Maria Lima, a Cuban ballerina by profession, remembers crossing the southern border of the United States with her mother Alba from Mexicali to Yuma, Arizona three years ago. Border agents stopped them and held them for three days in a crowded cell.
Despite a month-long, life-threatening journey, the seriousness of the situation only hit her when the agents slapped leg irons and handcuffs on both Maria and her mom.
“I couldn’t hold back the tears,” says Maria now. “It was extremely degrading.”
The journey of Maria and Alba – whose names have been changed to protect their identity – back in 2021 came in the middle of an immigration saga that says a lot about the difficulties immigrants face in the world of President Donald Trump. It took about six months to get from Cuba to the United States and now, more than three years later, the saga hasn’t ended. Along the way there have been bullet casings, shackles and numerous court hearings that seemed to end the case and then didn’t. They are presently living in a Doral condo with her mom – and has no way of knowing whether she will be allowed to stay in the United States.
President Trump has presented extensive measures aimed at drastically remaking the federal immigration system, limiting and ending temporary deportation protections.
While much of the argument over immigration has centered on other Latin groups little attention has been paid to Cubans, the Latin group that voted most heavily in favor of Trump and dominates Miami politics and business.
Experts such as Dr. Daniel I. Pedreira, an assistant teaching professor in the department of Politics and International Relations at Florida International University and program officer at the Center for a Free Cuba in Washington, D.C. and Miami, acknowledges that Cuban migrants have historically had easier pathways to residency. However, with the rapid changes underway, it will become increasingly difficult.
“They have a slight advantage, only if the circumstances are right,” Dr. Pereira stated. “If not, they [face] the same fate as other migrants.”
Maria was born December 21, 2002, in Havana. She grew up surrounded by a loving family, living in a multi-generational, seven-bedroom home, alongside her mom, dad, grandma, cousins, aunt and uncle. She enjoyed being active and had a passion for dancing.
She trained with the Cuban National Ballet from age 5 to 11. She also excelled in math.
“I recognized her potential,” recalls Alba. “Once she set her eyes on something, she would do anything to get it.”
Her parents separated around the time she was 13 years old. Then her family graduallly left the country Maria and her mother were alone. In those years, she says, the quality of life declined. There were regular blackouts in the Havana neighborhood of Vedado, where she lived, and fulfilling basic needs like food and clothes was difficult.
Triggered by a shortage of food and medicine as well as the government’s response to the resurgent Covid-19 pandemic, Maria, then 18, and her mother decided to leave the country. Alba had a visa to travel to Mexico; she waited for the right time and when an opportunity arose to leave, she and Maria took it.
Crossing the border
They arrived in Queretaro, north of Mexico City, and lived there for months, ultimately deciding to join their relatives in Monterrey. They traveled from there to Mexicali, their last stop before crossing the border.
Due to delays at the Mexicali airport, they missed the group they were supposed to travel with. So they made the notoriously dangerous trip alone. “We were warned to wear the ugliest, must unflattering clothes we had to make the trip,” Maria explains.
A guide warned them of the dangers ahead. Then the road turned to sand, and they found themselves in a desert surrounded by miles of emptiness.
As they were instructed, they ran through the desert, disoriented and unsure of where to go. “As I was running, I saw bullet casings in the sand” recalls Maria “along with prints of big tractor marks.”
They knew they had reached the right place once they reached a rusted metal wall. They were now officially in American territory, but the trip was far from over.
After miles of not seeing anyone, other immigrants waved at them in the far distance indicating the way. All of them were picked up by trucks and taken to the Yuma detention center in Arizona, women in one truck, men in another. The women described the place as a jail, with makeshift rooms separated by thin plastic. The lights are always on, no windows, no clocks, or sunlight.
“You can never be sure of the time,” says Maria.
They would be in that center for three days. Alba recalls being surrounded by women just like them. They were fed regularly but had no privacy in the bathroom or shower. They slept on thin mattresses on the bare floor. There were girls as young as eight without parents.
Alba and Maria were putr in separate groups. Tears rolled down Maria’s cheeks as they were placed in chains and handcuffs.
“I didn’t know why we were being separated,” says Maria. “And I didn’t have the courage to ask.”
After agonizing hours not knowing about her mother, they were reunited. They went on an hours-long trip to a second detention center where they were to spend the night.
The next day they were released in Phoenix, Arizona. Then they took one last flight to Miami, where they were reunited with relatives.
Over the last three years, Maria’s life has changed completely.
Her first job was alongside her mom stocking shelves at Walmart overnight. The job was excruciating, and she kept working until she found her current job as a receptionist. Now at age 22 she co-rents an apartment, studies at Miami-Dade College and hopes to continue her education.
“I am able to do all the things I never thought possible in my country,” she explains.
Maria’s case had made progress, after lengthy trials, the right lawyers and many fees her final court hearing was officially closed by a judge in 2024. All she needed was to find a way to obtain permanent status in the country.
Cuban immigrants that have entered the U.S illegally through the border receive an I-220A document — conditional parole. She has not yet been accepted to apply for citizenship under the Cuban Adjustment Act.
The women must report to ice immigration offices yearly to disclose their status. This year, hearing is set for June. Everyone, even her lawyer, is unsure of what this could mean for her case.
Maria is now filled with anxiety. She just wants to keep living the life she has maintained for the past few years. She looks forward to school and work without the fear of deportation to a country with no future.
