Matanzas!

Our trip to Matanzas started with a visit to a beautiful museum, Las Rutas de Esclavos, honoring the influence of Afro-Cuban slaves. In this port-side fortress, we learned about the amazing impact of slavery and slave revolts throughout the 18th and 19th centuries. In particular, my favorite exhibit showcased the Santería religion practiced by the slaves, and highlighted their spiritual strength and beliefs. I was absolutely fascinated with the accomplishments of these slaves, both in their religious vitality (as Santería is a religion that preserved the West-African Yourba traditions under the mask of Catholicism), and in the intelligence and courage manifested by countless uprisings and revolutions. However, although the exhibit celebrated the elaborate dynamics of Santería, it was indeed a safe representation of their religion for tourists and visitors unfamiliar to the complexity of slavery in Cuba. Slavery was a prominent and horrific practice for centuries in Cuba, but the country is certainly acknowledging its wretched history by paying homage to the magnificent brilliance of slaves with museums such as this; Fidel also embraced Cuba as an Afro-Latin nation soon after the Revolution, but analyzing slavery in Cuba is much different than the plantation system in America along with the continued practice of Jim Crow politics in the Southern States. The room contained the different deities of their respective powers—the thunderbolts and physical prowess of Chango, the omniscient wisdom of Orula, and the spectacular and colorful beads and gifts that were chosen to honor each of the 17 Orishas.

We then continued on to the center of Matanzas and arrived at the Vigía book workshop where we met the masterminds of the intricate hand-crafted books. We sat down to learn about their stories and lend a hand in preparation of an upcoming Cuban book fair, to be held in Habana in early February. However, after a long ride from Habana, I needed a meal to silence my stomach (dealing with my Diabetes in Cuba hasn’t been too much of a challenge, but it is a disease that still requires constant care and attention) before joining my classmates in the assembly line of cutting, folding, and other small tasks in creating these detailed books. So Manolo, a young artist of the Vigía workshop, came with me to eat lunch next door at a delicious burger spot, and so the story of our friendship would embark. My Spanish is más o menos pretty good, and as we sat and spoke, exchanged stories and got to know one another, he professed that my fluency was indeed impressive. I laughed and said gracias.

We returned to Vigía and got back to work, continuing our conversation and building a nice rapport. At our corner of the table, a few classmates, Manolo, his friend Frank and I began singing call and response type songs to pass the time. We started with the classic “I’ve been working on the railroad,” then quickly switched to the plethora of Michael Jackson tracks that are known universally. In between tunes, we got to know each other more and more. I told him I was a patinador (skateboarder) and he told me about his desire to windsurf; I feel as though it’s always easy for people who indulge in extreme sports to bond easily. While I love to carve, cruise, and bomb hills on my board, he enjoys flying freely through the air—both of us catching the breeze on our different vehicles of choice, pushing the limits of sanity and safety, but always in the quest of exploration.

As we continued, after a few hours of cutting images and folding pieces of paper for the hand-crafted books, he took me and a few others around the workshop. Upstairs, Vigía was decorated with a splendor of flowers and the most eye-catching blue shutters, not to mention the countless pieces of precious art. He took us onto the balcony which overlooked much of Matanzas, pointing to his home just beyond the water sitting atop the second hill.

Manolo and I were becoming good friends, and, as we continued to hablar en español, our relationship only deepened. We shared stories of our youth and developed an interesting prologue to our new friendship, though it seemed as though we now knew each other for years, though only a few hours had passed. We sat and talked as the afternoon unfolded, and decided to connect through Facebook, which these days seems to be the only way two people can officially stamp their friendship. But Facebook in Cuba must be such a challenge with the slow and immensely difficult Internet access, but regardless of whatever challenge we might face—including racial differences (me a Mulatto, at least in Cuba, and he a blanco of Spanish decent) and miles of separation—true friendships endure through the bonding of sincere characters, not social boundaries.

Next, he showed me a few of the books he had designed the art for, and I loved them all. I bought his “Vivir Creer Vivir,” to live is to believe to live, loosely translated. It was a wonderful book that explored personal adventures on a bicycle, another one of his favorite activities, and he dedicated it to me and signed it too, officially inking our friendship into the texts of adventurism. Many of the Vigía books contained the work of the great Cuban poet and independence hero Jose Martí. But one poem in particular, Guantanamera, which boasts the line, “Yo soy un hombre sincero,” gave me hope and confidence that our friendship could indeed endure despite the embargo, Internet access, or whatever other barriers. As we are both passionate adventurers with contemporary vehicles, he windsurfing above the Caribbean waters and me skating through the streets of Habana, I hope to one day return to the workshop that will one day be passed on to him. After another week in Cuba, I feel as though I’m connecting with lost friends, developing relationships that although have been short, have been realer and as profound as any I can imagine back home in the States.