I can’t really describe the way I felt leaving Cuba on Monday morning. I was still on the rush of being there in the first place, but then it hit me that I had to turn around again so soon. It was an incredible few days and I wanted nothing more than to stay for, well, forever basically. I had returned with all my questions from the past six months, none really of which were answered, and I didn’t want to leave again and have to start missing it all over again. At the same time, it wasn’t quite as traumatizing as before because I barely had time to blink before I was heading back to reality. Although, which is reality? The life that I am living in the states because that’s my life by default, or the life I live in Cuba, that makes me feel the most alive? Heading back to Jose Marti airport, hand in hand with that guy I love, chatting to the taxi driver about the weather, the concert, the people heading to work, etc, I just wanted to tell him to turn around. It was a weekend that, as short as it was, was worth every penny. And every moment I was there, every sight that was refreshed in my mind, every hug from a friend, all reinforced the roots my heart has in that island.
I’ve been back in the states again for a week, and my mind remains in Cuba. It was still there six months after leaving the first time, which I think is why it felt normal to be there. My mind and heart are always there. And coming back wasn’t as easy as I thought it was going to be. I felt culture shock as soon as I stepped into the touristy, US terminal in Nassau, as I got onto the American-bound plane, as I headed to work on the T the next day. It was a whirlwind of missing Cuba, feeling guilty of what I have here, and feeling utterly confused by everything. No matter how hard I try or how many times I go over in my head the many things about Cuba and my relationship that confuse me, I know I will never figure either of them out completely. I don’t know that it’s possible honestly. I despise the system that makes life hard for the Cubans I know and love, that takes away their opportunities for freedom and their hopes for a future. And yet I am constantly craving a life that is more Cuban. Despite the system they have to struggle through everyday, sometimes just to survive, they know how to live. They look at life positively, because that’s the only way they can stay sane, they still have so many dreams, even though they have little hope of them coming true, they value friends and family more than anything, they know how to have a good time without the presence of material things, and they love more fully than anyone I know.
And so I will continue to keep my mind and heart in Cuba so that I will never forget the important things in life, and so that I can learn, through the friends, family, and boyfriend I have found in Cuba, how to live and love as fully as I can.
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
Love and Peace Without Borders: Day 3
Sunday morning I woke up and already was covered in sweat, and it was still early on in the day. It was the day of the big concert, and I could feel the excitement in the air and hear the chatter of people 
in the street talking about Juanes and white clothing as they got ready to go or headed up to the plaza. It was an exciting day and more than half the city was planning on taking part in the historical event that was about to take place.
As anxious as we were, I don’t think that either of us felt like standing in the blazing sun for 10 hours, so we took our time. We strolled along the Malecon, stopping to photograph some boys jumping into the clear blue water, stopped for some yummy pizza in the heavenly air-conditioned Olokku, and then made our way slowly to the Plaza. I felt the tension building as we started up the hill of Paseo, every way I turned
I saw groups of people in white clothing, carrying umbrellas, flags, and liters of Ciego Montero water. Everyone was ready.
When the famous monument and statue of Jose Marti was finally in view, so were the thousands and thousands of people who had come out from all over Havana, Cuba, and the world to experience this musical festival.
The concert and Juanes got so much flack for it as it was in the planning process, and I got aggravated every time I heard the news that Juanes was supporting the government or the the concert shouldn’t happen. To me, and to a lot of the Cubans, this was a chance for them to see a wonderful concert, with musicians from all over the world and from Cuba. Why should they be deprived of that just because people are against the government? Of course anything in Cuba is political, but I think it was less of a political statement and more of an opportunity for the Cuban people.
Even though it was hotter than a sauna on fire, the six-hour concert was amazing and it was incredible to be surrounded by Cubans and other people from all over the world, all dressed in white, supporting the concert theme. Olga Tanon, Miguel Bose, Victor Manuelle, Las Orishas, X Alfonso, Sylvio Rodriguez, Juanes, and Los Van Van were just some of the famous artists who participated. The crowd went crazy for every single one, throwing their arms up and dancing, taking it all in with such a joy that was contagious. There was an energy in the air that I can’t fully describe, but it was full of life, pride, and unity. The whole afternoon and evening was full of laughter, crazy people, smiling faces, amazing music, and dancing without reservation. All, of course, in true Cuban fashion.
in the street talking about Juanes and white clothing as they got ready to go or headed up to the plaza. It was an exciting day and more than half the city was planning on taking part in the historical event that was about to take place.As anxious as we were, I don’t think that either of us felt like standing in the blazing sun for 10 hours, so we took our time. We strolled along the Malecon, stopping to photograph some boys jumping into the clear blue water, stopped for some yummy pizza in the heavenly air-conditioned Olokku, and then made our way slowly to the Plaza. I felt the tension building as we started up the hill of Paseo, every way I turned
I saw groups of people in white clothing, carrying umbrellas, flags, and liters of Ciego Montero water. Everyone was ready.When the famous monument and statue of Jose Marti was finally in view, so were the thousands and thousands of people who had come out from all over Havana, Cuba, and the world to experience this musical festival.
