#creativeproj1

[see-with-your-eyes-and-remember]

March 2017

We traveled on foot and by buggy visiting everyone Viviana could think of. She even knocked on random doors to ask, “where does so-and-so live?” We called it quits around 11pm and a taxi drove us 25 minutes to Sancti Spíritus where we stayed at Yeline’s apartment for the night. She had air conditioning and running water. It was nice to wash myself with a cloth and soap under a stream of water, even though it was ice cold. To catch a bus to Havana, I was awakened at 5am by the best cafecito I’ve had to this day. La espuma was so sweet and frothy! The bus left at 7am and arrived in Havana at 2pm.

Uva’s one bedroom apartment didn’t have air conditioning, but it had running water (no water heater). After a couple hours of distributing gifts and goodies from my suitcases, Uva’s wife, Aleida, prepared delicious Cuban red beans and rice with a salad for dinner. When it turned dark, their grandson Alejandro, drove me to a park where I could connect to Wi-Fi and call home over WhatsApp. He explained that the park was the best place in Havana to get online and that he had to purchase an illegal card with a code that gave him minutes to connect to the Wi-Fi. The park was pitch black aside from scattered laptops and smartphones shining in the distance. It took us half-an-hour to connect and when we did, I couldn’t even hear my mom on the WhatsApp call; she was so broken up. But I made sure to tell my sister “Happy birthday!”

Alejandro was the only family member with a car (not much of a car, but it got us from A to B). He was also the only one who understood English. He and his wife were in their early thirties, and they had an adorable three-year-old daughter. But they often seemed tense, or unhappy, compared to the elders in the family. Alejandro seemed embarrassed to open the care packages I brought for him and his little family. I felt ashamed saying things like, “Try on these shoes, they’re your size!” or “Here’s some panties for the baby!” I recently found out that they live in Texas now. When I think about that, my heart flutters with joy for them.

After a cold shower, I kissed Uva and Aleida goodnight and thanked them for their hospitality. I was so exhausted from socializing that I went right to bed without considering the sleeping arrangements. Aleida told me to lay in the bed and go to sleep, so that’s what I did. Everyone else was still up and chatting. I assume that Yaya and Viviana left with Alejandro to stay at his house, because there was only one bed at Uva’s.

I woke up in the morning dazed and drenched in sweat. “Where am I?” I thought. That was the best rest I had in Cuba. I remember Aleida was still asleep next to me, so I quietly got up to use the toilet. As I passed the door to the kitchen, I saw something that made my heart sink to my stomach: Uva was lying on the tiled floor atop a red sleeping bag. I stepped closer and heard his heavy breathing. My throat closed and my eyes filled with tears.

That morning was filled by more visitations. And each time a new group of people showed up, more Cafecito was prepared. A trio of teenagers close to my age showed up at just the in the afternoon. It was just the right time, too, because I was completely drained by all the chisme and crashing from too many cafecitos. They were Amanda (Yeline’s daughter), with her boyfriend, and her best friend. And they were able to convince my grandaunt to let me out of the apartment to explore Havana with them. First, we took a bus to the Universidad de la Habana where they were all studying. They showed me inside a classroom that had wooden desks and a chalkboard, like what you see in old movies. Then we had savory Cuban pastries, fresh guarapo, and melty ice cream. I can home with an obsession for sugarcane juice. Why had I never had it before? Maybe because it doesn’t taste nearly as good in Miami. Trust me, I’ve done my research.

Interview

Fall 2023

Wawi: (Cuba 1979) Finally, we met somebody from the government who wanted our house. He told us if we wanted to go that we had to give him our house and leave everything behind. He said if we wanted to leave, we would have to go to a 3rd world country. We had to choose between Spain and costa Rica. We chose Spain. I told my mother and father that I would be back.

(About my grandfather) He was playing guitar when we were dating, during that time the Beatles were very popular, and he would play songs… doooos caminoooos! (Formula V) He was visiting me, and I was 15 years and I was a baby and cute. He was a man! Twenty one, big thighs, you know he was always on the bicycle, macho man, and I was fifteen with blond long hair, my eyes almost green, I was very skinny, my titties were so beautiful and my belly, my belly button was so pretty, and my body was shaped like a guitar, and he was so jealous of all the guys I had after me. 

