I wrote this after my 2 weeks studying conga, salsa and afro-cuban dance in Havana,Cuba in 2003. The photo is one of my first photos I took with my Fujifilm Finepix.
When I first I arrived to Cuba my soul was encircled by the warmth of the people. From the customs personnel to airport security to the taxi driver and eventually to the streets of Habana., I was home. Images stirred memories of “mi abuelo.” And for a moment I was sad- sad not to have him with me longer than I did and sad not to have all the answers about my family-,my heritage. I came to Cuba looking to discover its mystery…to taste its “sabor.”
Cuba…where children play outside all day long...games of stick ball played in the yards of the Capitolio, the streets of Centro Habana, the playground of la escuela...talent cultivated by the desire of enjoyment
Cuba...where strangers invite you into their homes, their lives...offering their stories, their food (arroz christianos or arroz blanco y frijoles negros, platanos maduros and flan), asking only for friendship in return.
Cuba… where men adorn women with compliments and offers of love- wanting to find a foreign vessel to carry their passion and their love to places their bodies will never be.
Cuba... where the ambitious are morphed into street hustlers...selling anything from tobacco to amor …"pudos, taxi…novio?" dancing between the rhythms, singing notes of instant friendship, stroking the strings of material expectations receiving a little of something you have plenty of…the American dollar.
Nationals represent true citizenship: believing in a revolution that the world see as false…living happier than those that seek to judge oh blessed Cuba…. the aroma of music seeps into your soul as you walk through the streets of habana vieja.
Africa found its home in Cuba... intertwined its religion, art, and language into that of the Spaniard…I guess slavery’s extended stay in Cuba allowed Africa to plant its roots deeper…depositing nutrients of rhythms, drums, celebration, worship, faith and community…Or maybe the isolation brought by the Revolucion nurtured its gift of Africa while other lands sought to eliminate the African.
Cuba…you have transformed me yet I do not know my new form. Perhaps the love you have filled me with has yet to take shape in my spirit… My soul had a longing that only Cuba could satiate. And so I have a love for Cuba that has never existed for America. I have a memory of Cuba of a life I never lived. Cuba is my home…the place where I was born…
I went to Cuba to discover its mystery…yet I believe I may have only started to unravel the mystery of me.
Cuba…where children play outside all day long...games of stick ball played in the yards of the Capitolio, the streets of Centro Habana, the playground of la escuela...talent cultivated by the desire of enjoyment
Cuba...where strangers invite you into their homes, their lives...offering their stories, their food (arroz christianos or arroz blanco y frijoles negros, platanos maduros and flan), asking only for friendship in return.
Cuba… where men adorn women with compliments and offers of love- wanting to find a foreign vessel to carry their passion and their love to places their bodies will never be.
Cuba... where the ambitious are morphed into street hustlers...selling anything from tobacco to amor …"pudos, taxi…novio?" dancing between the rhythms, singing notes of instant friendship, stroking the strings of material expectations receiving a little of something you have plenty of…the American dollar.
Nationals represent true citizenship: believing in a revolution that the world see as false…living happier than those that seek to judge oh blessed Cuba…. the aroma of music seeps into your soul as you walk through the streets of habana vieja.
Africa found its home in Cuba... intertwined its religion, art, and language into that of the Spaniard…I guess slavery’s extended stay in Cuba allowed Africa to plant its roots deeper…depositing nutrients of rhythms, drums, celebration, worship, faith and community…Or maybe the isolation brought by the Revolucion nurtured its gift of Africa while other lands sought to eliminate the African.
Cuba…you have transformed me yet I do not know my new form. Perhaps the love you have filled me with has yet to take shape in my spirit… My soul had a longing that only Cuba could satiate. And so I have a love for Cuba that has never existed for America. I have a memory of Cuba of a life I never lived. Cuba is my home…the place where I was born…
I went to Cuba to discover its mystery…yet I believe I may have only started to unravel the mystery of me.
1 comment:
Go!You!I must be crazy didnt you thinkings of me before you loved before someone you didnt thought that wasnt like wrong this before you dont knew this part end of me.
But you thinkings of me dont knew this There you knew this part right!There you you this crushed you.
Post a Comment