In America, he told his daughter, a working man could count on being able to buy a ham and cheese sandwich every single day. But more important, a man did not have to fear that anyone would rob him of his soul.
Unlike her father, Ojito found herself somewhat conflicted at the prospect of leaving Cuba. Writing about the huge and chaotic boatlift, she says, "We left the way one leaves a cherished but impossible love: our hearts heavy with regret but beating with great hope."
Despite the complexity of her own feelings about her family's departure, Ojito manages to give a clear and memorable picture of what went on at Mariel: how Uncle Osvaldo, her father's brother, came for the family on a less-than-seaworthy shrimp boat; how Mike Howell, the one-armed "captain" of the Manana, came to their rescue, negotiating the family's passage to Key West even while the Cubans were pointing an AK-47 at his forehead.
It's impossible not to admire the boldness, the candor, the moral toughness of Ojito's writing. In this wonderful memoir, she ransoms herself from the seductions of nostalgia, and reclaims instead the beleaguered Cuba of her childhood -- a Cuba that is all the more interesting for not being looked at through the prism of longing and desire.
In Finding Manana, Ojito triggers the memory of a papaya on a hot day in the Cuban countryside: bright color, sweet pulp, bitter seeds.
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