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Diary of a 10-year-old
Cuban girl at Guantánamo
By Yudelka Cesar Femenias.
Posted on Mon, Aug. 23, 2004 in The
Miami Herald.
These are the diary excerpts that were
published Oct. 2, 1994, in The Herald
August 31st in Cuba:
It was 3:30 a.m. when my mother woke me
and said, ''Get up, we're leaving.'' I got
up. My sister was already awake and dressed.
I put on jean shorts and white T-shirt with
six pearls around the neck. I grabbed a
bag full of dresses and things but my mother
said, ''Leave it.'' And I said, "Well,
OK.''
We said goodbye to Carmen and Dolaydi,
to whom I left my best jewel -- a little
dog with short hair, all black, with little
eyes dark like an azabache (a Cuban good
luck charm), and straight little ears. I
love him very much.
When we are about to leave my aunt and
cousin who weren't on speaking terms with
my mother came out of their house. My mother
called out to them and and my cousin couldn't
stop crying. When my mother started crying
too, she said, ''Don't you cry. Just take
care.'' She kissed us and left.
Then a blue car came to get us and we could
not say goodbye to my grandfather, nor my
other aunt and my uncle and my cousins.
Another thing that hurt me was to leave
all my friends -- big ones, old ones, middle
ones and the little ones.
When we reached the beach, we were not
allowed to leave the car because the police
was not letting children leave. We left
from a beach called Brisa del Mar that my
father liked and it's near a restaurant
called El Ranchón. They unloaded
the boat and they tried it out to make sure
it wouldn't take on water. While we swatted
away the mosquitoes in the car, some men
from El Ranchón gave the children
coffee cake.
When the boat started, there were people
I didn't know and I got scared. We were
four children and six women on the boat.
In total, 22 on the motored boat. We left
at 8:30 a.m. and at 2:20 p.m. a white and
red vessel picked us up. My father turned
off the motor. When we got on, we almost
didn't fit there were so many people. Some
Americans pulled us up, and I supposed they
liked me and they gave us water, some salted
crackers for our stomachs, and a soda that
tasted like cherry.
About a half-hour later came another vessel,
a mother ship called Whibey Island in which
we traveled for three days. It had 2 ½
floors. It was gray.
At the base, I have been in three camps.
In the first came the press and a ruckus
ensued because they would not process us.
The camp is called La Lima and there we
saw people under the sticks of the military
police of the United States. We were at
El Kilo two days -- very bad days because
there broke my Santa Barbara (a revered
saint in Cuba), which was before we were
processed and got a plastic watch, without
numbers, that isn't finished but inside
has an identification number.
They snap the watch shut when the grown-ups
sign a paper, walk in a house that looks
like a hospital where they explain how they
will give you two vaccines for the children
and one to the grown-ups. They give you
a pencil, a piece of paper to put your name
and last name (everyone treats us lovingly).
I played baseball with one of the attendants
who spoke Spanish. Then they took us in
a school bus to El Kilo.
After two days, they moved us to another
camp they call Oscar Three. I have been
here five days, not very well and not very
bad. Not very well because there's a lot
of dust and it's hilly and when it rains
the water from other camps comes to ours.
And not so bad because here there's more
order to get the food and they are going
to put up a tent with toys for the children.
The water spigots are nearer and they are
going to build bathrooms for women and children
separate from the men.
Thanks to God.
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