Adventures in Cuba Numero Uno. - Dad Gets Busted For Drugs!

By Bruce Hodes

Founder/ CEO of CMI Teamwork

My 90 year old dad and I, along with 28 others, all in their seventies, well-traveled Americans (except for the forty year old couple from Australia) arrived at a small and tidy airport of Cien Fuegos Cuba.  It all looked like it did fifty years ago.  Concrete painted in a faded blue turquois with lots of people hovering around...    The only individual to really catch my eye was the big guy in a suit, white shirt, no tie, and shades.  Dad whispers “He is a cop…”  “A bit more than that,” I thought.  

We arrived in immigration from a long line in Customs.   I was watching two very cute spaniels running around I thought “Oh, they have to be the dogs of the commandant.”  After that interpretation, everything I saw aligned with that.  I even made up who the commandant was.

The entire process was pretty thorough and we were almost out of the airport when the ruckus begins.  A Cuban man pointed to a set of bags and said, “Whose bag is that one?”  “Uh oh,” I thought,” I am busted.”  I was then escorted to the back with my bag which contained some stuff for a colleague of mine named Ivan who is Cuban and the clothes and other belongings were for his father –in- law nicknamed Chuey.   Back to the ruckus - a scrawny bald Cuban guy continued to motion.  He mentioned that it was not the black bag they wanted but the orange one belonging to my Dad. 

“Oh no” I thought, “Dad what have you done?” Reflecting back, two years ago on our way to the Bahamas dad and I were surrounded by American TSA agents who proceeded to take a knife out of Dad’s bag.  “It is just a paring knife”, he said.  “It is a big knife”, I said, and it took something to convince the five agents of his innocence.  So I thought,” here we go again!”

I took Dad’s bag back to security and another Cuban (of high importance) showed up and a debate ensued – something disturbing was in the bag but nobody would open it.  They wanted to know if we had animals and I assured them that Dad had a cat and that did not help.  So we began to search the bag and out came the meds – there were a lot of them.  Dad had gotten busted by the spaniels…….Those cute little dogs were back in the terminal were druggists and had smelled something.  Thank god dad had a typed list of his meds which for those who know dad is not surprising at all.

The Cuban (Of high importance) looked at the list and seemed pleased and relieved at what the dogs had relayed.   The Bald Cuban wanted my name and wrote it down. Five minutes later we were out of the terminal.  Welcome to Cien Fuegos!

I am still struggling with what it all means – were those dogs competent or incompetent?    Why did it take so long for the ruckus to occur?  We were practically out of the terminal by the time it all happened.    Did the dogs write a report and someone have to read it???? Unanswered questions and just like in Cuba, there are many unanswered questions.