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.
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