My Best Upgrade!

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 By Dr. Guillermo de los Reyes

After  seeing the line where we were about to check-in at the Tampa airport, I said to myself, “I wish we were flying United, so I could just go to the VIP line and finish quickly, instead of sitting here waiting.” It turns out that the waiting wasn’t that bad, because I was able to get to know the people who were going on the    trip with me. After all, I was the “stranger” who was invited (or who invited himself) to join a group that had about two months of being together.  When I boarded our charter plane I felt a slight frustration when I saw that the first class area was being used, so I wondered who would get those seats, and I was hoping that I would have been one of the lucky ones (as an avid traveler who gets all sorts of perks, one almost feels that the upgrades to first class are second nature); instead, I was sent all the way to the end of the plane. Again, it turned out to be a good thing; I had the opportunity to sit close to the group and next to my colleague, so I started to feel closer and even part of them.

We got off the plane—the way it was done in the past—when the air hit my face and I felt something that I couldn’t figure out at that moment; it felt good, but that amazing feeling was interrupted after I saw the big immigration and customs lines. Again I wished I had my Global Entry-trusted traveler status to skip everybody and get through it all quickly; instead, I was searched through my veins. I have to admit that having my colleague next to me “enjoying” the same situation helped my anxiety.  At that moment, when I was looking at our students’ faces a few feet behind us witnessing the situation, the only thing on my mind was to stay calm. The intimidation technics from the agent did not work and I even forgot the enjoyment of the privileges I usually get as a frequent traveler. I just focused on the students, my colleague and the people on the other side of security waiting for us (and others for their loved ones; I am sure that the wait sometimes feels like an eternity). After crossing the immigration line, I felt the air again, and as this Cuban air caressed my face I suddenly forgot about what just happened. My previous feelings were transformed by the energy of the people.  Agustina, the Director of Vigía, greeted us with a smile and took us to the cars that were taking us to Matanzas (three cars from the 50s that have many stories to tell).

As I took the front seat, I felt like a child who is discovering a new world. It is true what they say, you don’t know Cuba until you see it, until you feel it. We were welcomed first by a Valley, a Valley that is so beautiful and deep that I wonder if anyone knows it all (as colonialist, when I saw the Valley and other parts of the Cuban landscape, I felt empathetic with the lack of words that Columbus felt when he visited what he called the marvelous New World for the first time).  Then the dozen of Matanzas bridges, the amazing bay, and the buildings from the nineteenth century (almost without any renovations since that time) continued with the welcoming of the UH people. However, the warmest bienvenida was given to us by the matanceros, the people from Vigía and some family members of my colleague Mabel. It was almost incredible that ALL the members of the Vigía staff were there. Nobody called in sick, or had another commitment, or… everybody was there. Even though I thought that was a good sign, I never even imagined that indeed, that sign would become a great omen. The warm reception we received was just a taste of what we were about to experience. I don’t think we ever imagined that we would get to know the Island so well through its people.

We stayed at three different bed and breakfasts that are owned by Cuban families. I had my own room and I shared a bathroom that had no toilet seat, but always had hot water and toilet paper (a privilege that not everybody enjoys in Cuba, in fact it is even rare). They gave me a key to my room, but not to the house, so I had to ring the bell every time I came back to the house. I felt a bit strange, as if I was back in high school, then again, I wished I was at a 4 or 5 star hotel, even one of those that you get cheap on the internet. However, this time two things sent me back to reality. The first was the owners’ hospitality-the time of my arrival didn’t matter and they always opened the door with a smile. The most powerful reality check was after talking to several people from Vigía who have family living in the U.S. or other parts of the world, and finding out that they cannot travel to see them when they want (and it is not a matter of not having the money to travel). They need to “ring the bell” to the Cuban government, but in this case, they are not always greeted with a nice smile.

