cuba

Alamar is an urban neighborhood composed of large apartment complexes in the far east of Havana.  The neighborhood was built up in the 1980’s in collaboration with the Soviet Union to provide modern housing for military and civilian families.  The visitor easily loses himself in the labyrinth of 10-story buildings that hug the ocean thirty minutes from Central Havana.  In some ways, Alamar reminded me of the South Bronx.  Families gathered together outside their buildings to picnic and share versions of the day’s events.  Children ran freely from playground to playground, inventing games and inventing life.  In other ways, the imagery was completely different.  There were no tales of drug abuse, wanton violence or police brutality.  There was a sense of social peace that would seem a fairytale in the Bronx.

I walked the streets with a poet named Guevara.  He showed me an apartment wall that were reserved for graffiti artists to show their work.  My eyes zoomed in on one collage.  Someone named Stalin had written: “I’m Stalin Don’t Mess with me.”  Just above this playful warning, someone had inscribed the Nike swoosh logo.   The perfect contrast!  One of the ultimate symbols of the portending capitalist advances into Cuba vied for space with the autograph of a young man who was named after one of the chief representatives of a diametrically opposed social system.  We stopped to analyze the curious juxtaposition and Alamar’s future.

Guevara explained how he admired his country and its dignity and that he also admired me and how I lived.  He said I was free to wake up any day and get on a plane and travel to any far-off-place that I chose.  He reflected on how he aspired to see, taste and inhale the world’s many scents.  In a moment of great lucidity, we both shook our heads in disapproval of the world we live in –a world of haves and have-nots.  In the Northern hemisphere, those -who are to some degree- free to travel the world, rarely do because of fear and everyday survival.  Meanwhile, in the South how many brilliant souls would leap at that first opportunity to board a plane?  The economic order however does not afford them this luxury nor do the Northern “democratic” countries allow them to freely enter.  So many contradictions.  So many encaged spirits.

We kept walking the maze of apartment buildings and Guevara introduced me to his crew.  Alamar is considered the birthplace of Cuban hip hop and is a hotbed of creative, youthful Cuban talent and art.  Guevara was part of this scene.  I was first in East Havana 12 years ago, when I stayed with Omni Zona Franca in the summer of 2001. Omni Zona Franca is a collective of rappers, break dancers, poets, sculptors and what seemed like every other genre of artist under the sun.  The cultural activists invited me to share my poetry that Saturday night at a gathering where people came to perform their work in the living room of one of the collective’s founders.  There was great cheer, wine, stanzas, dialogue and caldosa, a traditional Cuban stew with beans, vegetables, spices and a hodgepodge of other ingredients.  It is true that Havana brings out the artist in all of us.  It was an honor to be back in Cuba.

Cuba2

Guitarists, b-boys, scribes and singers performed their work.  I followed a young woman who read about her experience as an Afro-Cuban woman navigating age-old stereotypes that were slow to die.   Midway through a poem on the legacy of our ancestors and their resistance, one of the rappers named Balexis rose from the crowd and lunged towards me, clutching the flesh of my arms before leaping into my chest and screaming out that tonight he had been summoned to resurrect the cimarrones.[1]  Caught by surprise -mid-verse- I tried to peel him off of me as he was aggressively squeezing himself into my chest.  Was it part of his act?  Was he serious?  Was this 5’8; thickset dark-skinned escaped slave sent to redeem his people before the foreign guest?  Or was I too invoked by the spirits to walk in the memory of Antonio Maceo, Lemba, Dessalines and Nanny the Maroon?  My poem had inspired his “episodes” -as his peers later called them- but none of this was clear to me at the moment.  I just wanted to breathe.  I banged Balexis up against a wall trying to force him off of me but he was glued to my chest blaring out about our common forefathers.  Two of the other performers, Nilo and Amaury sprang into action and wrestled Balexis off of me.  They restrained him and tackled him to the ground, dragging him into a back bedroom.  I was left before the crowd of onlookers wondering if this was in stride with the spirit of my vignettes.  I finished performing with the ear-piercing screams of the Black man, his historical plight and redemption filling the Havana night, the perfect background to my poems.