The concert and Juanes got so much flack for it as it was in the planning process, and I got aggravated every time I heard the news that Juanes was supporting the government or the the concert shouldn’t happen. To me, and to a lot of the Cubans, this was a chance for them to see a wonderful concert, with musicians from all over the world and from Cuba. Why should they be deprived of that just because people are against the government? Of course anything in Cuba is political, but I think it was less of a political statement and more of an opportunity for the Cuban people.
Even though it was hotter than a sauna on fire, the six-hour concert was amazing and it was incredible to be surrounded by Cubans and other people from all over the world, all dressed in white, supporting the concert theme. Olga Tanon, Miguel Bose, Victor Manuelle, Las Orishas, X Alfonso, Sylvio Rodriguez, Juanes, and Los Van Van were just some of the famous artists who participated. The crowd went crazy for every single one, throwing their arms up and dancing, taking it all in with such a joy that was contagious. There was an energy in the air that I can’t fully describe, but it was full of life, pride, and unity. The whole afternoon and evening was full of laughter, crazy people, smiling faces, amazing music, and dancing without reservation. All, of course, in true Cuban fashion.
Love and Peace Without Borders: Day 2
Starting off the weekend sleep-deprived was probably not a good idea, but even after two hours of sleep and a twelve-hour trip, I wasn’t going to stay in for my first night back in Cuba…hence the continuation of before-mentioned sleep deprivation. But such is life in Cuba. So the next morning we had to get up and ready somewhat early so that Jose could take me to the surprise he had planned for me. I had no hints at all, and no idea where he could possibly be taking me that I wouldn’t have to pay for and that I hadn’t been last time. After a refreshing cool bucket shower, we headed out into the inferno heat of the sun. We first met up with his friend, who 
Cubans apparently frequently mistake as an American and we had to be careful who we asked for a cab because they tried to charge him the tourist rate. Once the “Americano” found an “Americano”(the old American cars that now serve as cabs with predetermined routes) to give us a ride, we were on our way. About forty minutes, buckets of sweat, and two cabs later, we arrived in a town just outside of the city called Guanabacoa. This was our destination, a dusty town with a few of its inhabitants strolling the streets, dragging buckets of water, or playing some good Cola Loca to dance to on a hot day. We walked down the narrow potholed streets a ways until we arrived at a humble house on the corner. There we met two men who were just chilling, shirtless in the living room. We greeted them, got a tour of the house as the owner is doing some renovations. Jose introduced the balding guy with kind eyes as his padrino. He had brought me to his padrino’s house. This was way cooler than any other surprise I had tried to think up in my head. Way cooler. But I still didn’t know what we were doing there. Nothing seemed to be happening too quickly, which is typical. About half an hour later, we decide to go get food. We walk down to a little street pizza place and got pizza that had cheese that was too bitter for pizza and some amazing guava juice. I knew I missed freshly squeezed guava juice, but I hadn’t realized how much. That stuff is amazing. You have to try it.
After a couple rounds of the juice, we were hydrated and satisfied and headed back to la casa del padrino. Another good half and hour or so passed, Orishas playing on the stereo, and then the boys started to get ready for whatever it was that was coming. It was then that Jose told me that a couple of months ago, he had been initiated (not sure if that is the correct term) into the religion Palo Monte. I knew that he was kind of into it before, but now that he was a member, I was really intrigued to find out more about this religion that he so clearly believes in now. I knew a little bit about Palo, after studying it in class at Northeastern and also in the Afrocuba class in Cuba. It is a religion that was brought over from Western Africa with the slaves and has remained a part of Afrocuban culture. Unlike Santeria, Palo is a lot less known and less commercialized. It’s values are centered on the earth and the spirits of ancestors and has very unique rituals. And I was about to take part in one.
The padrino came outside and we all sat around his altar that was set up in a back patio. The altar was made up of a large wooden bucket, which I later learned is where the spirit lives, inside the bucket are sticks and other natural objects which may even include animal remains. There were other wooden bowls and rocks and other natural materials that made up the rest of the altar. Both Jose and his friend had a small wooden bowl called a lucero.