All of us experienced Cuba as a group— since we did almost everything together (not just among us, the people coming from the US, but also our new Cuban friends) and also as individuals. Personally, my Cuban discovery was like putting together a puzzle; it was a combination of the new knowledge that all the professionals who gave us talks and tours shared with us, along with my previous knowledge of its history, the tales I heard from friends with both, emic and etic views of the Island, the new experiences that my eyes were witnessing as well as the oral histories I collected. Little by little, the Cuban reality was becoming clearer.  The cultural visits, the human exchanges, the propaganda in the streets, the observations of the everyday lives in different parts of the city helped me understand a world that  is so close to my heart and my personal history as someone who grew up in Latin America during the 70s and 80s, but at the same time very distant since I have had the privilege of choosing what I eat, wear, where I study,  work and travel…Perhaps I cannot say I know Cuba, but I certainly can say that I felt Cuba.

            Our days working at Vigía were full of life. Life that does not translate to high tech and smart phones (however, paradoxically, thanks to technology we can share our experiences and keep in touch with our new friends in Cuba), life that goes back to the basics: enjoying conversations, lyrics of poems, musical rhythms, learning new artistic technics taught by the experienced artist Estévez to the new designers like Héctor and Adrian. The Vigía space became a home to us: we learned there, we ate there, we sang and dance there, we laugh there, we cried there. Perhaps it was the fact that we shared all those feelings in that space, at that old house that enchanted us, that captivated us so much that at the end we did not want to leave. We became friends with people from different ages, personalities, credos.  We interacted with award-winning poets and artists, as well as with artisans, historians, accountants, designers, drivers and some members of their families. They all listened to us, talked to us, danced with us, and opened their hearts to us. And it was not only the typical courteous human interaction that we usually receive from people, it was more than that. It was beyond their call of duty, it was special… Something that made me feel really good about our interaction was that it was clear that our UH students were on the same page with them. It was a reciprocal encounter that cannot be explained with words.

My trip to Cuba was unique, so special that I learned life lessons just from walking the streets of Matanzas and learning from the kids who still appreciate the little great things in life. I also learned from our Cuban friends that we can’t ever give up and we cannot lose hope. I also learned from the UH students. Their generosity, maturity and uniqueness taught me that the new generations still have hope and still dream about a better world; they are smart, artistic, creative (one of them is so creative that he claims that there are Penguins in Cuba).  They and their professor, my colleague Mabel, made me feel part of the group. Now I am one of them.

So, at the end of my trip, my experience was beyond immigration searches, embargos, debates between communism vs. capitalism, the lack of comfort and premium access.  At the end of my trip, I not only felt the air hitting my face, I embraced it and discovered its smell.  At the end of my trip, I realized that since the very beginning, I was upgraded, but the upgrade was not the one that gives you a comfortable seat and free food and drinks. This upgrade was a collage of memories, smiles and stories of people from Matanzas and Houston who have discovered and experienced the everlasting light of VIGÍA.    

Something in their Eyes

By Debora Olalla

There is something about these people living a reality that is “easier lo live, than to explain”. There is something in their eyes that penetrate the coldest heart.

When we arrived to Cuba, we definitely didn’t know what to expect. I simply didn’t know what to say, and how to approach those hearts that were paciently waiting. So many questions where floating in my mind, and I felt so ignorant, but everything started to gain shape once we arrived to Ediciones Vigia. The energy that Matanzas had filled my heart, and the warmth of its people made me feel incredible.  Matanceros are so passionate, smart, and happy, in despite of their social disadvantages, and they are eager to share their stories and love with others. They taught us that happiness doesn’t depend on material possessions, or technological advancements. There is so much more to life.

Cubans are aware of everything that surrounds them, instead of focusing on themselves, or being oblivious to their surroundings. I constantly felt their interest on my well-being, and they were always observing everything and greeting everyone. That’s why it was so easy for us to feel comfortable and open up to them. I was thirsty for that love that I received. I was thirsty for that reality check, and I opened my heart that group of strangers that received the little hope I could give.


