Cuba, Silent Roar

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By Annette Santos 

What is it about Cuba that draws outsiders in? Is it the notion of time standing still on a tropical island? The mechanical emblems of the 1950’s; the turquoise waters, silky beaches; corner side musicians thumbing out hip-rippling beats on cobble-staged, tourists-cramped streets, enclosed by massive historic structures that would excite any architect lover? 

Why does stepping off of a small charter plane and touching infamous soil feel like sticking it to the man? Why does the breeze not only beat you faster than your own heart, but at the same time caress your body as if to whisper sweet early secrets?

And how do you judge your senses? When all you feel is anticipation and excitement? But your sight deceives you. Where beauty is in the simplicity of the sun-kissed rooftops and sadness is in the truth of the governing state, of seeing crumbling tin-hugged houses or two small children playing with a pothole filled with the evening’s waste?

Where, the smells are not of fog pushing through power plants generating an abundance of energy to power smart phones, high tech flat screens or security motion sensors. But rather, of clunks of fog bursting out of antique motors as you Guaguanco to your destination and the smell of car oil on a handkerchief becomes your daily mist.   

How do you control your selfish urge of exploration? How do two different world views meet with a kiss on the check, a smile and share in conversation without one imposing on the other?

But most difficult of all, how do you describe this voyage to unseen eyes? How do you give this experience justice? Who will believe you when you say every matancero was an artisan, an expert in his or her craft? That there is never a moment of sadness and that a day seems to linger, but oh, how wonderful it feels!

How do you share the hope pumping inside their veins? How do you convey the handicap you feel inside for not being able to do more? How do you capture the beauty of a city, the exerting spirit of youth, with only one black and white photograph?

How do you show the love Matanzas, Cuba has given?

If I could open my chest and show the world my punctured heart, point to my unspoken woes, and shine a light on the golden thread that matanceros used to mend it back together, I would.