We pulled up some stumps, had a seat, and I waited to see what was going to happen.
Padrino took a stick, the palo and started reciting something in Yoruba, the African language of the religion. Jose and his friend responded in Yoruba to his phrases. Then we waited
. After a few minutes, the padrino started shaking, just a little at first but then uncontrollably and what looked like, painfully. It continued for about five minutes and when he was still again, it was the spirit. The spirit then greeted all of us one by one and introduced himself to me, as we had never met. For the next two hours as he smoked about three cigars and downed a whole bottle of rum, he talked to me about my life, love, health, family, and other things that are going on in my life. He knew things about me that I had never told Jose, and some things I had never told anyone. He knew everything about me, and he gave me advice about what to do.
I have never been a religious person, but this experience got to me in a way I never would have imagined. It was spiritual, personal, surreal, and incredible. I learned a lot about myself, my relationship, and my future even, and I feel like I became friends with someone who already knew me. I will never forget it and it was a better surprise and gift than I ever could ask for.
The rest of the day I ran the experience over in my head again and again as we took the bus back and walked down Calle 23 as the sun set. That night we went to visit Maria at the Residencia. I had already been in Havana almost a day and it was all still unreal to me. I still couldn’t fully believe it was all happening, and I felt that feeling the most as I walked up to the elevator, listened for the familiar creaking sounds, cried with joy when I saw the elevator, and opened the squeaky door as if it was still my home somehow. And maybe it still is in a way. I felt like I was coming home as I rang the door bell and gave Maria the biggest hug.
Maria hasn’t changed, she is still the wise, loving, smart woman that I loved, and her coffee is just as good. We chatted about life and school and students with a Brazilian telenovela in the background, and the new students meandering around, getting ready for the night. I didn’t want to leave, I wanted to walk down the stairs to the rooms, crawl into my old bed, and stay there until the sun poured in the window from which all of Vedado and Jose’s house is visible. I would give anything to have that view everyday again.
The visit was comforting and thrilling; chatting with Maria like I had never left, going over fun memories, and seeing her affection for Jose was like coming home to my Cuban abuela.
Cubans apparently frequently mistake as an American and we had to be careful who we asked for a cab because they tried to charge him the tourist rate. Once the “Americano” found an “Americano”(the old American cars that now serve as cabs with predetermined routes) to give us a ride, we were on our way. About forty minutes, buckets of sweat, and two cabs later, we arrived in a town just outside of the city called Guanabacoa. This was our destination, a dusty town with a few of its inhabitants strolling the streets, dragging buckets of water, or playing some good Cola Loca to dance to on a hot day. We walked down the narrow potholed streets a ways until we arrived at a humble house on the corner. There we met two men who were just chilling, shirtless in the living room. We greeted them, got a tour of the house as the owner is doing some renovations. Jose introduced the balding guy with kind eyes as his padrino. He had brought me to his padrino’s house. This was way cooler than any other surprise I had tried to think up in my head. Way cooler. But I still didn’t know what we were doing there. Nothing seemed to be happening too quickly, which is typical. About half an hour later, we decide to go get food. We walk down to a little street pizza place and got pizza that had cheese that was too bitter for pizza and some amazing guava juice. I knew I missed freshly squeezed guava juice, but I hadn’t realized how much. That stuff is amazing. You have to try it.After a couple rounds of the juice, we were hydrated and satisfied and headed back to la casa del padrino. Another good half and hour or so passed, Orishas playing on the stereo, and then the boys started to get ready for whatever it was that was coming. It was then that Jose told me that a couple of months ago, he had been initiated (not sure if that is the correct term) into the religion Palo Monte. I knew that he was kind of into it before, but now that he was a member, I was really intrigued to find out more about this religion that he so clearly believes in now. I knew a little bit about Palo, after studying it in class at Northeastern and also in the Afrocuba class in Cuba. It is a religion that was brought over from Western Africa with the slaves and has remained a part of Afrocuban culture. Unlike Santeria, Palo is a lot less known and less commercialized. It’s values are centered on the earth and the spirits of ancestors and has very unique rituals. And I was about to take part in one.
The padrino came outside and we all sat around his altar that was set up in a back patio. The altar was made up of a large wooden bucket, which I later learned is where the spirit lives, inside the bucket are sticks and other natural objects which may even include animal remains. There were other wooden bowls and rocks and other natural materials that made up the rest of the altar. Both Jose and his friend had a small wooden bowl called a lucero.