Another fact that impressed me is all the art that fills the country. Beautiful melodies, amazing paintings, and wonderful architecture are well appreciated all over. Artists are not underestimated; they are treasured, as they should be. The work that is done in the different museums and editorials is truly remarkable. It is done for the love of arts, and it is authentic. I felt extremely attracted to it.

Personally, I knew this trip would be shocking, but I never knew to what extent it was going to change my perspective about life. It was such a crucial experience! Cuba is more than just a socialist country, isolated from the rest of the continent. It is one place full of genuine individuals that know how to live, regardless of any external circumstances, and love what they do, as well as the city where they were born. I still have so much to learn from them, and I cannot wait till I’m able to return to my new family in Matanzas, and revive that fire!

MY CUBAN DICTONARY

By Stephanie Ruiz

My Cuban Journey in words. This is an island of unique historical heritage Epic colonial architecture, libidinous young salsa dancers, Che Guevara murals, and smiling faces of the people I came to love, the images of Cuba are as transfixing as they are timeless.  When asked to describe my journey in Cuba a set of distinctive words appear in my mind, each word comes with a unique and very personal meaning.

MY CUBAN DICTONARY

Friendship- a bond of mutual affection Laura, Angustina, Beatriz, Hector, and Adrian these are some of the names of the wonderful and unforgettable friends we made in Cuba. They helped shaped our trip but also forever changed my life. These friendships are our bridge to Cuba. 

           Likewise on the flight back I was reflecting on the 13 friends I was flying back home with. We left Houston as 13 strangers; to be honest we shared nothing more than a classroom for a couple of hours a week. I knew nothing about my fellow classmates I couldn’t even tell you most of their names. Before the trip if I ran into any of them on campus our exchange would be nothing more than an awkward smile, if that.  A week and lots of memories later I flew back with life long friends, which I now share much more than a couple of hours in a classroom with. Without the trip Dr. Cuesta would have become just another professor who I would have described on “Rate My Professor” with simple adjectives like smart and interesting. I would have never gotten to know two of the most amazing professors that have now became my friends, real life friends, and that I hope will forever be my mentors. 

“Fantabulousbooks”- is my amalgamation of fantastic, fabulous, and book.

 It is the only word I can use to describe the amazing and beautiful handmade art pieces that are created in Vigia. Each book takes weeks to make and is unique, unlike anything I have seen before. It was an honor to work side by side with people from this editorial. Vigia is one of Cuba’s many treasures!

Music- It keeps the people going. Music kept US going. The heart of what makes Cuban music so enticing is its power to inspire dance! It seemed like we dance and sang our way thru Cuba, music was a big part of our days if we weren’t dancing we were singing or vice versa.

                                                                                     Beach- Varadero.

The one-day when we set up our little spot in paradise. With our towels in hand we mounted our bus and arrived at the most blue and beautiful of beaches! A white-powder sandy beach… Awww so refreshing so so blissful. I felt so alive. The water washed around me, there was a big smile on my face, and the faces of my friends. This is as good as it gets.

Food- nutritious substance that consist of a lot of black beans and rice.

Something we shared together as a family everyday and at the very least twice a day.  It’s also something I vowed to never waist again.

  

Survival - because it is far from a perfect country. 

The revolution defines the everyday life of the Cuban people. A populace that is capable of surviving conditions that would render most first world residents completely useless.  But not the Cubans', if my memory does not fail me, no Cuban ever told me that they were unhappy.

Heartbreak-   Is looking out the window my eyes filled with tears as the bus drove us away from our Cuban family, our family that was standing outside of Vigia crying and waving back at us. My heart aches at the thought that I may never see them again. I just pray that I don’t forget my week in Cuba and that it all doesn’t just became some distant dream.

Hope- The warmth and spirit of the Cuban people affirmed hope that our two countries will one day have normal relations.

