Through Hell And High Water: The incredible odyssey of an American Airman

  • Published
  • By Staff Sgt. Shawn Rhodes
  • 927th Air Refueling Wing
MacDill Air Force Base, Fla. --  This is the first installment of a three-part series about Senior Airman Geanny Hernandez Quiala, a Cuban immigrant and member of the 927th Air Refueling Wing, a reserve unit at MacDill Air Force Base, Fla . The U.S. has tracked Cuban immigration for more than 100 years, and every immigrant has a story to tell, but perhaps none as unique as Quiala's.

This series traces his incredible journey to the United States and his search for freedom.

Geanny Hernandez Quiala could've been a typical American kid. He loved martial arts and spending time with his family. But unlike most Americans, Quiala's every move was monitored by his country's Intelligence Directorate. His chance meeting with an American citizen gave Cuba's military intelligence all the reason needed to put him in prison for five years. The 25-year old was forced to begin a harrowing journey to the United States that few would believe and even fewer could survive. It began when he started practicing martial arts in Camaguey, his Cuban hometown.

"I was six years old when I started training," said Quiala.

His compact 5-foot-6-inch frame disguises his 150 pound body well - to look at him one would have a hard time imagining the unassuming man with the easy smile winning gold medal after gold medal in national judo and jujitsu championships - but he is an experienced fighter.  While many parents have a hard time letting their children out of their sight, Quiala's intelligence and determination proved to his parents he was not like ordinary kids.

"At seven years of age, I had to walk three miles each way by myself to get to the judo school each day," Quiala said.

When he wasn't learning how to use his body, Quila was learning to use his mind. Like all Cuban children, he was provided a free education. Well, almost free.

"In the morning, you have your classes. In the afternoon, you have to work in the farms," Quiala said.

The children were forced to work on government-run farms to provide their rationed food each month. He was provided short vacations, but instead of spending time with his family, the government decided how he would spend his vacations - 15 days working on the government farms

While in school, the young boy was fed a constant litany of the superiority of his government and his leader.

"Every single day they talk about how their government is the best, that Cuba is the best country in the world. How Fidel Castro is the best. We know it's a lie," Quiala said. "They told me, 'You can't wear running shoes or jeans, because if you do your mind will become weak.'"

At an early age, Quiala proved himself in his province as an exceptional fighter and was admitted into a special sports school in Cuba that allowed him to excel in judo. Cuba's hope was that he would beat competitors from other countries. Quiala was simply happy that he was able to do something he loved.

"In the morning, we had classes at the school. All afternoon there was training," Quiala said. "We had a lot of contact with international athletes, and they would ask why we didn't have running shoes. The Cuban government made some for us. When we didn't have the shoes, we would have to run without them."

Quiala's first knowledge of anything outside the borders of his tightly-controlled country came not from the radio or television because both were censored. Instead, news came from the very athletes he was competing against. Through these competitions, Quiala learned there was a different world across the sea; a world where people had a basic right he didn't have - the right to choose.

"International athletes even had the best food. Their dining facility was separate from ours. In our facility we would get a little rice, some beans, and that was all. Sometimes we went to bed without any meal. It was very hard," Quiala recalled. "It made me appreciate what I have now, I'll tell you!"

Quiala had a lot riding on his shoulders during his teens. Instead of worrying about whether he would get hurt in the sometimes brutal competitions, his performance determined whether he would spend his teenage years in hard labor camps.

"For an athlete in Cuba, they tell us we have to represent our 'Commandante,' Fidel Castro. They don't care about the athlete," Quiala said. "One of my childhood friends was a boxer. He lost his competition. They sentenced him to hard labor on a farm for a whole year."

By 2003, Quiala was a two-time national judo champion in Cuba. Although many sports figures in America enjoy unprecedented wealth and freedom, the more Quiala won, the fewer freedoms he had.

"As an athlete there was always someone from the government intelligence with you. He controlled everything," Quiala said.

The Intelligence Directorate closely monitored all of the athlete's interactions with the foreign competitors to make sure they exchanged no information. It was imperative Cubans not find out about life outside their island. Quiala had a childhood friend whose family had emigrated to the U.S. when she was a child. He kept in touch with her through the years until Quiala's success almost caused his downfall.