We pulled up some stumps, had a seat, and I waited to see what was going to happen.
Padrino took a stick, the palo and started reciting something in Yoruba, the African language of the religion. Jose and his friend responded in Yoruba to his phrases. Then we waited
. After a few minutes, the padrino started shaking, just a little at first but then uncontrollably and what looked like, painfully. It continued for about five minutes and when he was still again, it was the spirit. The spirit then greeted all of us one by one and introduced himself to me, as we had never met. For the next two hours as he smoked about three cigars and downed a whole bottle of rum, he talked to me about my life, love, health, family, and other things that are going on in my life. He knew things about me that I had never told Jose, and some things I had never told anyone. He knew everything about me, and he gave me advice about what to do.I have never been a religious person, but this experience got to me in a way I never would have imagined. It was spiritual, personal, surreal, and incredible. I learned a lot about myself, my relationship, and my future even, and I feel like I became friends with someone who already knew me. I will never forget it and it was a better surprise and gift than I ever could ask for.
The rest of the day I ran the experience over in my head again and again as we took the bus back and walked down Calle 23 as the sun set. That night we went to visit Maria at the Residencia. I had already been in Havana almost a day and it was all still unreal to me. I still couldn’t fully believe it was all happening, and I felt that feeling the most as I walked up to the elevator, listened for the familiar creaking sounds, cried with joy when I saw the elevator, and opened the squeaky door as if it was still my home somehow. And maybe it still is in a way. I felt like I was coming home as I rang the door bell and gave Maria the biggest hug.
Maria hasn’t changed, she is still the wise, loving, smart woman that I loved, and her coffee is just as good. We chatted about life and school and students with a Brazilian telenovela in the background, and the new students meandering around, getting ready for the night. I didn’t want to leave, I wanted to walk down the stairs to the rooms, crawl into my old bed, and stay there until the sun poured in the window from which all of Vedado and Jose’s house is visible. I would give anything to have that view everyday again.
The visit was comforting and thrilling; chatting with Maria like I had never left, going over fun memories, and seeing her affection for Jose was like coming home to my Cuban abuela.
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
Love and Peace Without Borders: Day 1
It was pouring when we touched down on the pavement at Jose Marti International airport. Pouring so hard that even the workers who tried to get shelter under the plane’s wings were soaked through. But I didn’t care. Yes I had straightened my hair and done my makeup for the occasion but at that point I didn’t care about any of that. I was in La Habana again.
It was a refreshing, nostalgic, and strange feeling I had as I saw the familiar yellow airport signs and the rapid garbled sounds of Cuban Spanish hit my ears. I couldn’t suppress my smile, the joy I felt to be on the island again. And I knew, as unbelievable as it felt, that soon I would be seeing Jose again.
I got into the taxi and we were headed to my destination…the corner of Quinta y A. As we drove away from the crowded aiport and into the busy streets filled with old trucks, noisy cars, and clouds of diesel fumes, the taxi driver started playing some Ludacris. Turns out, “What’s Your Fantasy” is considered appropriate cab music in Cuba. So as the driver jammed to Luda’s insightful lyrics, I soaked in everything I saw as if I was either in a crazy good dream or just waking up from a bad one. We passed the billboards that basically labeled Bush a terrorist, the ones promoting socialism, calling for the libertad of the Cuban 5, etc. People stood waiting for the infrequent buses along the roadside, passing cars honked at the women strutting by. I could already feel the heat seeping into my skin, despite the cloudy skies and I tried to prepare myself for what was coming. What will it be like, will I cry, will I know what to say? I had no idea what to expect. As we got closer and then entered into Vedado, my heart was racing. I felt like I was coming home and every familiar sight made my heart beat with life and a pure joy to be seeing them again for real, not just in my mind. We pulled up to Jose’s house and as I looked up and saw him waiting on his balcony, I felt my stomach turn with anticipation, nervousness, and butterflies. And then I was in his arms. Finally in his arms.
That evening and night was surreal to say the least. I was seeing everything and none of it had changed. I was once again with Jose and it all felt completely normal, but at the same time I didn’t believe it was happening. But either way, I couldn’t stop smiling; as I met Jose at the salon, a place I have dreamt about and all the memories that the whole group had there, as we met up with Jose’s friends Ruben and Alex, as we ate at Sol y Mar and walked along the Malecon, as we danced the night away under the stars of Havana’s clear sky. Every moment was an adventure that night, and the whole weekend.
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