One Week- It’s all it took to fall in love with the country, to make unforgettable friendships, and to change the way I view this beautiful world we live in. 

“Ti-ri-ti-ti”

By María Fernanda Alfaro

When one hears the word “Cuba” many things come to mind. When one gets the opportunity to travel there, those images that had been taught to us, read to us, and constructed within our minds-have a new meaning. As we prepared for the trip, Dr. Cuesta and others, would speak to us about what we should expect and how we should prepare; and although I thought I was mentally ready for what I was about to experience, I later found out that I wasn’t.

Upon our arrival, we were greeted in Ediciones Vigía by the staff, whom would become more then our host. It didn’t take long for us to get acquainted with the people that would be our guides on the trip and whom we’d build a strong friendship with. That evening, we were invited to a concert where some of Matanza’s most prominent musicians and artist were performing.  It was at this moment that I begin to realize that music was an essential aspect of the Cuban culture.

Music became a dominant and important factor in our trip. When we traveled via the “gua-gua” we sang our heart out, literally. It didn't matter what decade we had been born in or what our country  of origin was, we sang. There wasn't a radio with an overplayed “top of the chart” list or commercial interruptions that dominated the moments we were living-it was our voices, our choir.

At the editorial, when working on the book, we sang and danced. We made up lyrics to and melodies, allowing nothing to get in the way of us doing so. It was the beat of each song that united us. It didn't matter what our political ideologies were, what our social status were, or even how many followers or friends we had our social media accounts-all that mattered were the moments we were living together. The moments where, we were all dancing to the same beat, and for at least a second we did not have a worry on our mind.

I once asked a friend, “Why do you guy’s love to dance, love music so much?” He replied, “Because sometimes it’s the only way to escape….” He was right. Music was the only way we could escape the reality we were living and being exposed to. 

A reality that we had to face in spite of all the advice we were given, yet were not ready for. One that included a the shedding of tears from the things we saw that none of us had never experienced. One that would forever change and impact our consumerism based lifestyles and force us to re-evaluate our priorities. A reality that included the fact that in a few days the trip would be over and we might never see our friends again. A reality that meant that we would come back to a country where we would try to explain Cuba, but unless it was experienced it would never be understood.  Music, in most instances, was the only thing we could be in control of and a way to express many things that we could not voice.

On our last night in Cuba, in Havana,  we went to dinner and a show. While there, I along with my classmates were asked to go on stage and dance the famous “Oppa Gotham Style”.  Once on stage they asked us where we were from. Each one of answered accordingly, “Argentina, Mexico, Costa Rica, and Cuba”. As the crowd stared at us, I realized that music had brought us together. Our social status did not matter, our levels of education did not matter, our origin, ethnicity, sexual orientation or gender did not matter.  In Cuba, our essence as individuals was what mattered and music brought that out.

Till this day the melodies we moved to are constantly playing over and over in my head, along with the images of what we lived. Ti, ri, ti, ti ,ti ti- the “latest samba song” that had arrived to Cuba while we were there. That song turned the island of Cuba, to CU-BAH, an island filled with some of the most amazing and genuine individuals I have ever met. In my eyes a land that lives off the beat of her own drum.

Cuba changed the rhythm of my life, and wrote it a new melody.

Hope

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 By Carla Peláez

In the spring of 2013, I was offered the opportunity of a lifetime, not only to visit my family’s home country but to also visit their hometown. It was a once in a lifetime opportunity since my family has never been able to go back so, despite some controversy within my family, I was granted permission to go. Before going to the airport on that Saturday, I got a few lessons in family history. I was told of where my family lived, how their belongings were taken during the revolution, how they were persecuted, and, lastly, how they fled the country. I had lived in Puerto Rico, a Caribbean island close by, for most of my life, and I have traveled across the Caribbean but I was still not prepared for the next seven days of my life.