He would come and visit with my grandmother who was Jehovah witness. I met him in the bus, we were going to temple, and he was sitting in the back of the bus, he was sitting there checking me out. I found out that he followed me to the temple. And he introduced himself there. He started to do bible study with my grandmother, Aleida to get to me. One day everyone from the temple went to visit a widow whose husband had just passed away. Then we walked down by the water, and like a shark he told me he wanted me to be his girlfriend and he gave me a kiss.

Then he told my grandmother he wanted me to be his girlfriend and she said OKAY, but she would always be there watching us with the bible. We dated for 4 months and then got married. Then 17 days after we married, I got pregnant. From his pito. You know, when I was dating him, sometimes I would escape school and meet him. He would ride his bike very far to meet me. And then we would go behind the tree in a wooded area and he would want to give me a kiss. He wanted to see my tiddies behind the tree while I was supposed to be at the dentist.

Sometimes when he was visiting me at my grandmother’s house, he would come with a big squash.

Me: Why?

Wawi: That was a present. He would give to my grandmother vegetables and bananas. Once in a while he would bring a calabaza, pumpkin. I was ashamed to get that. I mean, when you're dating someone, you don’t bring them a calabaza, but in Cuba you don't have a choice! You take the calabaza or you get nothing. Sometimes he would bring two pieces of yuca or un boniato, Cuban sweet potato.

Wawi: (Spain 1979) We were in Spain for 6 months before we could leave.

We sent his sister in Miami $3,500 before we left Cuba, so she could hold it for us until we get there. She was sending $200 to a friend in Spain for us to have money when we got there.

Me: When you got to Spain, what did you do?

Wawi: I got a guy to make wood shoes for me and a nice dress. I didn't know it was going to be cold in Spain. When we got off the plane, the cold almost broke my lungs. We left Cuba October 9th, 1979, and landed the next day in Madrid around 2 or 3 in the afternoon. We arrived at the Refugee Red Cross. We had just our suitcases with clothes and some pictures hiding in the clothes and some shoes. We couldn't bring any jewelry or any things.

We had to go to the office and check in. I was 20.  Once we were checked in, the lady told us to go. I was shaking, we had no place to go. I told her I had the impression that when we arrived, we would be staying at an American refugee camp. And they told me there is no such thing and no place to stay. She told me I had to use the phone to call my family and have them send me money so we could rent a hotel or a hostel. I didn't know what a hostel was, she told me it’s a place where private people rent rooms. I didn't know anything. The lady told me to grab our bags and go. I felt like I was having a heart attack. I was crying and screaming that I didn't want to be there. He was telling me to calm down and that we would go find something. There was a guy there who told us he would take us to some places he knew. He was ready to leave to the US. He took us to a hostel he knew of everything was uphill in the cold weather, no jackets, no books, my toes were freezing, walking with suitcases. We were sweating and freezing. Sometimes the hostels were dirty and disgusting and sometimes they had a sign that they were full. The guy told us we had to tell the hostel that we are waiting for our family to send us money from the US. I’m waiting, I just got off the plane, my family is going to send me the money and then I'll pay you."

Then the lady said, this is the rule: "You're to stay here? there's no food included, no water included. If you want to wash, it's 50 pesetas for cold water 70 pesetas for hot water." And I had my period. I got my period the day I got there. And I thought, oh my god, what am I doing? No food, no coffee, nothing! We had nothing. Oh, and at the Red Cross, the lady explained to us if they find out we are working, we are not allowed to go to the US and if we get into a fight, they will take away our permit. We didn't know how long we were going to be in Spain. We wanted to leave Cuba; it didn't matter. We had to wait until we got permission to go to the US. The only thing the lady could give us was some left over two boiled egg and red beans. We had to eat it, we didn’t know when we would eat again. So, between the three of us we split it. When we went to sleep, there was no heat, we were very cold.

We woke up the next day at 3 in the afternoon. We had $200. In that time, they gave us 66 pesetas per dollar. We went to get a big coca cola and we all shared that to drink - we were dying to get something. Then he bought a whole chicken for us to share. I told him to be careful with our money because they will scam you with your change there. I didn't have any Kotex, so I just had to use paper and the lady there would measure the paper. She refused to let me clean my chucha with warm water - she reminded me I had to pay 70 pesetas. I had to wash my chucha with the cold water it was coming out as ice it was freezing! Eventually the lady started asking us to pay. So, we left without paying. We'd do the same thing over and over again at different hostels so we wouldn’t have to pay.

