One of the joys of this memoir is Ms. Anders’ writing as if chatting with a friend over an afternoon coffee or evening glass of wine. In essence she says, as friends do, “Hi, it’s me; I have quirks, flaws and qualities, just as you do, so let’s just get talking.”
And so we do. Gigi talks with each reader as an individual. As such, we respond to her triumphs and hurts as we would to those of someone we have known and confided in for some while. If her humor sometimes feels a bit forced, it hints at the veiling of the pain of frustrated affection.
The term Jubana refers to a Jewish woman rooted in Cuban culture. Gigi’s heritage led to a multi-layered sense of herself as Jewish, Cuban and American. As a child, her family felt forced to leave Cuba, due to Castro’s dictatorial regime; they regarded him as “the spawn of Hitler”.
As voluntary exiles, Gigi and her family were allowed to bring with them to America only what could be contained in two suitcases. (If they circumvented this rule just a bit by hiding money in the clothing they wore, one can hardly condemn them).
Forced to start over in the U.S., Gigi’s mother was determined to adhere, as much as feasible, to their interweaving of Jewish and Cuban framework, adding whatever amenities America offered. This entailed a girl’s making herself alluring enough to urge a wealthy man into marriage. Yes, love was pleasant enough in its way, but nowhere near as vital as prettiness and the freedom of a wellspring of affluence. Her mother’s affection, while genuine, seemed to depend on her mood, leaving Gigi unsure, in emotional need, as to whether she would be understood or degraded.
Uncertainty added a further dimension to her quest for identity. Though sometimes missing the comforts of her pre-Castro years, the 2000 Elian Gonzalez case brought Gigi’s current sense of the divergence between the two countries to the fore. Born in 1993, six years later, his mother and her partner left Cuba. During their crossing, their boat overturned, resulting in the drowning of nearly everyone aboard. Elian survived.
Found by fishermen near the Atlantic Ocean, the appropriate agencies located maternal relatives who were glad to embrace the boy into their home. At some point, this embrace grew so tight as to defy the American legal system and threaten an international conflict.
In 2000, Elian was returned to his father in Cuba. Gigi, having recently visited Havana, felt irate at the thought of returning a child to a country where conditions remained as horrific as those which had impelled her parents to flee its cruelties. Elian’s mother, divorced from his father, was willing to hazard her life, as well as those of her partner and son, to escape these atrocities.
Having reached the end of this memoir, I felt it touched the ache of exile of whatever kind which pervades the lives of so many of us in various forms. I would have liked to have said, “Right, Gigi, let’s meet up for that coffee.” Maybe someday we can.