"She visited me during one of the national tournaments. Nobody could know about it. If they knew a U.S. citizen had a relationship with me, I would go to jail. They asked me in 2003 if I had any foreign relations. I said no. By 2005, they had pictures of her and I together," Quiala said.

In 2005, six government agents called Quiala to a meeting. They asked if he made a foreign contact in the last competition. Quiala had no choice but to answer yes. They asked if she was his girlfriend.

"I could only answer yes to all their questions. They said go to your home and wait for us in your house," Quiala said. "Immediately, I called my girlfriend and said I needed to leave the country or I was going to jail. I had a few days before my trial. They said I betrayed the country and my school. I was facing five years in jail!"

Quiala contacted an underground network made up of those whose business was smuggling people off the island. They said if he had a thousand dollars, they would give him the information he would need to leave the country. The same day as his meeting with the government agents, Quiala went to Manzanillo to escape. His plan was to work his way through Mexico to join his then-fiancé in the United States.

"It was three in the morning, and there were eight of us. One of the guys with us was an informant for government intelligence. We gave him the wrong day and time to meet and we left," Quiala said with a laugh.

Rural Manzanillo was a jumping off-point for escapes by boat out of Cuba, but it was also very supportive of the communist government.

"Two old ladies saw all of us, and I said, 'I think they're calling the police!' My group thought I was paranoid, but I was sure of it. The police arrived and we started running into the forest. We laid in the water until we were safe," Quiala said. "We started walking through three miles of marshes and swamp to get to the coast. There was water up to our bellies and tree roots tripping us. Three miles of swamp looks like 12 miles."

Once the group reached the biggest river in Cuba, Rio Cauto, they had to cross the few hundred yards in front of them to reach the shore where their boat and other members of their crew were waiting.

"Our guide knew there were alligators in that part of the river. The woman in our group couldn't swim, so her husband and I swam her across the river," Quiala said.

When the group of 10 saw the 26-foot one-propeller boat that would carry them all to their new lives, they were undoubtedly skeptical. With no cabin, no bathroom facilities and minimal food and water, their success was far from guaranteed.

"Because of all the weight of the passengers in the boat, we could easily lean out and touch the water" Quiala said.

The group's destination was the Mexican coast, but they had a major obstacle to overcome: They launched off the Cuban coast just as Hurricane Katrina was ripping through the Gulf of Mexico in the summer of 2005. Leaving Cuba would be the easiest part of a journey that would lead Quiala to a new life in America and in the Air Force.
 
This is the second installment of a three-part series about Senior Airman Geanny Hernandez Quiala, a Cuban immigrant and member of the 927th Air Refueling Wing, a reserve unit at MacDill Air Force Base, Fla . The U.S. has tracked Cuban immigration for more than 100 years, and every immigrant has a story to tell, but perhaps none as unique as Quiala's.

This series traces his incredible journey to the United States and his search for freedom.

When a relationship with an American woman sentenced Quiala to five years in a Cuban prison, he dedicated his life to living in a place where he could be free. After setting out on a 26-foot boat with nine other refugees bound for the Mexican coast, Quiala learned that leaving Cuba would be the easiest part of his journey. In the summer of 2005, the Gulf of Mexico was not the safest place to be.

"Hurricane Katrina was behind us, and we didn't know because there was no forecast we could see in Cuba. They keep the international forecasts secret so that people can't plan their escapes," Quiala said.

One fisherman on the boat had 20 years of experience on the sea. After the first few patches of bad weather fueled by the hurricane above them, he lay down in the boat and began weeping.

"You can't imagine one little boat and the size of the waves. When they came, you had to start climbing the wave to the top and follow the wave down for the next one. Thank god we didn't sink," Quiala said.

In judo and jujitsu, competitors learn how to roll safely when thrown by their opponent. Years of training in the martial arts kept Quiala from succumbing to the seasickness caused by the gigantic waves and rocking boat.

"Your brain gets set for that kind of rolling movement," he said. "Lots of people on the boat (who weren't prepared) started vomiting. Only the fishermen on the boat didn't vomit. One person started vomiting blood. Nobody wanted to eat, and one person started hallucinating and threw away all the food!"

The crew's saving grace was provided by the waters surrounding the small craft.

"From the time we escaped Cuba until the time we landed in Honduras, we had dolphins with us. At one point there were 35 of them around the boat. It was beautiful," Quiala recalled.

