the opportunity that she has by living here!
Thanks MArta for always making me a little prouder and and a little more nostalgic about our Culture!
Cuando sali de Cuba…I left behind a big part of me. But I did not leave Cuba as a refugee. I left as an American. You see, I was born here in Miami, the first of my family to be born in the USA after our family fled Cuba in 1966. I grew up never wondering about our home land or wanting to go there. Then, in February of 1993, I was asked by a Cuban friend to travel there with him He would pay for all my travel expenses. The only thing I had to do was allow him 40 of the 44 pounds of luggage I was allowed to take in. I figured, what the heck. It was a chance to meet my sisters-in-law and a half-sister and nephews I had never met. I figured, one trip would not hurt. Never did I expect to fall in love so deeply. The country, the people, my family. A newfound love for MY home land. Needless to say, I went back 2 more times that year alone. On my own penny. Each time I left, another piece of my heart and soul stayed behind. I may be American but my heart belongs to Cuba. Everything Cuban. I can’t wait for it’s reign of terror to be over so that our people, there and everywhere, can once again unite on that little island and savor its beauty, culture and love.
Cuando sali de Cuba. Both my wife and I left Cuba on Dec 20, 1965 (vuelos de la libertad Camarioca) after waiting for 3 years with the tickes and Visa to Spain.Arrived in Miami on the 20th and flew to California on the morning of Dec 21, 1965 (only one day in Miami).
I started working at Prudential INS (Data processing department) on January 10, 1966, unemployed for only 19 days (what a great country). I worked there for 30 years until I retired in 1996 never, never, collected un-employment.My wife and I vote on every election even if it is for Dog-catcher. To many stories to tell and like you said in your post a book can be written of every Cuban and their Cuando sali the Cuba stories.
Thank you for your dedication.
This is my husband’s story.My in-laws were married on December 28, 1958. They left Havana to enjoy a brief honeymoon in Mexico City before continuing on to Chicago, where my Father-in-Law would begin his studies at Chicago Tech. Three days later, when Castro stormed the capital, my in-laws frantically called home. They were told not to worry, that Castro would soon go back to the mountains and never be heard from again. They settled into a routine in Chicago, and my Mother-in-Law began to study English as a second language. Soon she discovered she was pregnant. She made it very clear to her husband: under no circumstances would her first -born be an American Citizen.
Back to Cuba they went, despite the warnings from her family to stay in the US.
On the coldest night in memory in La Habana, my husband was born to great fanfare. He was bathed only in bottled water, and every day the viandas were purchased fresh from the market for his food. When it became apparent that Castro would not be leaving any time soon, arrangements were made for their departure. With only a box of cigars and whatever cash that could be sewn into the seams of their garments, my in-laws left Cuba for the last time. My husband was 18 months old. The little plastic horse which he clutched on the trip over is framed and displayed in our bedroom. He has an “American” brother and an “American” sister, both born in New Jersey.
I’ve told my kids many times that they need to sit with their Mamasan and get all the details of her life…I’m sure it would be a bestseller!
My mom, brother and I left Cuba in October, 1960. I was 11 and my brother 13. Because we had planned a trip to the USA a year earlier, we were lucky; we had passports and tourist visas. We needed airplane tickets, but every available airline out of La Habana was booked. My mother’s cousin, a travel agent, swapped 3 seats on a Cubana flight for my Mom’s brand new car. I have no idea whose tickets they were. My stepfather was already in NY with a job at ITT. After a year in NY, we moved to Puerto Rico. We were able to help our relatives leave Cuba, one by one. It took many years and much sacrifice, but we freed them all, except three of my grandparents, whom I never saw again.
During the first three months of the Mariel boatlift, I used to volunteer after work to interview the arrivals, helping some INS and Customs personnel who had neither the time or resources to cover the deluge they were facing. I recall the faces of the people I came across, mostly men and mostly ex-prisoners, and their stories; admittedly, the accounts at first were hard to swallow, but over time, I became less and less incredulous and came to realize that each one of those people was giving me a different piece of a much larger picture.And it made me very grateful that I didn’t stay behind. For when I was a lil’ kid, my dad took our family of 4 in a rickety boat, with 3 others on board, and made the journey from the northern coast fishing village where we lived all the way to Key West. In the middle of the day, too. In the middle of the searing summer, too. With guns and cannons pointed, and with Russian vessels on the horizon, too. It took 19 hours. The waters of the Gulf of Mexico aren’t pretty; they are dark and choppy ~ and treacherous. But dad was a seasoned fisherman in those waters and I trusted him. We all did.
He docked the boat at Key West around 2 a.m. and the FBI came to get us; they gave us milk and sandwiches and we got sick from the shock to the system. And in the morning they kindly put us on a huge bus to El Refugio, to be processed…… welcome to America.
One of my firsrt memories is riding high over the water, for looking below we couldn’t see the Seven-Mile Bridge.
