Giving back: from the shores of communist Cuba to the beaches of South Florida, one Cuban's journey to America and his dream of serving the country that gave him and his family their freedom

Coast Guard Magazine, Sept-Oct, 2007 by Tasha Tully

CUBA AUGUST 18, 1994

Darkness covered them like a veil, allowing the group to move along the beach unseen. Nineteen people worked hurriedly putting a steel-framed raft in the water and saying goodbye to those staying behind. They had been planning this night for several years and the moment had finally come, along with the hope of a better future.

The group, made up of 15 family members and four of their close friends, silently rowed the 19-foot raft far enough offshore where they could start the engine without being heard. The engine was from an old World War II Ural motorcycle that was fastened to the center of the raft and fitted with a shaft that connected to a propeller in the stern.

The engine started and the group breathed a premature sigh of relief. After a few minutes, someone noticed that they weren't getting any farther from shore. They checked the propeller and saw there was nothing securing it to the shaft; the shaft was spinning in place in the center of the prop.

The group laboriously rowed back to shore trying not to be seen or heard. A few of the men crept along the beach to a fisherman's shack. The men traded some of the items they had packed for the journey; including a tarp, money and a knife, for a drill that they used to bore a hole through the shaft and the propeller, securing them with a screw. They rowed away from shore again, started the engine and immediately began making way.

"I was 19 years old and my wife, Ariagna, was seven months pregnant with our first child," said BM2 Wilger Irizarry. "We were terrified. We put everything we had in that raft; our lives, our hopes, our dreams and our future."

The anxious group traveled through the night, most of them unable to sleep. As anticipation and hope grew, so did the distance between them and their homeland.

"Spirits were high at first," said Irizarry. "We sang songs and laughed. Before we left, my cousin told his five-year-old daughter that we were going on a picnic. So every few hours she would ask, 'Are we at the picnic yet?' Here we were in the middle of the ocean on a raft, with all these plans for a new life and the whole time she thinks we're going on a picnic!"

However, this trip would prove to be no picnic for anyone aboard the raft. The next morning, the air-cooled antique engine overheated and several of the men unknowingly used seawater to cool it. The water spilled across the battery creating continuous shocks, which quickly left it dead. The raft began to drift, and the group became more nervous as the seas got choppier.

"Several of us, particularly my cousin Mamita, were getting seasick and weren't able to eat much," said Irizarry. "All we could do was sit and wait."

After several hours, they saw an airplane. They jumped to their feet and waved excitedly. It was a small plane flown by a pilot from "Brothers to the Rescue", a Miami-based non-profit organization founded in 1991 that conducts humanitarian search missions throughout the Florida Straits dropping water, food and basic survival supplies to migrants. The plane delivered the provisions and disappeared.

Morale immediately sank. The raft of people drifted and waited for hours. The August sun steadily scorched their skin as it lit the horizon. Another raft appeared in the distance. As the raft got closer, the group noticed that there were about eight Cubans on it and that it was in bad shape.

"Their raft was falling apart," said Irizarry. "One of the inner tubes they were using had popped and they had too many people on such an unstable craft. We were scared because we had heard stories about people killing everyone aboard your raft and stealing it, like pirates, and our raft was very well built compared to theirs."

The other raft of people had an engine but no gas, and after lengthy negotiations, both groups decided to share supplies in order to get to America.

"We didn't really trust them, and they didn't trust us," said Irizarry. "We held tow lines from their raft as we gave them gas little by little. It was a slow-going journey, but it was the only way any of us were going to get anywhere."

Hours passed and the sky darkened, but the coolness of night offered no relief to the desperate fugitives. The water had gotten choppier and Mamita had yet to stop vomiting. In the distance, there were thousands of white lights and it was quickly decided that they would travel in that direction.

"There were so many lights that we thought it was a city," said Irizarry. "I'm not sure how long we followed those lights before realizing that they weren't getting any closer. Finally we saw that it was a ship. After that, everything got so tense among us. Our hopes were so high, and with the plane, the raft and now the ship, morale was at its worst. People were screaming at each other and we thought, for sure, that if daylight came Mamita would die."

INTERDICTION AUGUST 19-20, 1994

In the blackness of night Irizarry recalls seeing red and green lights. Speculations about what they could be bounced from person to person. Maybe it was a buoy, a weather station or another boat? Irizarry stood on top of the motorcycle seat and used a spotlight they brought along to signal the lights in case it was another boat. A light flashed back at him and soon they heard a loud roar in the abyss that surrounded them.