After nine patches of bad weather and four days on the sea, the group finally spotted land. However, a shark net became tangled in their propeller and kept shore just out of their reach.

"Oh Man! The fishermen on the boat dove under the boat to try and cut us free. There were barnacles under the boat and they were getting cut and bleeding into the water. Bleeding near a shark net is not a great idea!" Quiala recalled the scene.

Two of the stronger members of the crew started swimming toward the land to learn at what country they had arrived. Many refugees will escape Cuba, spend 15 days in the water, and then find themselves swept right back to the Cuban coast.

"The swimmers took a huge flashlight to signal us if it was safe to come ashore. After all we'd been through, we may have to turn around and go back to the ocean. We got the signal: Yes, it was safe to go ashore. But the engine wouldn't start! Everyone was weak from being on the sea and having no food for four days, and weathering all the storms," Quiala said.

When they found the motor would not restart, they tried unsuccessfully to tow the boat all the way to shore. The waves, fueled by the hurricane, kept pushing them back to sea.

"The two swimmers came back to the boat and said that everybody needs to swim to shore if the boat wouldn't move. We pulled it close enough for people to jump out and walk through the water to land," Quiala said.

The 10 refugees had arrived in Honduras. However, the Mosquito Coast was home to Honduran tribes, not all of them friendly to outsiders.

"We ran into natives in the jungle. They didn't have clothes, and were carrying spears, bows and arrows. They transferred us to their chief, who was across a river. We had to help everyone who couldn't swim or was too weak across, and four guys from the native tribe met us on the other side," Quiala said.

The refugees asked why they had to endure crossing the river when boats were available.

"The tribe members said in that area, they had aggressive female crocodiles protecting their young on the river. Their gods say, 'If you swim the river, you are allowed on this land,'" Quiala said.

The Cuban refugees spent five days in the jungle with the tribe. The natives were used to living with no fresh water or food, but the Cubans were not. Every drink of river water brought the threat of cholera.

"You can't imagine how nasty it was. No clean water or anything," Quiala said.

A Venezuelan ship the natives traded with took the refugees to La Ceiba on the coast of Honduras. A contingent from the United Nations was waiting for them when they landed. Quiala's goal remained in his mind: To reach the United States and his fiancé. Honduran officials offered the group the chance to stay in the country, but many wanted to leave and continue their journeys.

"I called my fiancé and she called me back. She said she knew a guy who would get me to the states. He drove me to his house and said he wanted $4,000. So I had to leave his house and speak to the police for advice," Quiala said.

He would soon learn that in the corrupt governments of Central America, money bought you the freedom that Cuba had denied Quiala his whole life. The police told him about what he would need to cross the Central American jungle:

"If you don't pay the police, they will kill you. There are guerilla units in the jungle. If you don't pay them, they will kill you. There are drug cartels. If you don't pay them, they will kill you. Everyone was trying to kill me!" Quiala said.

The police told him if he wanted to cross the jungle, he shouldn't travel in groups larger than two. Large groups would attract the attention of the guerrilla fighters or drug cartels. Quiala decided to walk by himself through the Central American jungle because he didn't have any money to pay any of the organizations for his safe passage.

"It took me 15 days to cross through the jungle from Guatemala into Mexico. I didn't eat actual food. I just ate stuff from trees. You climb up and down hills all day. At 2 or 3 in the morning it started raining. Every day," Quiala said. "I prefer being on the sea a hundred times as opposed to the jungle. When the night starts coming, the mix of sounds is very scary. I didn't have anything but a table knife to protect myself. The truth is I never saw a mountain lion, snake, crocodile or anything. But I heard them."

Quiala prayed every day to God and his father, who he believes were beside him and guiding him the entire time.

"Only one percent of the people who travel through there can survive the jungle," Quiala said.

Years after his ordeal, Quiala spoke to an Army lieutenant colonel who was also a Green Beret. The Special Forces soldier said Quiala was in one of the most dangerous jungles in the world.

"Even when they go in as a team with weapons, they are still afraid. The colonel told me I have (courage) to cross the jungle by myself. I survived because of God, my family, and my dad watching over me," Quiala said.

When he crossed into southern Mexico, the 25 year-old Cuban refugee was captured by a local drug cartel and interrogated for days. This would test his resolve like nothing else, and only when death seemed imminent would his connection to Cuba actually save his life.
 