We met a friend there, Gladys, she was Cuban. And she was very nice to us, she felt sorry for us. Sometimes she would get us something like bread or a sandwich. Her family was good, they owned a store here in Miami and they would send money here to here. Usually, I would wanna get coffee. I would smell it! I pass all the stores and they made coffee, and I couldn't have a cup of coffee for days. This lady one day invited me to get coffee. And it was, oh my god, a relief, at least a cup of coffee.

And after a while, we knew a little bit more and we would walk. We went out to the flea market; it was blocks and blocks of flea market. And every time we passed a booth, we would steal something, like a chorizo, or two yogurts, or a banana. And finally, we found a place you could go an eat free for homeless people. They would make lunch and dinner, but you would need to take a train to get there. But we didn't have enough money to take the train. So, we would walk the five miles, in the cold, to get the lunch or dinner. And the food wasn't good, but it was better than nothing and it was free.

One day we found out about a lady who ran a prostitution house. She needed a couple to manage the hookers. We needed a place to sleep, and that was it. The lady promised she would give us 30,000 pesetas a month and give us food every day and that there would be heat in the room. So, we started working there.

Me: What was it like?

W: A nightmare. She was horrible. She never brought us food. There wasn't any heat. We slept on a bed that was maybe 4 feet wide. The bed was caving in because it was like a fold out bed. Then the lady would bring one chicken and one bread and give it to us like a pet dog. We had to get up at any time in the middle of the night when the hookers would ring the bell and we'd let them up. Then we'd have to clean the room after - disgusting. The hookers were walking, working, and finding these old men, 70 or 80 years old. These hookers would come up 4 or 5 times in the night. I let them up, they pay me first, and then they go in the room to fuck.  I had to be honest with the lady and turn in the money. Eventually I found out she kept the money in her washer machine, and I would steal a little at a time. So, we charge the customer, and then they fuck quick, like 15 or 20 minutes. One day I looked in the keyhole. I was wondering "what are they doing in there…this girl comes so many times, her chucha doesn't get sore?"

Me: The same girl? Or don't you see a lot of girls?

Wawi: well like four or five different girls. It depends. The one blonde girl was more popular. She wasn't very pretty but she was quick and hustled the most. I looked through the keyhole and it was disgusting.

The old man with his wrinkly dick. He was creaking like old furniture. The dick was kind of hard, but it was like he was paralyzed, squeaking like a door. The balls were all hairy. Sometimes they don’t even take their clothes off. Just pull down the pants and go. When I saw that, I got disgusted, and I wanted to leave. I said, oh my god, we need to leave this place. 2 in the morning, 4 in the morning, all hours of the night they would come. One day the lady came up and told us she wanted us to leave in the middle of the night. I told her we couldn't leave in the middle of the night; we had the baby and she needed to pay us, but the lady said she didn't have any money. She made us leave without paying us. We were afraid, we had to leave, she threatened to call the police. So, we rolled up the foam mattress and he held the mattress over his shoulder and I packed the suitcase. And the baby was crying "Mami, where are we going?" and I said "you ¡cállate! we are going". We were there maybe 10 days. We were starving. She didn't bring food or anything and we were cold. Some nights, Damaisy would do pee in the bed, and we'd be wet and cold all night. That night, I was walking behind him, and I got nervous and started laughing uncontrollably and I couldn’t walk. He started yelling at me calling me stupid, telling me how we don't have anywhere to go. I was having a nervous breakdown. I was laughing watching him the mattress over his shoulder. I thought "this is the end of us. I don’t know where we are going to go now" We ended up at my friend’s apartment, but there was so many people there. Twenty-two Cubans in the same apartment room, but she let us stay there. There was only one bathroom for all of us. To cook, there was only three things: a pressure cooker, a frying pan, and one pot. To cook, you have to wait patiently for others to finish.

In order to find out if our visas were ready for us to leave Spain, we had to call the United States from a payphone. We invented a little copper cable that we could press the number and put the wire inside so we could place the call for free.

Finally, we went to the Red Cross to stay there-they had a space for us.  But there was a compromise, we had to cook for all the people. But we had a plan to steal food, so that we could stock up. We didn't know how long we were going to stay in Spain, we wanted to accumulate food in our room so when we had to move, we would have something. Chorizo, oil, beans, lentejas, rice, to prepare because I'm always like that. But we had to get up at 4 in the morning to prepare food for the rest of the people. Then, when we didn't want to do that anymore, we went back to Gladys' apartment until the US was ready to take us.

