"The Interrogation" | Memoir | Part V of VI | Travel Journals

Havana, Cuba
 
Upon my arrival in Havana, Cuba, I exited the airplane and went directly to Customs. After the Customs agent examined my official passport, he asked me to step aside and wait.
 
I got scared and my heart started pounding!
 
It was a scenario I had been cautioned about during my trip briefing.
 
The Windowless Room
 
Two Cuban customs police officers took me to a windowless room.
 
As I sat in the small room, my thoughts drifted to what I had studied in my history class at Indiana University East (IUE) Online Program about the intricate relationship between Cuba and the United States. In our studies, we were required to read three distinct history books. The historian who particularly resonated with me and exposed the harsh reality of the histories of these two nations was the late Howard Zinn, through his book titled “A People’s History of the United States.”
 
Through this insightful read, I gained a deeper understanding of the circumstances that led to my detainment, shedding light on the situation.
 
Handsome Police Officers
 
The police officers resembled male fashion models! Their angelic faces made it challenging to concentrate on the interrogation questions.
 
The Interrogation
 
They fired off rapid questions, one after the other, barely pausing for my response:
 
“Your visa is incomplete.”
 
“What is your purpose for being in Cuba?”
 
“What is your religion?”
 
“Are you carrying a weapon?”
 
“Do you have propaganda literature against Cuba?”
 
“Do you have family in Cuba?”
 
After answering all their questions, they abruptly left the room, leaving me alone. I was trembling in fear!
 
One Hour Passed

After enduring an hour in the tight, poorly lit interrogation room, the customs officers finally returned and gestured for me to follow them.
 
As we made our way to the arrival gate, I spotted my American contact enthusiastically waving at me. A wave of relief washed over me as I emerged from the gate.
 
He looked worried and confessed he had no idea I was being held and interrogated.
I could only say,
 
“You have no idea how relieved I am to see you. I was completely terrified.”
 
As we walked together toward the exit, I glanced back at the customs area, still shaken by the ordeal. My legs felt like jelly, and I clutched my carry-on as if it were a lifeline. The air outside was thick and humid, but it felt like freedom. My contact handed me a bottle of water, and I gulped it down, trying to steady my nerves. I kept replaying the questions in my mind, each one felt like a test I hadn’t studied for. I wondered if my answers had truly satisfied them or if they’d simply decided I wasn’t worth the trouble.

The experience reminded me of the fragility of diplomacy and how easily one could become a pawn in a larger political game. I took a deep breath and whispered a prayer of gratitude. Whatever lay ahead in Havana, I knew I’d carry this moment with me for the rest of my life.
 
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(Copyright © 2025 by Mia Z. Edwards. All rights reserved.)