La Otra Orilla

I always heard about the other shore
Wrapped in a cloud of mystery.
There my uncles were in colors,
Here simply in black and white.

We had to talk about them in a low voice
Sometimes with a tone of disdain.
And in school, I learned they were worms
Who had abandoned their town.

Dancing with Celia Cruz, listening to Willy Chirino,
Venerating the same saint and with the same godfather.
Over there in the 'sabuesera', 8th street, 'jallaldía',
Half the family lives over there on the other shore.

One day uncle returned from the other shore
Carrying his gregarious spirit
And they no longer called him a worm
Because he began to be a community man.

And finally, the fateful year 1980 arrived
And my family started to diminish
As it had happened years before in Camarioca
The Mariel port swallowed them up.

The flow continues to the other shore
In regular flights and rafts
And I know they will return without amnesty
Because we need their money (or their comfort, I don't know).

They will stay in luxurious hotels
And pay with their strong currency
And those of us who called them scum (like me)
Will have to swallow our words (I'm not saying).

Dancing with Los Van Van, listening to Silvio and Pablito,
Waiting in line for bread, or sharing a drink.
Dignity and distance are more than ninety miles.
I decided at my own risk to stay here on this shore.

Dancing with Celia Cruz, listening to Silvio and Pablito.
Don't call them scum anymore, those are the Marielitos.
In such an informal mix, merengue with plantain.
The bread may take a while, hold on brother a little bit.
No matter how scarce things are, I'll offer you a drink.
Lower that radio station, my brother.
It says they're arriving, be careful with your optimism.