Artists-in-residence by Andrea Cavazos

Cuba has always been a mystery to me. Whenever it was mentioned, I thought about what I learned in history books: communism, Fidel Castro, the Bay of Pigs, the Cold War, and the exiles journey to Miami. It was a place frozen in time. In politics, Cuba has always been portrayed as an antagonist to the United States and this relationship has been static for so long, I thought it would always remain so.

This changed when President Obama began to normalize relations between the U.S. and Cuba, and when the opportunity arose for me to go on this trip, I knew I had to take it. I wanted to learn for myself what Cuba was really like-what the people were like and how they lived. I didn’t want to hear it from politicians or read about it from article in the newspaper.

While I would like to document every single detail of my trip, this blog post would quickly turn into a short novel, so instead I’ll highlight my most memorable moments. When we landed in Havana, it was rainy, humid, and a bit dreary. But once we got our luggage and loaded our bus, I could feel my excitement bubbling to the surface. That night, while waiting in between jazz sets, I went outside and walked across the busy street to el Malecón for some fresh air. It was around 11:00 at night but the place was filled with throngs of people of all ages. They either stood, sat, or leaned against the seawall talking in various sized groups. It amazed me for I had never seen anything like it.

The next day after a guided walking tour of the city by the brilliant Diana, we had about an hour to explore on our own. I returned to el Malecón with my roommates Tanya and Isis to watch the sunset.

On Monday morning we packed our bags and headed to Matanzas. We made one stop at Puente de Bacunayagua-the highest bridge in Cuba. 

We arrived in Matanzas shortly after and I immediately liked this city. We were simpático. It was not quite as busy as Havana but still had this palpable vibrant heart beat. That first home cooked dinner at Hostal Azul was delicious and where I began my love affair with Cuban coffee.

That night we went to “Danza Espectaculo,” a dance recital being held by local dance companies. It took place in a public park and though I must admit at first I was more excited at the chance of being able to use WI-FI, I soon became fascinated by observing what was going on around me as we waited for the performance to start. People began to gather and the pleasant hum of chatter increased.

I saw children, mothers, family and friends and was transported to my teenage cousin’s dance recital back in the states. I was struck by the similarities and when the performance finally began, I could not help but see it through those eyes.  The atmosphere was the same. The audience watching and supporting their loved ones. When a group of dancers took the stage, all young girls, dressed in their flag’s colors of red, blue, and white, I saw the pride and joy in their eyes. Suddenly, I was overwhelmed with emotion and began to cry. I still can’t quite explain why I did so but from that moment on I began to understand that although we are separated by a body of water and years of political strife, Cubans are just like us in the ways that matter most.

 

The rest of the trip was filled with moments such as these. No, I wasn’t breaking into tears every day, but I was gaining a new insight into a country I never quite understood. Each day was filled with purpose. Breakfast at Hostal Azul, work at Ediciones Matanzas-which was just a 10 minute walk away, smoking breaks with my translation partner Kayleen where we didn’t smoke but enjoyed stepping outside for a few minutes of respite from the heat, lunch at Hostal Azul, 30 minutes of rest where I just laid in bed enjoying the AC, an adventure in the afternoon, searching for dinner, WI-FI at Parque de la Libertad surrounded by children playing and running at all hours of the night, and then back at Hostal Azul to sleep for a few hours before it began all over again.

Though this might all sound routine, I promise that it was anything but. I fell in love with the sights and sounds of Matanzas. I grew close to my classmates, especially my favorite sister duo of Isis and Tanya. I learned about this group of people in a way that can only happen from spending the days and nights together with no distractions and genuine intent. The conversations we had about nothing and everything will always hold a place in my heart. The weekend where we stayed up late swimming into the night and rose to greet the sunrise, I will treasure forever.

There were also the moments of self-reflection and introspection. Since November 9^th of this past year, I have not been the same. I have questioned so much of what I believed and thought was true about my fellow citizens. To my core, I have always been an idealist. And though I know things aren’t perfect for many of us, I thought we were all moving together towards something better. More kindness and empathy. More truth and justice. John F. Kennedy’s inaugural address where he declared, “Ask not what your country can do for you; ask what you can do for your country” has been my guiding mantra since I first heard it years ago. On that election night, my heart broke and I have been lost in a haze of anger, frustration, sadness, and grief.

 

Cuba, however, was a stark reminder that though my country is having an identity crisis, it still has given me so much. I realized I took so many things for granted. AC, access to water, free internet, toilet seat covers, toilet paper, and whatever type of food I desire. Yet for all those moments of discomfort I had in Cuba, I was reminded that we still had so much more than the locals. We did not want for anything. When I discussed this with Profesora Cuesta, she told me that it was important to acknowledge our privilege but not feel guilty for all we had. What matters is to keep working towards progress for all of us.

It was a reminder to me that as Americans we have much to be proud of, and I need to keep fighting for that. Cuba has helped me love America again. When I looked out my window on the airplane back to Houston and saw those manicured, geometric fields looking up at me, I had never felt such affection.

Now when someone mentions Cuba, I don’t immediately think of Fidel or communism. I think of Luz, Joshua, Rachael, Kayleen, Yesenia, Emmanuel, Laura, Rolando, Nina, Emilse, Kim, Isis, Tanya, Chelsea, Antonia, Joycelyn, Dafne, Adriana, Profesora Cuesta and Neysi, our poets, our guides, the most incredible meal in a sustainable farm, the Soviet Era bus that made sounds which foretold certain death, my motorcycle diaries moment, children’s laughter in Parque de la Libertad, heat, humidity, sweet relief in Isis and Tanya’s room that was always so, so cold, dancing with Jean Marco, learning about Afro-Cuban rituals, and with each of these moments, this country that has always felt so far, but is just a 2 hour plane ride away, is not so far anymore. 

P.S. Would you believe that my first time seeing a drag show, not once but TWICE, occurred in Cuba?