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Cuando Sali de Cuba – Anna’s story

August 2, 2011 By Marta Darby 5 Comments

Editor's note: One of the best things I love about blogging is hearing your stories. When I do a comment giveaway, I read each and every one of your comments. A while back I was doing a giveaway for the Mariel DVD and asked you to share your Leaving Cuba stories. I was at once astounded and deeply touched. If you're a Cuban living in the U.S., you have a story. And most likely it is an amazing one.

I'd like to start sharing your stories here on My big, fat, Cuban family. So please enjoy the first in what I hope will become a regular series here: Cuando Sali de Cuba, stories of courage and hope.

The first in this series comes from my friend, Anna Tang Norton. It's the story of how her parents met in Cuba and how they started with nothing and managed to thrive here in the U.S. Enjoy.

Cuando-sali-de-Cuba-for-web

Cuando Salieron de Cuba…

I was born in the USA, but my parents came from Cuba in 1968 and 1970.  Their story is just as incredible as the many I’ve heard over the years, and like those stories, I am never tire of hearing it.  In fact, I’ve romanticized it in my mind; I think it’s incredible and only my parents could have experienced it.

When my parents met in Havana in the mid-60s, they both knew they did not like the government there and were looking for a way out of the country.  My father had already started working toward his goal of leaving the country, and when he learned of my mother’s similar intentions, they set toward that goal together. 

They were both sent to work in the fields – La Agricultura – for months, as punishment for declaring their desire to abandon their country.  Finally, in early 1968, my father received word that he would be leaving the country, heading to Madrid.  Quickly, he and my mother married and four months later, my father received his visa to leave Cuba for Spain in his first steps to obtain asylum in the United States. 

He went to Spain, and two months later, arrived in New York City.  They figured it would be a short period of time before my mother’s visa arrived, and she would follow the same trajectory.  However, it was two years before she reunited with my father in NYC.

The two years they were apart were difficult, to say the very least.  For years, I have been told the stories, so many times in fact, that I can recite them from memory.

Living in Brooklyn, my father spent two years doing his own laundry, which was all dyed blue, as he didn’t know to separate colors in the wash.  He also learned to walk on the street side of the sidewalk on his way home from work, to avoid hold ups.

One of my favorite stories is when he would pass a nun every morning and she would say, “Morning!”  He simply replied, “Sorry” and would continue walking.  I remember asking why he would say “Sorry” and he told me, “I didn’t know that she was saluting the day.  I had always learned to say ‘Good morning’ and I thought she was asking for ‘money.’  I felt terrible that I didn’t have any money to give her, so I would apologize everyday.”

Screen shot 2011-08-02 at 10.01.40 AM

When my mom arrived in 1970, my father picked her up at the airport and took her to a brand new apartment he had rented in Queens.  He withdrew all the money he had in the bank, took my mother to buy a coat for the winter and spent the rest on groceries. 

If it had been me, at this point, I think I would have been spent.  But for my parents, their journey was really just beginning.  With nothing to their name – no family, no money, no language – they dove right into work, trying to assimilate into this new world.

A few years later, my sister was born and a few years after that, I arrived.  By the time I came along, in 1975, they had traveled across the Hudson and settled in New Jersey.  I can’t imagine how they did it – they became citizens, they bought a home, they raised two daughters, provided the best they could for us, took us on vacations, celebrated our birthdays and holidays. 

They did it all – they did it with hard work, sweat, humility, and pride.  I am fortunate to have been raised with their example.

3 photos

Years later, they have lived a full life, with joys, sadness, and everything in between that comprises a life.  A good life, overall.

3 photos 2

They still talk about Cuba, about how it was when they were little, how it changed when the Revolution started, and how frightened they were when they left. 

They also talk about their visits back to Cuba.  In 1987, I had the privilege of traveling to Cuba with my mom for the first time.  I was 11 years old, and while my mother had been born there and I had not, it was a brand new experience for both of us.  I was able to witness my mother seeing her father for the first time in 20 years, witness the beautiful dynamic and love of family, even though they don’t know you or you them. 

Years later, I was able to travel to Cuba again, this time with both  my parents.  I was older this time, 23, and spent hours with my cousins (many which have been able to come to the United States themselves), aunts, uncles, and again, my grandfather.  I am fortunate to have parents who have continued to love their country of birth, even though that country closed the doors on them so many years ago.

But at the same time, they are American.  They have spent more than half their lives here, learning American customs.  Loving American customs. 

They taught me to be American – to have dreams and fulfill them. They opened doors for me, encouraging me to educate myself.  They always came around to my American thinking, even though sometimes it took a little more prodding and convincing than I wanted (I specifically remember my teenage years during this time – ha!). 

Screen shot 2011-08-02 at 10.04.18 AM

They encouraged me to stand up for myself, to take care of myself, and to never expect that someone would take care of me.

Now that I have my own son, I always carry the lessons they have taught me close to my heart.  For some, it’s a terrible nuisance to have immigrants for parents.  But for me, it’s their experience, their lessons, and their example that lead me to be a good daughter, wife, mother, and overall person.

