Gelliset Valdés: "I chose to be an actress by chance; I believe the profession chose me."

Known for her versatility, especially in comedy, Cuban actress Gelliset Valdés has taken on the roles of Felipa, Yumisisleydis, Tonita, Beruco, Elda, Biana, Fofi, Pura... and today she continues to create humor, in addition to being a prolific influencer who is making her mark with her charm in the city of Miami.

I know that your arrival in the United States, which you had previously visited, was practically a nightmare. Would you like to share details or does it hurt to remember?

The broad smile fades somewhat from her young face. Remembering isn't very pleasant, but still, her responses are quick and confident.

I'll tell you: I had a five-year visa to enter this country, which expired in January 2020. My husband, Delso Aquino, the television director, and I had planned to emigrate permanently. We came regularly, but we hadn't settled down because the child was in Cuba, and I had no way to bring him out of there.

Later, they contacted me to come for a tour, and my son already had his Spanish passport thanks to his father. We organized a group; there were five of us: Aquino, Yerlín Pérez, El negro Pega Con Tó, Diego (Cortico), and me. We faced a lot of challenges to obtain the passports in Cuba, completed all the paperwork, and had to go to the American embassy in the Dominican Republic.

We left Cuba on November 16, 2021, and were denied entry because we had worked for a government-run television station. I had made up my mind not to return, so we headed to Mexico; we flew from Santo Domingo to Cancun. There, waiting for my husband, Yerlín, and me was a friend, who is now Yerlín's partner, and she stayed in Cancun. We continued to the border, and it felt like a Saturday movie because when we arrived at the airport to Mexicali, they were separating all the Cubans, asking for proof that we were going and coming back. Just as we were about to board the plane, the same friend sent me a return ticket, and they let us board the flight.

Upon arriving in Mexicali, the same struggle. They interviewed you individually... but you paid, and they let you go! Halfway through, we were stopped by a patrol, and we had to pay an additional 150 dollars to the police to allow us to continue to the motel where we were supposed to wait, terrified that they would knock on the door.

The next day, around noon, the coyote who came to pick us up was led by a woman whom I called "La Matrona," and I swear it was one of the most terrifying moments of the whole journey. We arrived at a farm and got into a narrow truck; there were a few of us Cubans, and the coyote explained what we had to do, which amounted to throwing ourselves off the truck and running to the left without stopping until we reached a fence where a hidden person was waiting for us, who would then take us to the wall.

So we crossed a river and reached the wall. We did that, and once we passed it, we were already in American territory where the Border Patrol was. There, I took a breath and said, “Well, I’m close to my son now!”

We went to the camps separately, the women from the men. I was there for three days separated from Aquino, and I made some friends… Every day they called out names from a list, and that wait is agonizing; on the third day, early in the morning, they called my name, and I said goodbye to everyone. There were about 100 women, and we were moved to a different center to speed up the process.

They handcuffed us, which made me feel really bad, and I started to cry. I'm not religious, but I've had experiences that felt divine because Diego and El negro Pega Con Tó are babalawos, and Yerlín is a santera. I had gone through Yerlín's yaboraje with her, and I believe in God, but in my own way. I couldn't stop crying, and a girl dressed in yellow came up to me… Who doesn't believe in the Virgin of Charity of El Cobre?

Yerlín is crowned Oshún. The one dressed in yellow comes closer and tells me, "Don't cry anymore; everything will turn out fine for us." Maite Veloz—which is her name—gave me a hug that conveyed such strength that we are still friends today. It was prophetic; the handcuffs they placed on us were attached by a chain around the waist with shackles, and that was the only moment I questioned what I was doing there.

They put us on a plane to Texas. Every so often, they tightened our handcuffs, which was painful, and when we arrived at a correctional facility, a furious officer took off all the handcuffs, due to how tightly they had been applied, leaving marks on our skin. I stayed there for two more days, those entire days without hearing from anyone and no one knew about me; I was cut off from communication, I didn't know about Aquino, and on the second day, they called me to release me.

I entered the border on November 30, I was processed on the sixth day, and they took me to a church. There I was able to make a phone call and learned that my husband was released on the third day, which made me so happy because I was stronger than he was. You can't imagine the joy of talking to my son, my mother, my brother, and Aquino. I will never forget my son's embrace... it has been the biggest and most exciting moment of my life!

Have you always wanted to be an artist?

I chose to be an actress by chance; I believe the profession chose me. I lived in a very remote area, and as a child, I didn't even know what it meant to be an actress. I wanted to be a teacher, a scientist, and then that felt like too big of an aspiration for me. At seven years old, I started gymnastics classes, but I had to stop because it was too far from my home, and there was no transportation available to get there.

Imagine how many limitations I lived with! Then they went around the neighborhood conducting auditions for the art school, but I didn't pass. I arrived in Havana at the age of 16. My brother lived there and took me so that I could study something. I completed 12th grade, which I hadn’t been able to finish in Buena Vista, San Luis, Pinar del Río, where I am from.

Already in the last year of high school, a friend in class told me that they were making programs on television and allowing an audience. So, we went there. They were airing "Fin de semana." Julio Pulido was the director, and that’s where we met another group of kids from the theater, from the Casa de Cultura at Calzada and 8, who invited us. I signed up and went every night to theater classes with teacher Ana María Paredes, who was my first acting instructor. I was captivated; I had never felt that kind of passion before, and I decided that this was my path.