This is the third installment of a three-part series about Senior Airman Geanny Hernandez Quiala, a Cuban immigrant and member of the 927th Air Refueling Wing, a reserve unit at MacDill Air Force Base, Fla . The U.S. has tracked Cuban immigration for more than 100 years, and every immigrant has a story to tell, but perhaps none as unique as Quiala's.

This series traces his incredible journey to the United States and his search for freedom.

After braving Hurricane Katrina on the open sea, capture by a Honduran tribe, and a 15-day walk in the jungles of Central America, Quiala found himself in the hands of a Mexican drug cartel. Confusing the Cuban immigrant for a police informer, the cartel began interrogations that would not stop for five straight days. The 5 foot, 9 inch 150-pound national Judo champion was no stranger to violence, but the torture he endured in southern Mexico in the summer of 2005 would teach Quiala he hadn't yet learned about pain.

"They asked who I was, and I told them I'm a Cuban. They said I was a police officer who was trying to infiltrate their gang," Quiala said.

With no law to restrict them, the drug cartel spent five days torturing Quiala, hoping he would confess to being a police officer. It was one of the most frightening experiences of Quiala's life and one that he still has trouble talking about.

"They tied me up and shook up a bottle of club soda and closed my mouth and one of my nostrils. Then they sprayed the carbonated water up my nose. I started bleeding. They still said I was a police officer. They brought an electric battery and hooked it up (to my body). I still wouldn't say I was a police officer. They hit me with fists and with guns every time one of them passed by me," Quiala recounted.

Quiala saw one of the other prisoners in the camp being released. As he was running toward the jungle the cartel members shot the man in the back. After this, they told Quiala he was also free to leave.

"After five days of torture, I looked at them after I saw them shoot that man and I said, 'No! I'll stay here!'" Quiala said.

If Quiala stayed, they were going to kill him. If he left, he would almost certainly be shot. A local man who was only identified as a fellow Cuban paid for Quiala's release, and the cartel promised him he was free. Another Cuban emigrant had saved the young man's life.

Quiala walked 25 more miles before he reached the ridge of a mountain. However, he was only walking out of the frying pan and into the fire.

"I was free from the cartel, and then the Mexican Federales captured me. I was devastated. I spent eight days in a Mexican jail," Quiala said.

The Mexican agents called the Cuban embassy to verify Quiala was indeed Cuban. After surviving the journey at sea, the trek through the jungle, and torture by the cartel, Quiala could've easily been deported back to Cuba and all his suffering been for naught.

"After confirming I was Cuban, the director of the jail said I had to be out of Mexico within 72 hours," Quiala said. "North, south, east or west ... get out, he told me."

Quiala had 72 hours to travel almost 1,000 miles and not a dime in his pocket to do it with. If captured by the Mexican police, he would certainly be deported back to Cuba where prison awaited him.

Once his fiancé in the states wired him money, Quiala was able to travel by cab, truck and bus to get to Matamoros, near the U.S. border. After more than a month and dozens of near-death experiences, Quiala was close to achieving his mission of crossing the border into the United States.

"I saw a huge United States flag. That was the best day of my life. One border patrol agent asked me if I was Cuban. One of the only people who can walk straight through the border are Cubans, because we have political asylum. He told me 'See down there? You are now in the land of the free,'" Quiala recalled.

He stepped across the border and joined the nearly one million Cuban immigrants in the United States who were seeking to make a better life for themselves and their families. Many Americans have no idea how valuable their freedoms are. The price Quiala paid for his entry into the U.S. was a harrowing journey that almost claimed his life numerous times. However, like his fellow Cuban-Americans, Quiala's arrival on American soil would be another chapter in his journey.

Once across the Mexican border, border patrol agents immediately gave Quiala food, medical attention and papers saying he could travel in the U.S. He called his fiancé from Brownsville, Texas and she booked him a flight into Houston and then another into Fort Lauderdale, Fla.

"At that time, I hadn't had a shower in a long time. I had my jungle shoes on, and I smelled really bad. I got on a huge plane in Houston and ended up in first class. I remember all of the passengers holding their noses," Quiala said. "I sat down and one of the flight attendants told me he was from Puerto Rico. He asked if I just crossed the border, and told me not to worry about the clothes I was wearing or how I smelled. I was in America now and had the same rights as everyone else."