When we had all finished, in a sort of impromptu collective therapy, the participants shared their own horror stories.  Balexis’ epileptic attacks took the form of exorcising his internal maroons and siccing them onto whoever was near.  Several artists repeated “que fula” or “how crazy” but explained that they never took it personal as he had no control over his sudden tantrums.  One story made us all keel over with laughter.  Several weeks before a delegation from Havana’s city government visited Alamar to respond to a proposal for investment in one of the neighborhood’s cultural centers.  When Balexis did not recognize the delegation touring his territory, he flipped out.  The spirits were again resurrected.  He hurled himself at the humble city officials chasing them all the way back onto the state bus that had delivered them to Alamar only two hours before.  What an image!  Alamar’s greatest defender chasing Communist Party officials in and out of playgrounds and buildings as they raced for cover under a hail of flower pots.  The city’s official response to the collective’s proposal would have to wait.  Coñó Asere!  It was good to be back in Cuba.[2]  I wished everyone back home and across this wide world could have these travel opportunities that Guevara and I appreciated so much.

[1] Maroons

[2] Cuban slang for Damn Brother.

1 COMMENT

  1. What an interesting experience, primito. Thanks for sharing. I hope to see Cuba antes que las quadras de Habana se llenan de Starbucks, McDonalds y Walmart. Cheers.

  2. Interesting story, primito. I hope to see Cuba on day anger que less llenan las cuadras de Havana con McDonalds, Starbucks y Walmart y las playas con SeniorFrogs, spring breakers y MTV beach party. Cheers. Gin-Gin.

  3. Hi Danny

    Your best piece yet in terms of writing standards.

    When are you home, there’s something I want to ask you.

    Warm regards

    Alan

    >

  4. Little havana reminds me of the project that we have in PR. Its very true we would all love a chance to live in somewhere othere then the bronx but we ALL DONE HAVE TO SAME MONEY. So yes the project of the bronx is very much like little Havana, Cuba. Poetry is something that i find to be very important so that your works was read in Cuba is fascinating. Professor will you bring some of your work to the class ONE DAY.

  5. I chose this article because you wrote about Havana, Cuba and a brief, specific experience you encountered while you were there. I have recently come to greatly appreciate and admire Cuba and its culture. I like how in the beginning you compared and contrasted the apartment building you saw in Havana to the South Bronx. I find that whenever I go to a new place, I often find myself comparing its features that are familiar to me. For example, recently I was in Miami and I often found myself comparing it to Dominican Republic because of all the palm trees and building structures. Moreover, it was interesting how you analyzed the graffiti found on the wall. Usually, I’d admire the graffiti but wouldn’t analyze it the way you did. Specifically, you pointed out the juxtaposition between two specific markings in which “Someone named Stalin had written: “I’m Stalin Don’t Mess with me.” Just above this playful warning, someone had inscribed the Nike swoosh logo. The perfect contrast! One of the ultimate symbols of the portending capitalist advances into Cuba vied for space with the autograph of a young man who was named after one of the chief representatives of a diametrically opposed social system,” (Shaw, 2015). There’s almost like a clash between the two. The Nike symbol represents capitalism that is present in Cuba and the quote written by someone who’s coincidentally name Stalin depicts a contrast between two different social systems. It was coincidental that both these tags were placed near each other and both bear two deeper meanings. Lastly, you ended your article by stating that you wish others the same opportunities that you and your friend have to be able to travel and experience/ immerse yourself into different cultures. I hope one day I am given the leisure to be able to travel to Cuba and learn more about it’s history by being there and immerse myself in its rich and beautiful culture. But for now, I’ll continue visiting Little Havana in Miami, which gives me a mere glimpse of Cuba.

  6. Such a great narrative, the symbols and connections made throughout the reading captured me. I like how you explained that the city of Alamar resembled the south Bronx in its unity of family and also kids running around inventing games. The only difference that is due to communism in Cuba is they are not Riddled by drugs that way the south Bronx is. There was a Nike swoosh on a collage of art which can represent capitalism, but there was also a quote written by Stalin next to it that read don’t mess with me. This narrative shows the difference in lifestyle, how many have freedoms that others wish to have. The future of Alamar would love to be a different one from its precious history, and put an end to communism. Blaxesis try’s to prevent negotiations in his city with communist officials by scaring them off. Wouldn’t you try to put your foot down to have your freedom and to let its artistic heritage flourish.

  7. I’ve always wanted to visit Cuba ever since I was a little girl. The way the Cuban people live reminds me of DR and PR. I hope that I can visit soon before the country begins to get gentrified, and ruined by elites. It was interesting that you said that the people in Cuba are similar to the people in the South Bronx in the way that they lived, I would’ve never thought they would have some things in common with us.

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