The plane ride was more of a time capsule ride. Once you arrive, it’s like being thrown back in time to the 1960s. All the cars were antique, and the buildings were like the ones in Old San Juan, Puerto Rico. Even though Puerto Rico has suburbs and cities that are pretty modern, all of Cuba’s architecture was still that of when it was first built; the buildings had not been kept up with. It is a beautiful country with all the potential in the world, but it is imminent that its government has not correctly used it. It is sad to see the conditions in which some people live in, with no toilet seat covers, toilet paper, correct hygienic conditions, and a small studio per family, and this is if you were lucky. I saw some people living in wooden houses at one point. I cried many times during the walk around the city. And then to think, I could have been living like this my entire life if my family had stayed.

The people on the other hand are the most welcoming, loving and caring people I have met. In just one week, I became family with the members of Vigía. I did not know it was possible for people to start as strangers on Saturday, and end as family on Thursday. They worked really hard and gave of what they don’t have to make sure our trip was the best it could be. Even with their situations, they still shared with us and tried to invite us out as much as possible. The kind of gift you sacrifice yourself in order to give is the most special one there is. In the times I spent working, talking, singing, dancing, and laughing with them, I noticed that they are very well educated, and know a lot about their country, literature, music, art, etc. These people have changed my life, and I will forever be thankful for the opportunity of meeting them. Ever since we’ve been back, our group and the people we met in Cuba have kept in contact via e-mail. The thought of “What can I do to help them?” crosses my mind every now and then. I don’t even know if I am able to help them just by myself, but what I do know is that this exchange program gave them something that is sometimes hard to find there. Hope.

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.

Words and Pictures Are Not Enough

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By Norma Santos

Words and pictures are not enough and cannot describe what I am about to write, but here it is how my story began.  A year ago I took a Literature class with Dr. Mabel Cuesta, where she mentioned to us whether or not we would be interested on a trip to Cuba as part of the course. I without a doubt and not knowing the purpose of the trip didn't question it and volunteered to participate. For me, it was the ideal trip since I am also majoring in Architecture.  Also, I found it to be a great opportunity to see and explore Cuba’s unique architecture, since I have always known that it is lost in time and for me it was something that I had to see with my own eyes.

Finally, the time to register for the course had come, soon after the first day of class arrived, and then in a blink of an eye I was already in Cuba. As we arrived, I could not stop admiring my surroundings. Although, I knew that we were detained in time, during the car ride from Havana to Matanzas I wondered in what moment would a recognizable building appear upon my eyes. Fortunately, there were no Renzo Piano museums, Frank Lloyd Wright’s homes, or César Pelli’s skyscrapers. I did not recognize anything instead, I let my imagination loose and admired empty sites which met the intense waves of the sea, the antique houses and cars, the locals tired of waiting for the bus, the green hills, the blue of the sky, and the bright sun. I know those Cubans often dream of someday having more than just these empty sites. I know they dream with a home near the sea, or on the green hills admiring the sky. Without a doubt it is the perfect place, site, and scenery for an architect, since it could drive our imagination to dream up the most marvelous of buildings and ideas. Unfortunately, it can only live in our imagination for now since those sites will remain empty for years come.