We arrived the United States on February 14th, Valentines Day, 1980.

[see-with-your-eyes-and-remember]

Summer 2003

The smell of old dusty wood brings me back to the moment my little brother and I were crouched under the desk in his childhood bedroom. I don’t remember how we got there, just that there was nowhere else to go. I took a deep breath of the woody air, trying to force the tears to stay in that place, whatever place it is that they come from. The house shook with unintelligible roars coming from my father’s lungs. Branden and I faced each other with our dinky knees folded up to our bony chests, our belly’s rumbling. I gripped his hand when my mom snickered at my father, mocked him, told him to fuck-off. Sometimes I wonder how her mean-laugh can sound so delightful, like she’s so sure of herself that she can genuinely find joy in other people’s frustration.

​            Down the hall, they had put up one of those indoor dog fences that somehow served the purpose of keeping children out of “adult conversations.” If we dared to bark over the fence we’d be scolded. So instead, we hid. We hid together thinking maybe, just maybe, our parents would wonder where we were. That they’d come looking for us, “Come out, come out, wherever you are!” I wanted it to be a game, I wanted them to win. I wanted them to comfort this little innocent man and take that responsibility away from me. I hoped, but I knew they were too busy to care. Huddled under the dim desk light leaking through the crevices of the desk frame, I smiled at him. I said, “They’ll never find us here!” He was going along with my imagination that this was a game of hide-and-go-seek. He looked up at me with wide chestnut eyes decorated with fuzzy lashes. Maybe he was smarter than I thought, less innocent than I could keep him. This wasn’t a game; this was a test. Would they hear our silence? Would they think we ran away? Would they even look for us? The twitching of his mouth revealed his panic, “Are they going to stop fighting soon?” I tried to explain that they weren’t really fighting; they were only having a discussion. 

​            I wouldn’t tell him how I saw Mami throw the metal broom at Papi’s head and made him bleed. Wouldn’t tell him about the eight-inch bruise that was forming on her thigh from the night before. The images would haunt me and circle in my mind for years until I would learn more about that night. About how she was pregnant with Sofia, my next responsibility. How my father was tape recording her as she held a gun to her head. “Did you think she was bluffing?” the therapist would ask me. “No,” Papi would respond.

​            Under the desk, I wasn’t old enough to verbalize my role as an older sister. I learned very quickly after that night that I’d always be stuck in the middle. I’d live in between my parents and my siblings. I’d be the “fifth”, the middle finger, the odd one out. Loving and protecting my siblings always came naturally to me. It seems I was born knowing that I’d die for them if I had to.

[see-with-your-eyes-and-remember]

Summer 2008

“Where were you?! Swimming in the canal? No… a pond? Sara, no, that’s dangerous! You can’t do that! What if there was a BIG LIZARD?”

A pair of twelve-year-old girls in the middle of summer of ‘08. Best friends looking for something to do, I lent Skylar one of my swimsuits and we jumped into the nearby community retention pond. Gross, I know. Upon our return, we were met by Wawi in the driveway of my parent’s new house in Davie, a house we didn’t live at yet despite having it for a year. My parents were perfecting it and “making it their own.” The house was a new build and we’d be the first family to make memories in it. Wawi and Pipo had helped my parents purchase the house so that my sister would have her own room, finally. She’d been sleeping in my bed, and it was getting to the point where I’d wake up with her legs across my chest, or her head on my belly. At bedtime, I’d tickle her until she could barely keep her eyes open. As I adored her little giggles, I wondered what her voice would sound like when she could speak full sentences, what her favorite color would be, what sports she’d want to play.

BIG LIZARD. We were so confused. “You mean, iguana?” I asked,

Wawi looked concerned and aggravated that she couldn’t recall the name of the incredibly dangerous reptile, “No, no… Bigger! The BIG LIZARD with sharp teeth…”

I remained confused but Skylar burst out with her laugh, like bellied “hee-hee’s!” her eyes squinted, and tongue pressed against her front teeth, it’s the kind of laugh that you can’t help but laugh, too.

“She means alligator!” Skylar gets out.

“Oh, my goodness, Wawi. There aren’t any alligators in there.”

“You never know.”

