“Whoever wants to leave Cuba, can do so,” this is what president Fidel Castro said on the 20th of April before, of course, stating that any person wanting to leave was a scum and traitor of the revolution. This meant that the Communist Party would organize rallies in front of the houses of those whom they knew would leave the country -screaming and creating terror around the hundred of families who wanted to escape this hellish place- but some thrown eggs and trash weren’t enough to prevent us from leaving. It was already decided, represented as a bold red mark on the calendar. We would leave the very first-day port Mariel allowed the exodus, on April 15th, 1980.
 
On the port, we are hundreds, hustling and piling up, with our small bags containing all our lives, waiting for the few boats that will bring us to our destination.  We don’t want to go there, we just want to be somewhere else, but this country aborting the flag of freedom is the only one opening its frontiers for us; not that they care, they just hate the president more than they hate us. We know they do, they always will. This is not what I am worried about though, we survived conquistadores thousands of years ago, we are stronger than Pico Turquino,  San Juan, and  Gran Piedra reunited! No, what I worry about, or more precisely who is Caridad. She and her family were supposed to come with us! Yet, the sand is pouring fast through the hourglass and they are not here. Suddenly our ship appeared before I could go search for her. I haven't heard from Caridad for a day.