               As we arrived to Ediciones Vigia, in the city of Matanzas, we were welcomed with open arms to our new and unforgettable friends. I still could not believe that I was there, living in a past while at that very same time, we are in the present. The remarkable neoclassical architecture kept impressing me and transporting me to another era. It was amazing to see that these buildings are still intact; obviously they also need a lot of restoration which would take a lot of time and money, but to my understanding there is so little that gets done in order to preserve these treasures. Besides the architecture, the amazing hearts of our new never-ending friends caught my attention. I never thought that sitting at a plaza could be more than enjoyable. We lived just like them with no cell phones, no computers, no internet, NO FACEBOOK. I was shocked when I asked for their e-mails and instead I got a piece of paper with their mailing addresses. We lived, slept, ate, thought, talked, sang, worked with our hands, danced, laughed, cried, enjoyed, walked, and learned to the maximum. In a week it seemed like I had been gone for a year. We did so much and had quality time with our friends, so much so, that all the technology and modern buildings became secondary. Instead we valued the “little” things that we often take for granted in life. We would talk for hours without being stressed about time, while we sat outside breathing pure air. I remember one of our new friends, my new brother, asked me “Norma why do you stress so much about time?” It is true we are always in a rush trying to get somewhere and we don’t appreciate the time we spend with the people around us, yet for him time is something that will always be there and remind him that there is nowhere and somewhere to be at. We would walk along the bay hearing the pleasing waves, the quiet town, and danced to the beat of our new friends. We got to know our new friends and they got to know us. There was no text or phone call that interrupted our conversations. It was a one-on-one dialogue. When it was time to work on the books we would sing and everyone had a smile on their face, even though we were all doing the same over and over again. It is truly impressive to witness the creativity they put on this books. These books are an art, and not just on the cover or content but every page is full of originality, which makes none of the books the same. Both the architecture, as well as, learning about content and art of these books, was the cherry on top of a great cake. And just like those books, those days were “hand-crafted” none of them were the same; they were original, unique, remarkable, and unforgettable. 

Intense Silence

By Deandria Covington

Before I embarked on my pilgrimage to Cuba, I only had a small amount of knowledge regarding the country.  Some of what I learned was from a Spanish Literature class that I previously took, where I fell in love with the works of the renowned Cuban poet, Nancy Morejón; the other information was based on what I had learned within the two months of Professor Cuesta’s class, and the vast amount of negativity from my fellow, Patriots. I must admit that the alienation between our countries fed my curiosity, and increased my craving for this pilgrimage.  As an English/Spanish Literature Major, you yearn for creativity! I wanted to know about their art, poetry, music, dance, culture, and how does could a country brought to life in a classroom with such beautiful artwork and great writers be forbidden from young artist, people like me?

                  As I embraced the Cuban people and its country, I knew that my experience was going to be more than professional, but personal as well. This trip was a life-changing experience, because I went in thinking I knew who I was, but came out a completely different person.   The first changing experience occurred because of my silent spirit.   I am neither a native nor a fluent Spanish speaker, but my silence made me a strong listener.  Many were concerned that my silence was due to unhappiness, but the silence was intertwining my soul with that of the Cuban country, because I listened with not only my ears, but my heart and soul. 

Secondly, I was enchanted with how their country embraces the Afro-Cubanos, and how knowledgeable the Cuban people were of the African culture.  I, belonging to the African culture, learned that I was lost until my week in Cuba.  Cuba taught me about the life of a slave realistically, and not just from a picture in the book.  I held the iron chain, weakly with two hands, that captivated one leg of the enslaved beings, which forced me into a realization of how the African Diaspora was not just a vocabulary word from class, but a reality in life that connects me to be people all over the world despite the name of their country and language. Additionally, I discovered that I did not know the true beauty of my culture, until I experienced my own culture from the Cuban perspective.  The kings and queens that we seldom hear about, were brought to life in Cuba, along with cultural traditions that I believed began with my family were not from my family, but from my lost identity. 

Furthermore, the people of Cuba were not the aggressive people we were all taught about, but the most giving ones, who gave us the best of what they did not have.  I have been to other countries, and have made life-long friends.  However, I did not make friends in Cuba; I inherited family.  Before Cuba, I believed in helping others, but I used to believe that we must help those in our own country first.  Unfortunately, I did not realize my ignorant ways until my experience in Cuba helped me understand that my country offer different resources and transitional homes to help people rebuild their lives, but the people in Cuba do not have that option.  A young man, who is now my brother, only makes $12 a month when people here make that an hour.  Children, who are now my children, only receiving a teaspoon of rice as meal, because the mother has to make sure that there will be food for the end of the week, pained me into reality of how we throw away and devour food like ungrateful beasts.  We take things for granted, but my pilgrimage in Cuba has taught me otherwise, and has made me want to live the life of St. Francis of Assisi, and give away all of what I have, because I have been taught that I can live simple.     