I love my adopted country. Wouldn’t have it any other way. But I remember the land I left behind ~ when I close my eyes, there it is, vividly. Maybe, someday……
Cuando salí de Cuba…no lloré. In 1969, while waiting at the airport for the plane that would take me and my parents to our new life and saying our last goodbyes, I noticed I was the only one who wasn’t crying. I was six years old and though my parents had been honest with me when I asked when we would see our family again (“We don’t really know, hopefully not too long”), I was certain that, at most, it would be a couple of years. I didn’t understand why my only cousin, who was more of a sister to me, clung to my mother’s skirt and sobbed. I suppose that, being a little older, she was less idealistic than I. I didn’t know then that she would succumb to Hodgkins disease and we would never see each other again, or that three of my four grandparents would die without having shared in my small triumphs or great joys.
“Cuando sali de Cuba deje mi vida deje mi amor.” (Those words come to mind when I hear “cuando sali de Cuba”. Its from a song I heard years ago. Can’t recall who sings it.) My parents came from Cuba in 1969. I had just turned 6 and my brother 11. I don’t remember much since I was so young. However I do remember walking with my dad along el malecon. Good memories.My first American memory was arriving at Miami and going to “La casa de libertad” where most Cuban refugees went to after arriving. We spent a few days there and then flew to Kennedy Airport on Dec. 31, 1969. I remember being excited about that white stuff on the ground. We settled in New Jersey. I’m glad we came to the states but I would love to some day return to my birth place and see what so many describe as paradise.
Todo el mundo se recuerda de mariel, pero se han olvidado de Camarioca, donde mi padre agarro una lancha y fue a buscar lo que quedaba de la familia en cuba.Fue un viaje muy peligroso, y nadie parece recordarlo
Jorge Bertran
Llegamos en Septiembre de 1961. Que recuerdo:1. Le pregunte a mama porue nos habiamos ido a vivir a un closet. Un “efficiency” en Miami Beach.
2. Era el unico latino en la escuela, no entendia a nadie.
3. Ver llorrar a mama quando le quitaron el anillo de casada en Rancho Boyero
4. mama no sabia cocinar, nunca mas comi pasta enlatada mas Chef Boarde
5. No me gusto el “penut butter” ni la carne spam que nos daban.
6. Un amaricano me regaño por que estaba bebiendo agua en un bebedero que decia ” Colored”. Mama, lo puso en su sitio, es graduada de William & Mary!
7. despues de los años, entendi porque mis viejos estaban tan agobiados, mama limpiaba quartos en un hotel, y papa parqueaba carros
8. tambien, su insistencia en que me graduara de una buna univerdsidad. Fidel me tiro todo, excepto mis estudios, que cierto…..
Cuando sali de Cuba, i was 17 years old, i left on a night flight, my best friend took me to the airport. Behind I left my lifeThe plane took off, you could hear many deep sighs of relief. I looked down at Havana, God, i thought, this must be the most beautiful city in the whole wide world.
It was my first time traveling abroad . I thought that I was coming back home, .. some day.. … soon, but in the bottom of my soul, something told me that i wasn’t.
I cried, not the cry of a painful goodbye, i cried with a sadness that i had never felt before in my life.
I’m grateful that i came to this wonderful country and that my kids have known nothing but freedom, i think that “I lead a charmed life” but i know, (and I have reconciled myself with that fact) that there is a black hole in my soul, that will never be filled
Cuando sali de Cuba, yo tenia 11 años. My mom and I arrived in Miami December 26th, 1996. My mom was petrified of moving to the U.S. She made this life-changing decision solely thinking about my future. I remember my mom telling me “vamonos, vamonos para Cuba”. She regretted her decision. Her sacrifice became my motivation to achieve the American Dream. I am who I am today because sali de Cuba, because my mom put me first.
In my case, Luis T. Puig, I came at 14 years old, along with my father Tomas Puig Garcia (an ex-political prisoner jailed in 1965 and released as a of good will gesture to Carter in 1977) my mother Mirta Puig Yzquierdo, my grandmother Carmen Puig Garcia and my brother Leonardo Puig Yzquierdo.Later on, after completing High School and some college when on to serve for two decades in the US Navy Submarine Force from 1987 up to 2008, served on board nuclear submarines and surface ships during times of war (Gulf War 91, Bosnia, Kosovo, etc), reached the senior position of Engineering Repairs Planner for the forward deployed US Navy Submarine Force while stationed two years in Italy, and currently work as Senior Technical Instructor for a government agency in D.C. I am married to a Cuban American, my wife Jacqueline (she came through Spain in the early 70’s very young), we have a son Thomas Michael, and we own a home by the Chesapeake Bay in Maryland.
I am sure many Marielitos have done great things and have made great lives for themselves; I just think that they have just done it quietly, the lesson of being antagonized/discriminated against by even our own Cuban American community if they even got a whisper of them being a Marielito.
For example, I am in this video on YouTube while serving on board the USS Henry M. Jackson SSBN-730, a ballistic missile nuclear submarine of the US Navy 13 years after Mariel in 1993, after having survived years of very difficult training and selections to become one of the machinists on board nuclear submarines. I make a brief appearance, and do a small interview at the 2 minutes and 32 seconds mark in the video. I was 27 then. Enjoy.
I have very, very similar stories! And I read yours with great interest, as I am currently in the midst of a project.M Millan