Did you achieve your greatest fame through humor or would you prefer to play dramatic roles? Is it true that it's more difficult to make people laugh than to make them cry? Among the comedy shows, which has been your favorite and why?

I began working at Cuban Television in comedy with Julio Pulido on a show called "Para no salir de casa" (To Not Leave the House). I started as a writer, creating sketches alongside Nelson (Gudín, the father of his son and known as el Bacán among comedians). I was part of an amateur theater group as an actress, and one day we suggested to Pulido the idea of creating a character who would be the cousin's girlfriend, named Yumisisleidy. She was a woman from the countryside, a bit naïve, and Pulido liked the idea. That’s how I got my start in television, as an actress in comedy.

And Julita, life led me from show to show, all comedic. It’s not that I set out to only do humor; it just happened that way. Then came "Deja que yo te cuente" and later "A otro con ese cuento," and it's not a myth that actors often get typecast; some directors believe that comedians can only do comedy, which I think is a mistake. I love doing dramatizations. With Aquino, I made three dramatic telefilms in Cuba. Yes, I enjoy taking on that challenge.

I believe that drama and humor are powerful tools, and they must be infused with pure emotion. If you can convey that organically, you'll be able to make people laugh and cry in the same way, but always from your own truth and emotions. I have great respect for both, and I think they are equally difficult; I believe that situational comedy is undervalued in Cuba.

Any favorite show or preferred character?

I have enjoyed all the programs I have worked on, but “Let Me Tell You” has been the one that has stuck in the viewers' memory the most. This program had a wide scope because we featured various contexts: there was the workshop, the countryside, and Mentepollo. I wrote for the countryside, and sometimes Nelson would write, but mostly I did it, and that's where my character Felipa was born, which is the one I perform in cabaret. I care a lot for this character: she is colorful and bold. Felipa helps me out of tight spots. There was also Tonita, who came up in the "workshop," just like Beruco, the male role that I play.

“Pateando la lata” was also a great show; it gave me the chance to create characters like Elda, who is the drunkard's wife, and Pura, who is an old lady. We developed a different kind of humor there because it involved quick jokes, where you have to make people laugh in a very short amount of time; it was a good experience.

Here we are doing a "Kicking the Can" as well, and I'm working on a sketch that involves Biana and Fofi. All the shows have contributed significantly to me; they've left positive things within me. All those characters, who feel like my children, I love them equally, so I don't have a favorite.

In addition to that "Pateando la lata," I initially worked on Carlucho's show, which was a very good experience. It provided me with a lot of training in improvisation with a live audience. That program aired every night, and it was a direct exchange with Carlucho, who is incredible at improvisation; he's a real showman. He has a talent for creating counterpoints, and I had to keep up with him. I had never spent so many hours improvising live before; it was a challenge with a different character each night. It was also where the character of Biana originated, which is so far the latest one I created here in the United States.

You already know, each character with their adventures, each one so different with their own personality, and I would come with a script and Carlucho would tear it up, and I had to keep going. It was exhausting but very enriching and fun. I'm grateful for that training because it has helped me with the work we do in the cabaret, which is a space that brings us good income, and out of all the audiences, it's the toughest.

Moreover, you have become a spectacular influencer.

I have 137,000 followers on Instagram; on Facebook, which is still growing, I only have 25,000, but I hope to keep gaining followers. I feel very good.

I know that you have a wonderful relationship with the child's father, the comedian Nelson Gudín.

For me, it's a blessing to have Nelson here, the father of my son Nell. The boy arrived three months before I did because he was afraid his ESTA would be canceled, as he is a Spanish citizen through his father. That said, the greatest support I've had here has been Nelson; he helped Aquino and me get Univista to open its doors for us, and within less than a month, I was working, and in my profession, which is significant for me! Nonetheless, that's the least I can acknowledge about Nelson because I will never have enough time in life to thank him for his kindness. His wife, Yurdi, is my friend, my sister. My son loves her very much, and for me, she is also my family.

Do you think about Cuba? Would you go back?

There I left friends, uncles, cousins... but no, I don't have plans to return for the moment. Besides, I don't have residency yet, but as soon as I can, I would like to take them all to the Dominican Republic so they can enjoy something different and see that there is a better life.

And Julita, as long as that system is in power, I have no desire to return; I don't want to see the trash heaps, I don't want to see the broken streets, I don't want to see what Cuba has become; I miss the people so much. If I could see all my people and hug them right now, it would be my greatest wish... but outside of Cuba! I don't dream of going to Cuba.

What Cuba is experiencing hurts me deeply... and who wouldn't feel that way? Julita, I became disgusted with those speeches that no longer convince anyone, not even the "convinced." The first time I left Cuba, I went to Panama. It has beautiful areas and others that are quite poor, but even so, I felt it was a better place than Cuba, and I told myself, “I don’t want my child to grow up in my country.”

I hope that the leaders of Cuba, in a final act of kindness if they possess any, leave that country in peace; that they allow people to live as human beings. LET THEM GO! We were always told that in this country there were abusers, that we were being exploited, and now my mother has arrived in this country four months ago and has all the conditions, all the assistance.

They sold the United States to us as a place that leaves people helpless, and that is a lie. All systems have their pros and cons, but in Cuba... everything is bad!

For the people in that country, there is only helplessness, hunger for both those who work and those who do not. I don't like to talk about politics, but everything related to Cuba is political; that's why I don't want to go to Cuba: I have avoided the government's troubles. In Cuba, everything is grey, and with this energy crisis, I believe it's the end, with God's grace.