Tell Me About Your Cuba…

This plaintive call came not from a newly made American friend, but from a new generation Cuban immigrant. A young lady of some 26 years of age, who had come from the island 2 years before this request was made.

We met when she came in as an English student and was placed into one of my classes. A usual repartee took place the very first day…

-“¿Oiga... Usted es de Cuba?”  … “Are you from Cuba?”

- “Sí, soy Cubano”… “Yes, I am Cuban born”

- “But you don’t look Cuban… and you don’t sound Cuban…”

At 6’2” and with an amalgamated accent which comes from over two million miles of business travel as well as several years of living and/or working in different parts of the world, this is a comment which is often heard, so I was not very surprised when she made it…

One day she remained after class for a while, and asked some questions regarding the topic of the day. After I answered her she kind of hemmed and hawed and I asked…

- “What’s up Barbara?”(as common a name in Cuba as Mary might be here)…

- “Teacher… tell me about your Cuba…”

- “What do you mean?” I answered…

-“Well”, she said “my grandma used to tell me stories about a place that was very different than what I grew up knowing”

- “In what ways?” I asked, somewhat guessing the answer…

- “Well, she tells me that people had actual work to do, and had to work to get paid… that there were stores full of things to buy, schools that taught about many different topics, that people felt there was a purpose in life…” and she, in her young innocence, looked right down wistful as these words came from her lips.

As I listened to her, I thought back to the day some 12 years ago when I picked up my brother in Miami, fresh from his flight in… He was in awe of almost anything he saw and his comments were not too far from what Barbara was saying; perhaps less detailed… He was in wonder of the cars, the movement of people, the freedom with which this movement took place… not having to worry as to whether someone is watching you (although this last may have changed somewhat since then, I’m afraid) and, above all…. Being able to go to a store and buying anything he wanted and could afford.

This young lady and I talked for a while… about a country we shared if in name only; a place from the past which would, most likely, never be again. Not because the current government may not be terminated; but because even if it were, that old continuum was lost and misplaced 60 years ago and now, if it comes to pass, the new country that results from the ashes will be a very different place, with a new history of its own.

As we discussed the very real differences in attitude, work, culture, and overall outlook on life, I was internally overcome with a sadness which is difficult to explain. It is a sadness that encompasses the lives of many people, known and not known. Not only a family whose work ethic I witnessed, but many folk whom I never met; people who had, in some way, contributed to the growth and the shaping of a small island that managed to grow in presence and stature beyond its physical boundaries. It was not perfect; I don’t believe any man made structure is… yet, it had managed to become a recognized force in many areas and, along the way, to provide a decent living space to its people.

These blogs are not large enough to even begin to discuss political or philosophical ideology. All I can add from a very practical viewpoint and from the memories I have as they compare with the fresh memories brought to me by this young lady is that, as in Dickens’ “Tale of Two Cities” these memories show two venues which, even when being the same in form, are very different in essence.

The country that was, the people that were, the collective hopes that might have been… all these have been exchanged for cheap ideology which never delivered on what it promised, but did managed to enslave the mind and lives of many by taking away some primary (among many others) rights: the right to learn, to know what else there is, to understand that educated choice is a basic freedom.

The sad truth is that even when the current regime falls, as it is wont to sooner or later, it will take more than a couple of generations to erase the very rooted and deeply ingrained damage done to the Cuban psyche.

“Tell me about your Cuba…” that is a story to be lovingly held in the memory of the storytellers… to be shared and in doing so, to keep alive that history; the real history of our island country.

Be Well … Be Back!!!

Final Notes:

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