Time and time again, God has shown up in my life in incredible ways, allowing for great opportunities I couldn’t make up if I wanted to. A few years ago, I had the privilege of visiting Cuba with two friends and some family from one of those friends. As beautiful as the island was, it was the most anxiety-provoking trip I’d ever been on.
We stayed in a spot in the heart of Havana, just a few minutes from the town square. Right off, rip, it wasn’t what we had expected. Though the spot was excellent, there was no WiFi. We would learn from the hosts that to obtain WiFi, we would have to buy minutes on a card that we could then use in the town square, the only place where we could retrieve the WiFi as it wasn’t allowed in homes. Coming from a place where WiFi is so easily accessible, it was an exciting change.
We spent our time exploring the city, meeting people, eating, laughing, loving and acknowledging the privileges we experience as Americans. Full transparency, it was this trip that I first felt any pride for my own country. But it took seeing how the Cuban government governed its people to do so.
A few things I learned, cows are considered sacred. You will go to jail for 40 years if you kill one (yet you’d get nine years in prison for killing your wife). Resources are minimal, but the Cuban people are resourceful and will use every part of whatever they have. The income and food they get from their government are also fixed. Regardless of a family’s size, everyone gets the same amount of food and a payment equivalent to USD 300 monthly.
If you go to pass out supplies and are caught, you are sent to jail. Yet I couldn’t help but want to assist in passing out the extra items we had brought along for that purpose. It was both beautiful and petrifying, experiencing the gratitude from locals as we secretly handed bags of everyday toiletries while ensuring no police noticed. Having grown up in my poverty, witnessing their scarcity firsthand brought me back into a state of pure anxiety, so much so that I was having a tough time enjoying the trip.
We hired a driver to take us to Valle de Vinales, a beautiful place that looked like a literal piece of Heaven. Seven of us piled into a retro station wagon with no air conditioning or working radio. While the wagon presented pretty, the seats were uncomfortable and needed work. Probably my favorite part of the trip was we learned how to roll cigars, ride horses, and learn about the honey process—fun fact: bees produce honey underground in Vinales.
Afterward, we ate at a restaurant run out of a local kitchen high in the mountains, overlooked where clouds rested on the adjacent mountains; pictures could never do it justice. We made friends with the waitress, a local woman who told us about our cook; her 15-year-old daughter was married with two children. Childless and twice her age, I couldn’t help but think about how different our lives were. She was, essentially, still a child, running a home and a business. Incredibly other than most teens in America.
On the two and a half hour drive back to Havana we made our own fun, singing to make up for the non existent radio. However police check points along the way would curtail that fun. As we approached each check point our driver had us be quiet as to not draw attention to ourselves and it almost worked until we reached the last check point.
It was late and pitched black on the highway until we approached the checkpoints. The police pulled us over, taking the driver out of the car before coming to us to ask questions. As our driver was being extorted for his money, we were questioned and threatened. If we were lying, we would be thrown in jail, they told us, before being delivered to the American embassy, all without our luggage back at the apartment.
As I sat in the front seat of the retro wagon, I began to shake and sweat even more excessively. Panic began to ensue; what if they separate us? What if we don’t ever return home? The unknown was petrifying, and the scenarios my brain was coming up with even more. My spirit intervened, reminding me to pray as my rational brain reminded me that now was not the time to panic, so I started to talk to God, asking Him to get us out of the situation safely.
Though I hadn’t known it at the time, each of us silently prayed to God for intervention. They seized our passports and threatened us before letting us go, only after our driver gave them all the money he had. We learned: that the Cuban peso is worth more than the dollar.
The anxiety continued to pile up. After seeing how the locals lived and fearing for my life as the police took our passports, I couldn’t get into the infamous Havana nights by the time we arrived. But I had seen as much as I could and opted to go to sleep, a trauma response dating back to my childhood. As much as I appreciated the experience and being there, I was ready to go home, especially since I was fighting my anxiety and was trying to convince me that I’d never return.
When we headed to the airport, I was relieved and thankful that I lived elsewhere. However, it was the saddest airport I’d ever been to. As we stood in line, we waited with people in tears as they left their families. The defiled air and the muggy heat made it hard to breathe. With no ac, sweat was dripping from just about everyone around me. I cringed and gagged when work from the man beside me landed on my open toes. I questioned if it was hygienic as I told myself maybe I shouldn’t ever wear flip-flops to an airport again.
As we got closer to getting to our seat and taking off, the feelings of relief grew. I was eager to leave and never return. Having visited on an education visa, I had learned way more than I had anticipated.
After about 40 minutes of sitting on the plane we were informed that before flying to our desired destination, we were being rerouted to another airport in Cuba due to mechanical issues; The only man to fix it was there.
Almost instantaneously intrusive thoughts bombarded me. Maybe this was a ploy to keep us on the island. My brain was flooded with possible scenarios, panic nearly ready to ensue. Told you you’d never again go home.
But, God. I had just started my walk with God Literally maybe two weeks before the trip when I started going to church with the same best friend seated across the aisle from me. She encouraged me to pray to ease my troubled mind. So I did. Simply talking to God, acknowledging how terrified I was of the situation but also how thankful I was to have been able to experience it.
I spoke to God about my travel (it’s one of my favorite hobbies and this trip aside, quite therapeutic). inspired by the idea of being rerouted and not familiar with where I was going, I began to think about what it would be like to get on a plane for a trip and not know the destination. My brain, always heavily craving details, wanted to think logistics. How would that even work? I began to think but instead God’s still, small voice told me to leave the details to Him and just keep focused on a surprise trip, and so I did. We made it home that day more thankful than before.
As someone prone to anxiety, always getting trapped in her brain, this was a lesson in letting go and giving my anxieties to God. Always having been someone who got lost in her thoughts, having not given into my thoughts this time ended up being incredibly rewarding for me. I”ll tell you how next week. Spoiler alert: it involves a surprise trip.