At that time, I hadn’t known about the bizarre businesses Wawi and Pipo were involved with in Cuba before they immigrated. The “big lizard” story is something Skylar and I still laugh about today in our late twenties, but now, I often wonder why Wawi couldn’t think of the word “crocodile” given the fact that she had illegally dealt dozens of taxidermy crocodiles and sea turtles to Russians in Cuba.

Interview Fall 2023

Me: Why did you leave Cuba?

Wawi: Because… We want to be in a better place. We want to be millonarios, and the situation in Cuba was very difficult, mucho problemas, porque we were doing many illegal things.

Me: Like what?

Wawi: (Cuba 1974) We were selling crocodiles and sea turtles disecados, illegally to the Russians. Para ellos eso es como un arte. We knew a guy who would catch the crocodiles and tortugas and sometimes we would help him prepare the animals to sell them to the Russians. We would stuff them with el serrín. Sometimes we would use the turtle shells, el cherepakha, to make expensive jewelry. I had a friend who would sell to Bulgarian people (they were more dumb) he would break wine or beer bottles and use the glass to make shiny stones, set them in gold to sell as emerald. Or sapphire when the glass was white [clear]. 

Me: I remember you told me you were on a moped and you would transport the crocodiles that way.

Wawi: No no no, we were not on a motorcycle! We were peddling, peddling with my daughter on the front of the bicycle. She was sitting on the bars. She was maybe 2 years old. He [Pipo] was the chauffer! We had to be careful not to break the tail because we would lose the deal. Sometimes if we saw the police, we would leave the crocodile on the side of the road, hidden in the bushes, and come back for it a little later. The crocodile was in a big paper bag, maybe about 5 feet or 4 feet. Probably would weigh around 20 pounds. I was sitting on una padrilla, a metal thing on the back of the bicycle. We would knock on doors where the Russians were living and try to sell them the taxidermies. In that time, I didn't know how to do Russian talking; I would just show them and try to sell to them.

Me: And you were taxi driving, too, right?

Wawi: I was also a taxi driver during that time. It was a chevy 4 door. The taxi number I had was 926. [Ironically, Pipo's birthday is September 26th] When I was a taxi driver, I was putting a lot of people in the car. I charged every person for the ride, instead than charge the cost of the ride. Because the transportation in Cuba is very, very difficult. So, people waiting for hours after work for a ride to get home from work. So, they paid me. Sometimes I put people in the trunk, I squeezed about 8 people in the car. I taught him how to drive the taxi, that's how he learned how to drive. I would let him take the car sometimes. He was working as a teacher, and he was a locksman, he did both. He steal a little bit from that place, too, one rocking chair he took it piece by piece to bring it home on his bike. One day he would bring an arm, he built it piece by piece so we would have something to sit on at home.

Summer 2018

A little after my college graduation, my siblings and I nominated my dad, or Papi, for the Town of Davie’s 2018 Sustainability Award. Rather, he kindly requested us to nominate him. In the 10 years that we lived there, Papi had become an avid “plogger” in and around our neighborhood. The word “plogging” is a combination of “plucking” and “jogging”, picking up litter while exercising. The practice spread from Europe, where it seems to have its origin in Norway. At first, Papi didn’t know there was a term for what he was doing. His passion for building, restoring, and beautifying communities is what called him to plogging. In his early twenties, he moved from Wisconsin to South Florida to kickstart his lifetime career in city planning after earning his master’s in urban development. Papi always says he selected Florida instead of his other options because it was “the south-est.” Sofia, Branden and I wouldn’t be here if he hadn’t been fed-up with the cold.

Mami was never very fond of my dad’s plogging hobby. Perhaps she was embarrassed after a couple of parents from school said to her, “Oh, your husband is the one that picks up trash in the mornings!” She would joke and say that she thought it was gross, or that he was going to hurt his back bending over so much. Maybe she was envious of the attention my dad gave to our neighbors and the community. One Christmas she gifted him a litter grabber. I don’t know if it was a gag gift or if she had finally accepted his strange advocation, regardless, he was excited and used it relentlessly.

Alas, the 2018 Sustainability Award was bestowed upon my father. My heart felt heavy as I stood there in the back the city council room. I wanted to cry but had no clue which emotion was triggering the tears. I was so proud of my dad; there hadn’t been a doubt in my mind that he was going to receive the award, or that he deserved it. But less than two months prior to the award ceremony, the night before my college graduation, I dialed 911 as a dispute between my mom, and me, and my dad escalated beyond words. My parents were divorcing.

