Ghostwriting Memoir Sample

Chapter 1: getting to America.

It was pitch dark out on the boat when I awoke, sometime close to midnight, out of anxiety or some lingering feeling of dread I could not deny. I’m not crazy, no, it’s just my intuition. It was in that instant that I realized that I could have died. I could hardly make it out, but there was a shape- or something- moving in the dark. The sea and sky were pitch black, but I could see something moving towards us. There was the sound, first a burbling, and then a roar. I quickly realized what it was- a black ship hurling towards us and getting louder by the second. Soon enough, I saw it, and then, we all saw it; a huge steamship line towering at least one hundred feet above us and heading towards Havana port. Screams erupted to break the silence and the rush woke us all. We quickly started rowing in the other direction. We wanted anything but what we knew could take us in an instant- death.

Yes, I had just survived what could have been a fatal blow. I’m talking about a crushing death from a huge steamship line that was coming down from who knows where all to deliver some unidentified goods. It was surely nothing to scoff about. No, terrifying, to be honest with you. Yes, because by that point in my life, I was old enough to realize that in this life, death could mean many things and could come in many shapes and sizes. Death - yes, that ultimate thing, that terminating thing- was what got me to shiver to a cower. Getting run over by a steamship line was not how I wanted to go, nor was it what I had envisioned for myself. But, that's what happens sometimes. Life just catches us off guard. Then, of course, like the hero in his journey, we are reborn.

The ship passed, and after the initial scare, we all calmed down and everything returned to normal. Normal, of course, being relative. We sounded like your typical Cuban escapists too, with as many people squeezed into a tiny fiberglass boat as possible. We were Running away from home. There were 8 people on the boat with us, including my immediate family (my mom, my brother, and the dog.) We have ham, orange juice, crackers, water, a compass, and a mirror on us. We didn’t even bring one life jacket, which sounds crazy, now that I think about it -hindsight. Oh, and I am still scoffing at the fact that we sold the only color television on the block. Yes, the only color television on the block which I am proud to say was ours. We sold that along with a few interesting pieces of furniture that had ties with Castro. My Grandfather was Castro’s bodyguard, and my Godmother was a well-known Cuban revolutionary. My mother inherited a few memorable pieces. If you are curious, my Grandfather Andres Guzman, was Castro’s bodyguard. Yes, and as a bodyguard, he made sure no one tried to kill Castro. With what was evidently over 600 attempted assassinations on Castro, it turned out that he did a pretty good job of it too (considering Castro died of Natural causes). My Grandfather Guzman came to acquire this position in a strange turn of events after joining the Orthodox Political party. It went unexplained as it was told, after joining the political party, Grandfather suddenly had a job watching and guarding Castro’s back. Castro knew how to live too, and while he smoked his fair share of cigars, he also had a healthy side and did eat plenty of fruits, “Every fruit that ends on your hand, eat it.” That’s what he told my Grandfather. I thought this was pretty good advice too.

I suppose this is the part here, where, if I were feeling particularly inspired, I could lecture you all about our iconic revolutionary Castro, including who he was, what he did, and why he did it. That includes all the history on Cuba, both pre- and post-Castro’s rule, but, sure enough, I’ll spare you the details on THAT reality. No, why this isn’t his story, this is my story, if you’ll so kindly remember. This is a memoir about what you can learn from me. Still, it is important you note that the last time Castro Let Cubans leave Cuba, it was 1963, and before that, 1980. In doing our math, we figured that it would be every 13 years or so if we were lucky...With that logic, of course, we figured we had better take the opportunity to get out as soon as we could. It was a lucky break for us, but we couldn’t wait too long. Now, everyone has their reasons for ultimately deciding why they do things, but for me, it ended up being because of these words from my neighbor next door, “It is better to be a servant in America than a Prince in Cuba”, With that, I decided that it would be foolish not to try and fight to get to the top by coming here.

So, we quickly sold all our possessions, bought a seaworthy boat, found an engineer and were on our way. It took many tries to assemble the boat, but with persistence, we got it to work. It was sad saying goodbye and I eventually lost my best childhood friend, Micho, in the process. Sometimes, we learn to lose our best friends. Now, when the day had finally arrived for us to leave, we were about 300 yards from the coast when the engine died. Many of the people wanted us to turn around, but Mother told us to just drop the engine and keep going. So, sure enough, she gets the credit for being the voice of wisdom and we were off on our way. By three p.m., about 6 days later, we reached what we thought was the Big Coconut or the U.S Coastguard. Everyone started shouting for joy and jumping up and down. But, after a little bit of time passed, we realized that nothing was happening. “Wait, we thought… when is the coastguard coming to get us?” As it turned out, we were still on Cuban waters and would have to struggle some more by paddling out for another 3 hours before we finally reached the destination. So three hours later, we get picked up by the coastguard. At this point, the guard pulled out his m-16 to shoot our boat and we watch it sink.

I am alive after all, having nearly died on a steamship line coming to America in the Cuban Mass Exodus in 1994.

Dirty and tired, I have finally made it. Or at least, that’s what I think. Miami doesn’t come so soon, however, and for the better part of 6 months, we were to remain in Guantanamo, the military prison located within the Guantanamo Bay Naval Base. I know nothing happens as you expect it to, but I was very disappointed as I hadn’t expected to come to America only to be held in a camp to sort out the paperwork. I was young, crushed, lacking patience and yet still, lucky to have survived. When we first got there, the place was a mess. I mean literally, a shithole. As the Army wasn’t prepared to handle the influx of 30,000 Cubans, for the first 2-4 weeks, there were flies accumulating in the bathrooms and people going behind the porta-potties to use the bathroom. We were forced to shower in Porta-Potties, where we brought in large buckets of water, and stood on top of the toilets to shower. We slept in cots and military tents, and while at first, it was difficult, eventually, we got used to it. The army gave us the basics and even cigarettes, which we discovered that some people would trade in for cash. The food was awful at first. Absolutely dreadful Eventually, they hired Cuban cooks for us.

Guantanamo was overall a place of anxiety and waiting. The two combined are the worst. We were just waiting to be released. A few times, they had famous Cuban Americans come and play for us including Celia Cruz, Andy Garcia, Arturo Sandoval, and Emilio Estefan. These concerts were there to give us hope as expectant new Americans. But, with that said, my family and I didn’t attend too many concerts, as we were concerned with the risk of being caught in a fight or being in the wrong place at the wrong time. There was a great amount of tension going on and with hundreds of men at our small base, and we didn’t want to risk anything. In fact, there was a story of a good-looking couple, let’s call them the playboy couple. These two pretties were always seen kissing and holding hands. Eventually, it was discovered that the girl was going around cheating on her boyfriend. When the boyfriend found out, he came over and started beating her up. They were both kicked out. After that, I basically did anything in my power not to get kicked out, unfortunately, that meant not having much fun. But, I read a lot of magazines in the meanwhile, and in my expectant youth, even sent out a letter to Guns and Roses. They did not respond....

So, what caused me to want to come here so badly? Well, let me recap my childhood. First, Cuba is a communist island. A place where we had to struggle to make ends meet consistently...