Screen shot 2011-08-02 at 10.04.39 AM

I am grateful for my parents and their story on leaving Cuba – and no, I don’t roll my eyes when I hear it:  "Cuando salimos de Cuba…"

~Anna Tang Norton

{I'm collecting your stories! I would love to have you share your family's own Cuando Sali de Cuba story. Send me an email with the story and some photos. Send to mdarby at cox dot net. Please put Cuando Sali de Cuba in the subject line. Thank you!}

You might also like:

Cuando Sali de Cuba – Jorge’s Story Cuando Sali de Cuba – Ada’s Story Cuando salí de Cuba – Christina’s story Cuando Sali de Cuba – Mica’s Story

Filed Under: Cuando Sali de Cuba, Cuban-American Life Tagged With: Anna Tang Norton, blog friends, blogger friends, Cuando Sali de Cuba, Cuban exile, Cuban immigration stories, Cuban stories, Cuban story, Leaving Cuba

Previous Post: « I Have a (Cuban) Superpower
Next Post: Just call me Marta, La Blogona »

Reader Interactions

Comments

  1. Angie says

    August 2, 2011 at 11:37 am

    What a beautiful way to make tribute to all of our “Cuando Salimos de Cuba” family stories!Anna’s story in particular is very special to me, because I went to school with Anna when her family moved to Miami. In fact, we still keep in touch through FaceBook. Her parents were very hard working and had their own bakery, oh how I miss their pastellitos! I knew it was her parents as soon as I saw the wedding picture! They look so cute back then and still do!
    Like you say above, if you’re a Cuban living in the US, you have a story. My parents too have their story and it’s always facinating to hear what they did for a better life when they were only 22 years old. I don’t think I could do half of what they did at that age and I’ll be 36years old soon.
    Beautiful tribute to your parents Anna!
    xoxo,
    Angie A-M

    Reply
  2. michele caridad says

    August 2, 2011 at 11:45 am

    such a great story…it’s amazing how we look back and see our path and we never realized it was such an incredible one while we were on the journey, just when we stop and look back. Our parents just did what they had to do..simple. full of love and dedication and that’s it!(it’s funny how i find all these mutual friends with Wendy and Brandon here on MBFCF…)

    Reply
  3. Laura F. Medina says

    August 8, 2011 at 9:19 am

    Hi Marta, I have a story to tell about The Help we had while growing up. Although we are Cuban, we lived in Managua, Nicaragua from the time I was five years old until twelve. As in all latin countries, it is a way of life to have help. We had this wonderful lady, she was very young at the time, in a bad marriage with two little girls. As told by her, Olga, my mother was like her guiding angel. My mother helped her in every way she could, by providing many necessities her family needed. She became part of our family. Her daughters would come to birthday parties and always around my family. My brother and I spent many hours with her alone while my parents worked late. You could say she was like my second mother.We were forced out of the country by the devastating earthquake in 1972 that destroyed the entire city of Managua. We didn’t see or heard from each other for many years, until I decided to move to Los Angeles (from Miami) to pursue my acting career. We knew Olga and her family were in the US, we didn’t know exactly where. It was then, in 1984 that I get a call from her. I was in disbelief and total joy that she had found me. Ever since, we have been inseperable, she came to my wedding in Miami, has helped to raise my three boys and I have seen her grandchildren grow up. After my mother passed away in 1997, once again, she has become my second mother. It was a blessing that God put her in my life once again. The Help is not only help, they are family.
    Laura Fabian-Medina

    Reply
  4. A Facebook User says

    August 10, 2011 at 8:54 pm

    Wow Marta, I can’t believe the similarities in our lives while living in Cuba. We also had a chauffeur, and he was a beautiful kind mulato, who meant the world to both my mother,father,and me due to his loyalty, integrity and kindness. He used to go everywhere with us on our family outings but, just like you he would only drive my mother and I, and any lucky relative who was visiting us. He used to take such pride in driving the big black Packard, that only he used to drive. He was like a second father to me, and we loved him dearly. My father, just like yours, would also drive himself everywhere in his 2 Mercedes Benz.Disclaimer: I don’t mean to sound like I am conceded or showing off, but sometimes you just need to vent and this is what I am doing today with someone whom I think has experienced the same lifestyle as I had.
    Then just like you, we had a cook named Flora who was a tiny, tiny Spaniard who would not allow anyone including my mother into her big black and white kitchen. Ofcoarse, when my dad came home she would melt in his arms:-) I still remember how much they would sit down in her room and discuss recipies for the week. She loved him so much! (He was 32 and she was in her seventies okay, and mom was always home okay 🙂 I needed to insert that, and also to explain why she worshiped him literally… He for one, was a Spaniard and owned a great restaurant in Cuba. She also loved how he took care of all her illneses. She was very sickly, and my dad being a phycisist and very wealthy had knowledge and control of literally everything in Cuba before the evil one came into power! Again, refer to my dissclaimer above…
    As you say “Then there was Vicky” I say “Then there was Caridad”, and she was my manejadora as Vicky was yours. I remember her and Vidal would go everywhere with us. I am very lucky to have many pictures to relive this 😉
    Thank you so much for this post Marta. I will be picking up the book, and run out to see the movie with mom as soon as I read it.
    God Bless!
    C.Romillo

    Reply
  5. Gladys Clausing says

    September 28, 2019 at 11:27 am

    Dear Marta, how can I see d you my story? As with many of us it wAs e full of sad ess, blessings and tears.

    Reply

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