The Odyssey of a Cuban Mother & Family in Search of Refuge
from Holguín, Cuba to Sukhumi, Abkhazia
HAVANA TIMES – “I never imagined we’d have to cross half the world just to try to live with a bit of dignity.” That’s how Marilin, a 56-year-old Cuban woman, begins her survival story. Sitting in the modest living room of a small apartment in Sukhumi, the capital of Abkhazia, she recalls every decision that led them to this corner of the Caucasus, a place unknown even to many maps.
She’s spent over three years trying to escape scarcity, despair, and abandonment. Alongside her husband and two sons, she left her native Holguín to embark on a journey that first took them to Russia and later to the self-declared republic of Abkhazia where they now reside.
In Cuba, Marilín worked as a secretary, while her husband, Miguel, was a career military man. Life seemed to be on track until Yuri (now 34), the eldest of their two sons, began suffering seizures at age 12. He was later diagnosed with epilepsy and schizophrenia. From that moment on, she became his full-time caregiver, without any meaningful institutional support.
“They told me I’d be paid as a caregiving mother, but that never happened. The social security aid they promised never came either. Just promises, nothing more.”
Over the years, she sought help for Yuri at numerous medical centers and institutions in Cuba, but none provided effective care. She even tried to get him into the prestigious International Center for Neurological Restoration (CIREN) in Havana but found only closed doors.
“The doctor told us that maybe with therapy there, he could improve, but they wouldn’t admit him. They said that hospital was for government officials and foreigners.”
In 2021, as shortages worsened and medication became impossible to obtain, they made a desperate decision: sell their house in Holguín and whatever little they owned. They bet everything on a plane ticket to Russia, hoping to find care for Yuri and better living conditions.
Russia: Broken Hopes and Migrant Persecution
In Moscow, instead of the better life they had dreamed of, they found a bureaucratic nightmare.
They lived for more than three years in an irregular immigration status, dreading every knock at the door. They paid exorbitant rents for shared rooms. They suffered extortion from police and civilians alike, endured detentions and faced threats of deportation. And Yuri was unable to access the medical care they had sought. “We spent three and a half years illegal. It was incredibly stressful.”
Though Russia doesn’t require visas for Cuban citizens, one can only legally stay for three months for tourism purposes. After that, it’s virtually impossible to legalize immigration status and obtain residency.
Miguel worked cleaning streets for 25,000 rubles a month (around $300). They lived in shared rooms with strangers—once even with a drunk and violent Russian man. Meanwhile, they faced detentions and deportation threats.
“They arrested my younger son, Miguelito. They wanted to deport him. Two weeks later, they arrested my husband. A neighbor said he knew someone in the police, but we had to pay 45,000 rubles. We didn’t have the money. We had to borrow it.”
They were completely defenseless. One bitterly cold day, her husband suffered a stomach hemorrhage while working on the street. His boss left him at their building’s doorstep to avoid taking him to the hospital. They had to beg for help. “They gave him an IV, but after four days he had to leave; they told him he had to pay for the stay and the medication. We didn’t have the money.”
The breaking point came when everyone’s health deteriorated: Marilín with swollen legs; her husband with sciatica attacks and gastric bleeding; her younger son with spinal problems and Yuri became increasingly unstable.
“Sometimes Yuri has episodes where he stops eating and doesn’t sleep. In Russia he had to be hospitalized urgently (when it’s an emergency, basic care is free); the ambulance came to the house, and he stayed a month, but since we don’t speak Russian, everything was extremely difficult. I couldn’t stay with him, and they told me to leave him hygiene supplies. I explained he was totally dependent on me. The nurses said they would help him, but whenever I was allowed to see him, he was dirty and clearly not being fed.”
Crossing into Abkhazia: Separation, Fines, and Pain
At the end of 2024, a YouTube post opened up a new path and new hopes for them: Abkhazia, a self-proclaimed country bordering Russia, where they could potentially obtain a visa. They bought tickets to Adler (a Russian district) and from there, took a taxi to the border. They were turned away on their first attempt. Later, they managed to board a train bound for Sukhumi (the capital of Abkhazia), but border guards stopped them again and prevented them from continuing because their younger son’s passport was damaged. In the end, they had to proceed without him, and the rest of them had a Russian deportation stamp placed in their documents.
“It was terrible to have to separate. He said he would get a new passport in Moscow and catch up with us. We got off the train with broken hearts.”
What followed were months of anguish. Miguelito returned to Moscow to process a new passport at the Cuban consulate. He couldn’t work much for fear of being detained, during a period when anti-immigrant raids were intensifying. When he finally tried to cross again, he was detained at the Russian border and nearly deported. Only the intervention of a lawyer—along with a fine—saved him. “On the morning of March 11, I was finally able to hug my son. I had never cried so much.”
A New Life and the Same Fragility
Today, Marilín and her family live in a one-room apartment in Sukhumi, for which they pay 20,000 rubles a month (a little over 200 dollars). Her husband works in a dairy warehouse for 30,000 rubles a month, doing heavy labor despite his history of hernias. The younger son gets sporadic jobs; he’s also ill. Yuri continues treatment, but without specialized medical care.
They have tried to normalize their status in Abkhazia, but haven’t been entirely successful. The husband had a work visa, which he hasn’t been able to renew due to lack of resources; Marilin and Yuri only have tourist visas. The younger son was fined 28,000 rubles for failing to register his stay on time and currently has no visa. All four are psychologically affected. They don’t have the money to keep paying rent, let alone for more fines.
“Everything is hard. We have no access to healthcare or guarantees. We’re just fighting every day to survive.”
A Dead End?
Abkhazia is not recognized by most of the international community. Visas issued by its authorities are not valid outside its territory. Cuba has no consulate there. International connections are extremely limited. For migrants like Marilín, this can mean living outside the bounds of international legality, without diplomatic protection, without formal rights, and with no options in sight.
“We can’t go back to Russia because we were given a five-year deportation stamp. Nor can we return to Cuba, because there are no other ways to get there and even if there were, we’d be worse off than before we left. I wish a solution would appear—some humanitarian organization or person to help us get to a country where we could have documents, medical care, a bit of peace. What any human being deserves. If not, I don’t know what will become of us,” she says, visibly distressed.
Marilin’s story mirrors that of many Cuban families who, in their desperation, chart improbable migration routes. From Cuba to Abkhazia—or even Antarctica—they cross continents searching for the same thing: what the country they were born in failed to offer them. But sometimes, the solution doesn’t appear after takeoff from the Havana airport runway, and the future remains uncertain—and increasingly out of reach.
First published in Spanish by El Toque and translated and posted in English by Havana Times.