Finding A Little Girl in Cuba

Finding A Little Girl in Cuba

Yesterday I posted about meeting a little girl in Cuba. Today I want to share how I found her.

A day after meeting this little girl in Cuba (one year ago), I was still thinking about her.  Having dinner the prior evening with Santana, a local taxi driver we met and befriended, fluent in Spanish and English, he shared about his 7 year old daughter.  I shared  about the girl I had met only hours earlier.  We arranged to meet him the next evening to show us more of Cuba. The next evening came and getting into his cab I asked: Will you help me find her?  Santana: Yes, I will.

This is the Aries in me. Yes, I realize the population in Havana is 2 million, but I know where she is. She can’t be far from where I walked with her. This pursuit is a story of it’s own, but brevity here. Driving 30 minutes back to where I met her the day prior, Santana was in private investigator mode. Using the photo on my phone, he asked kids in the neighborhood – no, no. Ok, try another street. Driving over bumpy roads, potholes, dust. I pointed in the direction where I met her.  Santana asks a boy playing.  Yes!  He knows her, rapid Spanish I could not understand, she lives close, down there and to the left…we drive..the boy runs to meet us where she lives.  Santana shows the photo to a girl.  She knows her – she is her sister!  Is she here?  No, she is playing at a friends house.  Can you take us to her? She runs off; we follow.  She runs down a street so crumbed it is not able to be driven; we wait down the road.  The sister pivots and disappears.  Waiting I thought:  is she getting her?  Is she coming back? And several minutes later they appear.  The girl I met yesterday and her sister.

I walk towards her and she walks to me. And then, instinctively, we both run towards one another. We hug and I pick her up.  I tell her:  I missed you. Santana is translating. Her name is Yordielis. I have tears. Kneeling while I talk, her little hands are rubbing my shoulders, we look at each other. The language of love.  You really don’t need words.  And then it starts raining, we had to go.  I don’t know how, but I knew I would know her in 20 years. Like my Jean, we would stick. On the drive back, Santana says the rain is good luck.  I asked what it means.  He says like on a wedding, the rain is a good sign—what you start will be finished.