The Cuban Contradiction

(photo above: Cubana checking her cell phone)

In a few days, you can get a sense of a place. Still, Cuba alludes me. There is a wicked sense of humor, something that charms me, but also reminds me of the men playing on the deck of the Titanic. It’s all screwed, what can we do–taken to the next level. You can see this in some of the more playful artwork, or when someone teases you, “Look, that’s Fidel’s house” and points to dilapidated building with blown out windows.

The realities of Cuban life are apparent quickly. The pharmacies are sparse, there simply are no goods to sell. People live 3 generations in a single small apartment. The grocery store might have pasta, tins of tomatoes and rum. Depending on what came in that week, there could be other things– one place had tons of mayo, but not much else. Everything is falling apart. If you imagine taking a US city like Seattle, turning everything into free housing and never repairing anything in 50 years, you can imagine the eery feeling of a place locked in time.

Instead of cynical, there is a sweetness. There’s a habit of addressing people who help you as “mi amor” (my love). I noticed my taxi driver saying it after asking someone on the street for directions, and I’ve been hearing ever since. The woman who rented me my room waited up for me until 3 am one night, worried that I wouldn’t make it home safe. When I told her I’d be staying in the next night, she clapped with glee– real glee, she wouldn‘t have to worry, and rushed her mother off to bed. It hadn’t occurred to me that my host would lose sleep over my safety.

I’ve met some people since I’ve been here. I hung out with one friend in the morning, and few hours after we parted he was arrested, held in jail for 5 hours, then released. These things happen, he said. It makes me worry for everyone that just by talking to me they could put themselves at risk. (This time, he was not arrested because of me).

There are artists and musicians who don’t have the supplies for months at a time to make their art, but somehow they manage. Everyone is managing. If you want to get something done, ask a Cuban, they have made an art form out of getting around archaic rules.

People are exceedingly curious about foreigners. When you say you’re from the US, their eyes light up. “My Uncle lives there”. “My cousin has never been to Cuba, he’s coming in April“. “It has been 25 years since I’ve seen them“. The US embargo on Cuba has effected it’s people the most, but they don’t seem to hold it against us. They’ve become adept at distinguishing between a government and it’s people.

I was walking in old Habana, the side streets crammed with Cubans and tourists, musicians and street performers and all I could think about is the big changes that could be just around the corner. If legislation introduced in the Senate this week actually passes, US – Cuba travel restrictions will be lifted. How will this country handle 2 million additional tourists? Will they feel the same way about Americans when for every one tourist they have now, turns into three? Or will they simply be overjoyed to finally see family they been separated from for all these years?

For all the contradictions, the amazing duality in Cuba, there is one more that is difficult to resolve. As much as the embargo has served to only harm the lives of everyday Cubans, it has also largely protected them, allowing them to flourish in some unexpected ways.