We arrived in the dark and we were to leave in the dark - Cuban rules back then.
We boarded the plane and the cabin was warm, an immediate sign that something was not right for our quiet escape.
The plane taxied to the runway, picked up speed, lifting off and into the night.
But we didn't gain altitude. We kept flying low over the water, way too low for my tastes. We were going nowhere.
The captain's voice spoke. We had problems. The plane was losing hydraulic fluid, which meant that all controls were affected. He said that we weren't allowed to return to the Havana airport. It was illegal. And we couldn't make it to Miami, Florida, a mere two hundred and twenty-eight miles away, over the dark and deep waters.
We sat there, stunned. The cabin got warmer and warmer; air conditioning wasn't working. The crew huddled near the cockpit door, out of sight, listening to the captain radioing home for help.
The plane continued flying low over the water, in slow, wide arcs while the captain spoke to the officials in the Havana tower, begging them to let us return- and soon.
Finally, he came over the intercom and his voice was shaky, so that made us all nervous.
He said:
- No plane has ever been allowed to return.
- We were in a desperate situation, so the Cuban authorities would make an exception in our case (or we would have ended up in the sea).
- Officials would board our jet.
- We weren't allowed to say one word to them or to each other. They demanded our silence. They were in charge.
- We would forfeit our passports to them.
- They would give us each a piece of paper with a number on it. It would be our only identification to them.
- Keep the number safe. If we lose it, we would not be allowed back on the plane when it was repaired. Instead, we would be put in prison, and good luck with that. Our captain could not stress enough how important that slip of paper was.
- We would disembark under guard, and be returned to the waiting room where we would remain under watch at all times, as prisoners who could not leave the room.
Did all of this scare us? You bet it did, especially seeing the crew as nervous as they were.
It all happened exactly as the captain said. The authorities had stern faces and black, glaring eyes. They said nothing. We said nothing. They reached for our passports, then they scribbled on two torn pieces of paper, stuck one piece in our passports and handed them to another official, and gave us the other piece of paper.
We were told to leave the plane with the guards. Our captain stood beside two officials at the plane's door. He looked distressed, and I felt sorry for him and the responsibility he had weighing on his shoulders.
Inside the terminal, we were told that our airline, Air Canada, would pay for our breakfast at six a.m., but any other food we had to buy ourselves.
I can't imagine the frantic conversations that had taken place on the plane while we circled, dumping all of our fuel into the water so we could land safely, conversations between Air Canada headquarters, the Toronto International Airport, and the southern American airports, all people trying to help us find the parts we needed to repair our plane, so we could leave Cuba and pretend this had never happened.
To Be Continued
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