I’ll always wonder if the good that resulted was worth scarring me and Mami’s relationship. I’ll wonder: Was my father’s ignorance actually bliss? Was it worth the emotional trauma it caused my sister in her teenage years? I hadn’t realized how oblivious she was to our parent’s toxic relationship. Standing there, behind a sea of suits and grey hair, I watched Papi approach the podium and receive his metallic validation. He had done good for the Town of Davie.

Of course, he mostly finds litter while plogging. He has a saying “Where there’s a cup there’s a lid, and where there’s a lid there’s a straw – except when its coffee.” But Papi found quite a bit of money while plogging. He once found an iPad and a clip board and was able to determine that it belonged to a softball coach at the nearby Catholic school. He returned several cell phones and wallets to quite grateful neighbors. And a good portion of his wardrobe consists of, what he calls “finds”: Countless t-shirts, nice flip flops, business shirts, a warm work coat.

One time, Papi lugged home two wooden rocking-chairs. They were left out on the side of the road for bulk trash, or for anyone who cared to salvage them. They were dirty, the cushions were caving in, but the foundation was sturdy. Papi cleaned them up, rebuilt bases for the cushions, and listed them for sale online. Ironically, the woman who originally owned the rocking-chairs called to thank my dad for what he had done to her chairs and if she “could please have them back?” I can picture his wide grin and raised eyebrows as Papi told her he had put too much work into the chairs to return them for free. The woman didn’t want to pay for them. My dad ended up giving the rocking chairs to Wawi. And now, both rocking-chairs are on my porch, where I read or write in the afternoons.

Papi’s entire outfit is made from some of his favorite plogging finds. The shirt, shorts, jacket, hat, and sandals pictured here were all abandoned then later discovered by Papi. What they say is true: “One man’s trash is another man’s treasure!”

Interview

Fall 2023

Wawi: (Cuba 1970s) When I was able to pocket enough money, I would fill the tank to the rim (the government paid for the gas) and I would drive out to the country to get chicken, cheese, beans, malanga. That was the only place to get good food like that. I would bring it back to the city and open the trunk and sell it. I also sold cigarettes for a lot of money. When I would sell the tortuga or the crocodile to the Russians, I would go into their apartment and say give me the sandals, give me the cigarettes. I would open their refrigerator. I want this and I want that/ I would take the sardines, the chorizo, their coffee (they had Pilon, instead of Bustello) I would make a big pile and trade el crocodile or el cherepakha for the pile of things from the Russian house. The cigarettes, I would sell the box for 40 pesos.

I sold everything. I almost sold Damaisy one day. I was negotiating all the time.

As a taxi driver I met a lot of people from all over. I met a guy who was a big embassy worker from Morocco. I drove him to the embassy, and we got to talking. He said "I wanna meet a girl like you, very pretty" so I told him I had a friend I could bring to him. So, I had two friends that I knew. I sold the girl to the guy. I went with her, and we hung out at the pool at the embassy and he paid us. Sometimes I would bring him girls and he would pay me. He'd give me chorizo and other meat sometime.

And I would steal the prescriptions from the doctor’s office and sell them people. Because if you present a certificate that you are sick, the government will pay you for the days you are out sick. So, I stole a bunch from the clinic and I would sign the prescription as if I was a doctor and they wouldn’t have to go to work. This way they could go make more money illegally than work their government job that pay very little.

We didn’t have AC or water heater. The water would come on 2 or 3 hours a day. So, you have to take a shower with the hose. You would have to fill an oil can with water and put it in the sun during the day to heat up the water that way I could bath my daughter.

Me: How did you feel on the day you were leaving Cuba?

Wawi: I was nervous because I felt bad that I was going to leave my mother. I was crying a little bit in the airport. I was afraid because I never went on a plane and the flight was eleven hours to Spain. I knew if I didn't take the chance to leave, I would never leave. Because I don’t know if I can go in the ocean, like people who escape on the boat, we almost did. We didn't do it because I'm afraid of the ocean and we were waiting for the chance to leave legally.

March 2017

“This is for iffy you need to do poo-poo!” Wawi announced, pulling an emesis bag from behind her back and laughing so hard she almost needed to use it herself. Her and my mom were packing for the trip I was about to take with my half-grandaunt, Viviana (Wawi’s half-sister), and my great grandmother, Yaya (Wawi’s mother). They were getting a kick out of it, too, completely losing it over how I would need to use my underwear and a bucket of water to clean my “chucha” and about the “oh so delicious” food I was going to be eating. They were cackling so much that tears were streaming down their reddened faces. I was laughing too, but nervously. What was I about to get into?