At the end of his travels, Quiala's fiancé was waiting for him in Fort Lauderdale. What should have been a joyous occasion for Quiala was marked by sadness - the ordeals the young man went through had trimmed off his muscle and made him very weak.

"She recorded me arriving, but I only saw the video one time. I told her to throw the video away," Quiala said.

The same spirit that drove Quiala to survive, where others would have surrendered, did not die once he reached the U.S. Instead, it was reinvigorated with something the new immigrant saw on television.

"I saw the recruiting commercials on television. I wanted to join to preserve that freedom I didn't have in Cuba, and to keep alive that dream in this country," Quiala said.

Like many new immigrants, Quiala had multiple roadblocks to overcome when he tried to join the military. He spoke little English and had no green card - both minimal requirements for becoming a service member.

"The Air Force was the hardest to get into because they require the highest scores. Some people with bachelor's degrees can't even get high enough scores on the ASVAB (Armed Services Vocational Aptitude Battery)," Quiala said. "I said, 'Give me six months and I will join the Air Force.'"

Quiala received his green card and studied eight-hours a day, seven-days a week. For six months, his sole focus was on learning English and passing the ASVAB.

"I studied nine ASVAB-help books. I passed my tests!" Quiala said.

The recruiters asked Quiala if he wanted to join for the educational benefits, or to have a full time job. Quiala's answers, like all his choices, were focused on one thing:

"I said I wanted to be a U.S. citizen and pay back what this country has done for me."

At the end of four years, Quiala had become an Airman, deployed to Iraq, and obtained his citizenship. He would also be the only Armed Services member on the national judo team.

"I started competing in local, state, and national level tournaments, and started winning. They sent me a letter saying I could represent America in competitions," Quiala said, smiling as he recalled his dream coming to fruition. "When I was stationed at Dover AFB, I was the only guy in the Armed Forces representing them. Now, we have a lot of athletes in the Armed Forces competing in judo."

Quiala has one gold medal in a pan-American championship to his name, another in judo and another in jhajitsu. He donated one of them to the new fitness center in Dover AFB. Quiala said it serves as a reminder to young Airmen that being an athlete in the military is a possibility for them.

"Young airmen don't know they can play sports in the Air Force. If they are always thinking about the military world, they should know they can have a space to take a break and do sports. Sometimes they never even know it's possible to be on the Olympic team in the Air Force," Quiala said.

When he left active duty in the summer of 2011, Quiala joined the 927th Air Refueling Wing, stationed at MacDill AFB, Fla. He wanted to continue his service to the country he worked so hard to become a part of and provide for his new daughter.

"I feel very good my daughter was born in the U.S. It's amazing and hard to describe. I'm proud, and I want to teach her the reason she was born in the U.S.," Quiala said. "A lot of (first-generations Americans) don't know why they were born here. For me, she was born here because of freedom. I wanted to make sure she had the freedom we didn't have in Cuba. She needs to do everything she can as a citizen to keep that freedom."

Surprisingly, after surviving Hurricane Katrina in a small boat in the Gulf of Mexico, capture by aboriginal Hondurans, a walk across the Central American Jungle with nothing but a table knife, being held hostage by a Mexican drug cartel, serving time in a Mexican prison, a thousand-mile journey across Mexico and a deployment to Iraq, Quiala can't find a job.

"Employers want you every single day on the job, and having an employee in the reserves is tough for them," Quiala said.

He shares the plight of many reservists in today's economy where employers can't afford to lose their employees to deployments and military training. Today Quiala lives with his wife and daughter in his father-in-law's home while he searches for work.

"I've applied for a job with the federal border patrol, and the Florida Highway Patrol. I'm going to do my polygraph test for them soon," Quiala said hopefully.

The one thing Quiala wants people to learn from his journey is to value the freedoms they have. He said that many people are born with those freedoms and take them for granted. For others, they earn each of their freedoms with blood and tears. Quiala's story is an example of the appeal freedom has for many, and a testament to its value. A message attributed to Khe Sanh, Vietnam sums it up best for Quiala and all those who earn and fight to protect the freedoms enjoyed by all Americans:

"For those who fought for it, freedom has a flavor the protected will never know."