REAL PEOPLE OF CUBA
Havana – photos courtesy of Indochine Photography
As U.S. expatriates living in Merida, Yucatan Mexico, my brother and I were eager to taste the forbidden fruit that is Cuba. Nothing, however, could prepare us for what we found. In every respect, Cuba is a country torn between the old and the new, and the dichotomy is pervasive. Cuba is at the cross-roads of modern history, and this profound truth is nowhere more reflected than in its amazing people.
The Guide
“I am Tony Montana. Say hello to my little friend.”
With his perfect rendition of Al Pacino in Scarface, Tony sets the perfect tone for our trip. He is young, a forty-something man with the personality of a celebrity and the intelligence, experience, and knowledge of a professor. He has guided foreigners (yumas) through his beloved country for twenty years, and it shows. He understands Cuban culture, politics, and people in depth and detail, and his sharing of such intriguing knowledge is capped always with disarming humor and a twinkle in his eye.
The Trainee
Beautiful Yenni shines as one of Cuba’s newest generation. Bright, educated, curious and ambitious, she speaks English fluently and with vernacular fluidity. Yet, she remains: “my Daddy’s little Cuban girl.” She interrogates her tourist charges with endearing persistence, bringing to her experience greater knowledge of the world and other peoples. She delights in all new information.
The Hosts
We ask them to please adopt us. Lovely Rafaela and her sprightly funny husband Oscar invite us cordially into their home, feed us with gourmet breakfasts, wait up for us at night, tuck us into bed, and treat us like their beloved children. At least, that is how I recall them now, because their overwhelming charm and generosity made me want to call them Mom and Dad. We did not feel like yumas afterward. They told us we were family: now, always, and forever.
The Singer
We get on the road. Up into the mountain jungles, down into a seaport village, off the beaten paths. Down a thinly sliced strip of beach-front property of the poorest kind. To a tiny, wood-stripped house with broken steps. Into the yet tinier living room of a man and his wife, to sit on several child-sized wooden chairs spaced along the walls. It is hot and humid. Confined. The man is old. Outside the open door, we watch the sea. The man does not meet our eyes. He looks only at the guitar he holds. And then he sits, cradling his guitar like some beloved pet, or friend, or both, and gently begins to strum his song. And then he sings, and suddenly we hear old Cuba. In his eyes we see the heaven to which his blissful voice is singing.
The Beggar
You might expect the worst, but I do not expect correctly when I see him standing just beyond our group. He listens to every word our guide is speaking. He seems lost among the details of the history our man is telling. Maybe he is there in his own mind. But he is waiting, and he bides his time as patiently as I have ever seen a human being do. Until our guide is done and then we break. Then he touches just my sleeve, as lightly as the slightest breeze, and softly rubs his fingers. By instinct, I say no. He does not press, but sadly shuffles to his bench where he sits down quietly to eat. I walk to him and place some Cuban coins into his soft and wrinkled palm, but his eyes do not light up with gratitude. They simply say, thank you for doing what is right. Turns out, I am the grateful one.
The Worker
He mans a boat we take upriver. We form a group of nine, and then himself. We are heavy yumas. He is not. He is one man, not so very tall, but lean and strong, and willing to work hard without complaint. The boat is made for rowing. The only motor is this uncomplaining man who must row us up against the river’s current. He never breaks the rhythm of his rowing. What we witness is Cuban spirit — a determination to proceed no matter what effort is required— without a single word spoken against the work. He is not stoic. He simply labors for his living. He drops us on an island and then rows his boat downriver — to where further work awaits him.
The Child
She is but one of many Cuban children we encounter. Like most, she remains quite shy and somewhat timid, but she insists also on inclusion and participation. She stands inside the doorway, watching. These children watch us yumas with wary fascination, unsure, but we are too different to ignore – so many strange-talking people. Like Cuba herself, they wonder how best they might approach. Do we mean them harm? Do our words encourage trust? Dare we say, love?
These are the real people of Cuba. The young and the old, the workers and the beggars, the singers and the children. All representing a country at the cross-roads of its life, yearning with hope and optimism for a prosperous new future, yet defiantly proud of their independent and glorious but complex past. A generous and welcoming people, wary of the stranger, yet smiling him inside.
The Greeter