I’ve been to Cuba twice. I was two the first time and I don’t know if my memories are authentic or merely fabricated from the camcorder videos and film photos my parents have from the trip. I do know it was dirty and hot and that we left sooner than we had planned because we all caught a stomach virus. I went again over Spring break ’17, I had just turned 20. Yaya and Viviana repeatedly reminded to boil water before drinking it. I left with two extra-large suitcases completely stuffed with clothes; shoes; toiletries like deodorant, lotion, toothbrushes, and toothpastes; seasonings like Sazón GOYA®, polvo de ajo, cebolla en polvo, and comino. Wawi’s uncle, Yaya's youngest sibling, Uva, was particularly impressed with the stick deodorant because he would no longer need to wash his hands after applying paste deodorant. I also had a notepad and mechanical pencils specifically for him because he loves to write. When he unboxed the pencils, he attempted to write on the back of his hand assuming it was a pen.

“¡Esto no funciona!” he exclaimed when the ink didn’t transfer.

“Eso es un lápiz, tío, necesitas papel” I said, handing him the notepad. I proceeded to show him how to write and erase with the mechanical pencil.

“¡ vaya, las cosas que inventan!” The things we invent, indeed.

A week later I returned home más flacita. If it weren’t for the StarKist Pouches of tuna creation, box of crackers, and granola bars Wawi and Mami packed for me, I would have completely starved. Not only did I weigh a few pounds less, I also didn’t have any luggage. As intended, everything I brought I left in Cuba. I returned with just the clothes on my body and my iPhone.

The few meals I did eat in Cuba I enjoyed very much. I think that’s the only thing I said on the way home after Wawi and Pipo picked me up from Miami International Airport. Slumped in the back seat of Wawi’s Ford F150, I couldn’t focus on anything but the view outside. After a week in Cuba, I was experiencing culture shock in America, my native country, the place I call home. Aghast and maybe somewhat horrified, Wawi darted her eyes at me in the rearview, “Qué?! What?! You liked the food, no kidding?”

Yes. The meals were prepared with love. Or maybe it was the feeling of overwhelming adoration from family members I didn’t even know existed that made the food taste that much better. Either way, I know for a fact that the meat I ate was fresh because on my first day there, we took a horse carriage down the road to get to a street vendor who was going to sell us the pork. Well, when we arrived, the vendor said he didn’t have the cut of pork shoulder we wanted—he had to go slaughter a pig and he’d have it ready for us in the afternoon. So, we clippity-clopped back to the concrete house, and in the meantime, I helped remove tiny stones and bugs from the uncooked white rice and dry black beans. We went back to the vendor in the afternoon to pick up the meat for the best masitas de cerdo I’ve ever had.

I slept in four different homes during the one week I was in Cuba. On March 13th, 2017, we landed in Santa Clara just after 9am. Yeline (Wawi’s cousin) met us with a taxi driver who brought us to her mother’s house in Cabaiguán. The house didn’t have air conditioning or running water. I used a bucket of hose-water and my underwear to wash my chucha. I pooped in the toilet, forgetting that it wasn’t going to flush. Embarrassingly, I had to asked how to get it down. Due to stress and adrenaline, I slept well despite the heat and mosquitos.

March 14th was my sister’s thirteenth birthday, but I had no way of contacting her. I woke up with the sun to horse hooves and loud salsa music. I itched at my bug bites as I rummaged through my suitcase for a granola bar. We spent the day visiting neighbors and relatives. Yaya is one of six children, would have been seven if her twin had survived during childbirth.

We visited Yaya's elder sister, Piya. Witnessing her living conditions completely broke me. When we arrived at her house she was lying in bed and needed assistance to be propped up. Buckets were placed in various places to collect rainwater. The wooden walls were rotting away, and her along with them. How could I stand in a picture with her and smile, knowing that she will die this way and I will return to my home with hurricane proof windows? If anyone wants to see my “fake” smile, I’ll show them this image.

Left to right: Piya, Yaya, Yeline, Alberto (Piya’s son), Viviana, me.

I later learned that Piya had another son. "He was sooo nice" Wawi tells me. His name was Manolo. He hung himself not long after he came out as gay.