Like in Cuba, I’ve pondered the words to describe my experience.  In this case, it is not because of the language, but because there are no words to describe the feelings that I developed from my Cuban experience.  If my life depended on me describing my trip to Cuba in one word, I would only be able to utter the word, “intense”.  Every feeling encountered, moment lived, interaction, thought, prayer, and breath were just as described:  INTENSE!

                     

Cuba: You Must Live Her to Know Her

By Sarah Becker

Ph.D. Candidate

After an hour of soaring over waters every shade of blue, I suddenly caught sight of her. The butterflies of my spirit nervously flittered about. As the long stretch of land came closer, the outline of her body diminished. She was near. The moment was finally here.  

I felt

Nervous.

Excited.

Emotional.

Everything I had studied had led me up to this point. The life of this girl from the Midwest, with no Hispanic roots to speak of, suddenly made sense, and I felt it. After several years of studying the Spanish language, literature in Spanish and a wide variety of cultures connected to both, I was here.

 Cuba.  You must live her to know her.

 In June of 2012, I met her for the first time. As I stepped on to the runway, she embraced me with her arms of warm Caribbean winds and a sent a shock of energy through my feet, an unseen force that delights you, terrifies you, saddens you.

As I write these words, I must put myself back in that moment so that I may explain this pivotal time in my life. It may be cliché to say life-changing, but that’s exactly what it was.

After a semester of studying Cuba with Dr. Mabel Cuesta  -her literature, her films, her music, her history, mainly focused on period commonly known as the Special Period- my two feet had been planted on the ground of a land and a people that would change my life. As a PhD student in the Hispanic Studies program at the University of Houston, I have a vested academic interest in the Caribbean: my research centers on Afro-Caribbean religions in Hispanic literature. However, this trip –let’s say journey, because it is truly a journey- spoke to me in ways that cold, faceless academic research and classes could not.

Cuba. You must live her to know her.

As I walked the streets of Matanzas –the Athens of Cuba as it’s known– I met and spoke with poets, musicians, artists. I interviewed santeros and santeras, Babalawos, Paleras. I was given the opportunity to research in the archives of Ediciones Vigía and later present that research at the University of Missouri-Columbia about the visual aesthetics of Afro-Cuban religion as represented by Vigía over the years at the first Ediciones Vigía conference. I was taken on tours of amazing places of history, such as the grand Teatro Sauto by Rolando Estévez, the principal designer and one of the founders of Ediciones Vigía, and of course Dr. Mabel Cuesta, who opened her island to me, her life to me, her childhood to me, to show me what she at one time told me what is “la isla de las mil paradojas.” The island of a thousand paradoxes. After a semester of study about Cuba, I had an idea of what she meant. After a week experiencing Cuba, my heart understood what she meant, as I observed

People who have nothing, ready to share everything.

People who have little hope, somehow still living.

People who have the biggest hearts, who have been subjected to live lives of a government that does not have one.

To be sure: This was a great academic opportunity that I was fortunate to take part in. As a graduate student, this trip was invaluable. Since Cuba, I have further developed ideas for my dissertation and published papers in relation to the research I conducted while there. I have enthusiastically spread the word whenever possible of the incredible art-object book editorial house known as Vigía, its uniqueness, its literature, its art.

However, it was also an opportunity to reflect on the things many people take for granted. It was an eye-opening time to not just see, but experience the life of a Cuban. It was a huge lesson, one that I am using to plant the seeds of humility and selflessness in my children, so that they too may grow into better human beings.

Cuba. You must live her to know her.

 And when you leave, her spirit stays with you. I am anxiously awaiting the day I embrace her once again.

There are Three Bracelets that I Wear from Cuba

By Nicholas Heisig  

The first is an engraving of Che, burned into wood, flanked by four hand painted Cuban flags.  It was given to me on one of the first days we were in the country by one of my friends I had already made at Ediciones Vigía.  To me, this bracelet represents the most powerful, lasting impression of Cuba and what I took away first and foremost: the people with whom we interacted on an individual level.  Before touching ground, I had no idea how powerful it would be to simply see the other side of the blockade – to meet the people who lived their everyday lives in a world just miles from the US Coast, yet separated so fundamentally on so many levels.  Getting to see their lives, punctuated by the exhaust firings of the omnipresent yank-tanks, with a soundtrack courtesy of PSY’s Gangnam style as it slowly diffused across the limited internet access of the country, was an indelible experience that defies description.  All that I can say is that finally visiting the country I had read about for years, that I had studied from both the perspective of my Spanish and my History degree, allowed me to relate on a human level that made all of those differences, all of those disparities, all of that disconnect irrelevant to the relationship between fellow human beings. 

The second bracelet, a bright blue beaded one etched with simple designs, was given to our entire class by our hosts at Vigía.  Whereas the first one reminds me of the deep personal connections formed in Cuba, this second one, to me, evokes the greater actions and significance for our group and our Cuban hosts.  On one hand, we were able to serve as ambassadors for the United States and to show that despite being from the US, we could transcend a five decade blockade to some small degree and represent ourselves, our University and our country in a positive manner.  Having since returned to the country, I feel that our role as ambassadors has only flipped a little, as we can now serve as glimpses into a country so ostracized and often forgotten by many Americans.  I relish the opportunity to attempt to explain our experiences and all that we saw, both the beautiful and the uncomfortable. 

The final bracelet I wear is centered with an artificial, polished red stone that is engraved with a palm tree and “Cuba.” I purchased this one in Havana, and it reminds me of one of the first things that come to mind when people ask what I recall from the country.  Beyond the deep personal connections we forged and the friendships we found, the word “duality” continues to leap out at me.  I purchased this bracelet in a tourist stand, where it had not been forged with care and concern, where it had not been gifted with affection, but rather sold to just another tourist passing through Havana, wielding the foreign exchange currency or CUC, rather than the national pesos. This wasn’t the first time that I had been abroad, but it was my first trip to a country that was clearly, avowedly Socialist.  No capitalist billboards leered along the roadways, hawking sales, and one was not bombarded with advertisements on benches, on drinking cups and on the television as in the United States.  However, socialist propaganda still dotted the urban landscape and posters loudly proclaimed that the revolution was “of the poor, by the poor, for the poor.”  Yet for all of this socialist rhetoric, there were some pretty glaring contrasts evident in the country.  To begin, Havana was so starkly different than Matanzas, just an hour to the East.  Whereas Havana was full of foreign tourists, hopping along from landmark to landmark, Matanzas certainly illustrated a more general state of affairs, with a crumbling building or dilapidated structure on almost every other block.  Even beyond this though, I kept wondering how a country purporting to offer such equal opportunities could still have two currencies, one of which the common people could afford and use and the other which precluded all but an elite connected with foreigners from using. That duality might be understandable in a variety of countries but to have it in the 60 year safeguard of Latin American socialism was pretty eye-opening.  I guess even in this country could a man impeccably dressed in a pinstripe suit approach me in Havana, offering a restaurant that surely charged in CUC, and turn away as I decline him, still assured of other tips and a stable income from visiting Germans or Canadians, while mere miles away, two little boys could spend their day bobbing trash up and down in an overflowing puddle, set amongst a crumbling neighborhood with tin roofs and canvas doors, seldom frequented by tourists, only to celebrate with ecstasy beyond imagination, running blocks and blocks because they had just been presented with a candy bar...in this, the purported, egalitarian bulwark of socialism.