"You are
interested in a person, not in life, and people die or leave us...But if you
are interested in life it never lets you down. You don't do crosswords, do
you, Mr. Wormold? I do, and they are like people: one reaches an end. I can
finish any crossword within an hour, but I have a discovery concerned with the
blueness of cheese that will never come to a conclusion - although of course
one dreams that perhaps a time might come…"
Dr. Hasselbacher in Our Man in Havana
Dr. Hasselbacher in Our Man in Havana
Trinidad is visually stunning. The colors are rich and tropical. Much of the architecture is neoclassical and baroque, with a Moorish flavor. The fourth of the seven cities founded by Diego de Velazquez in 1514, it earned initial prosperity by importing slaves into the port here.
The maze of streets was meant to confuse invading pirates (and future invading tourists). All the old streets slope down into the center because legend has it that the city's first governor had a right leg shorter than left, and could be level when walking down the street if he stayed on the right side. It probably also helps with drainage - but the governor story is much more amusing.
We had the unique privilege of visiting Templo Yemalla Santeria. I love a good church, mosque or synagogue, so this was a treat for me. Cuba has a unique religious mix, due to the Spanish colonization, Caribbean island influences, the slave trade - all have left their mark. This home is a Santeria Temple. Santeria (or Saint Worship) is a mash up of African religions and Catholicism. When the slaves were taken to Cuba, the only thing they brought them was their religion and their stories. They we made to practice Catholicism and celebrate Christian holidays, but they adopted those rituals and saints to their own gods and found a way around the strict ban on their religious practices. A layering of religions created something entirely new.
This temple in the
Santeros's home was dedicated to Yemaya (The Virgin de Regla), goddess of the
sea and motherhood. This particular idol was a black madonna from Spain. The
blue and white color represents the ocean.
As the priest was talking, he mentioned ghosts, white ghosts - and he said, "blanco," and gestured at me while smiling. I smiled right back, I am acutely aware of how blanco I am.
I found Santeria fascinating and it was highly educational and spiritual. An example of what happens when people get moved around the world - and it made me think of all the people displaced by war - what traditions, religious practices, stories and culture do they bring to a place when they must run from their home? Also, think of what is lost when these forced migrations occur.
From the Santeria priest, we walked through Trinidad, on our way to our meeting with the founder of a "horse-whisperer" type project. Another group member and I talked about spirituality and religions we've encountered in our travels. His experiences in South America had influenced him greatly, while I had had that overwhelming feeling of something special (The Other, God, the strength of Humanism, whatever you'd like to call it) in Iran, Spain, Australia and Guatemala.
So this was what was on my mind when I entered a building in Trinidad, Cuba and came face to face with the presence of Abdi Sami.
Abdi, who had died in June 2012.
I was one of the first people to meet Julio Munoz. We went to hear him speak about his project, Proyecto Diana, and to learn how people in Cuba must diversify their interests to get ahead. Julio owns a bed and breakfast, is a photographer, and an animal lover. His passion is change through education - be it for himself or for the horses he cares for. I shook his hand and sat down, the others arrived. He began to speak.
Sometimes our body knows things before our brain finally kicks in and lets us in on what's happening to us. I was suddenly flooded with sadness, and started to cry.
It was just a general sadness at first. I couldn't quite figure out why I was so upset, but Señor Munoz seemed so familiar. Then he spoke. About change, about animals and photography and about how important it was to reach out to people. I looked into his eyes, the same eyes as Abdi. His mannerisms, his voice - it was disconcerting to say the least.
If Abdi was alive and living in Cuba, he would be doing this.
I finally had to leave, because I could not get over the similarity.
I know that Abdi would have been so proud of me for being in Cuba; for gaining this knowledge, having this experience with people that my government has a punitive relationship with. I mourned the man who changed the entire direction of my life, who told me that the last year with cancer was the best year yet - his chance to experience true love from his friends, the man who gave me Hafez and Rumi.
Abdi had also introduced me to someone who told me to "just go." And here I was in Cuba.
The blueness of the cheese.
How lucky I was. How blessed. To feel Abdi's presence again, to think of him and remember what he had done for me. Something was telling me that I was in the right place. Despite my messy way of getting here, I was here and it was right. Or it would be right eventually.
I spent most of the rest of the day on my own, meditating through photography.
Looking for the blueness of the cheese.
As the priest was talking, he mentioned ghosts, white ghosts - and he said, "blanco," and gestured at me while smiling. I smiled right back, I am acutely aware of how blanco I am.
I found Santeria fascinating and it was highly educational and spiritual. An example of what happens when people get moved around the world - and it made me think of all the people displaced by war - what traditions, religious practices, stories and culture do they bring to a place when they must run from their home? Also, think of what is lost when these forced migrations occur.
From the Santeria priest, we walked through Trinidad, on our way to our meeting with the founder of a "horse-whisperer" type project. Another group member and I talked about spirituality and religions we've encountered in our travels. His experiences in South America had influenced him greatly, while I had had that overwhelming feeling of something special (The Other, God, the strength of Humanism, whatever you'd like to call it) in Iran, Spain, Australia and Guatemala.
So this was what was on my mind when I entered a building in Trinidad, Cuba and came face to face with the presence of Abdi Sami.
Abdi, who had died in June 2012.
I was one of the first people to meet Julio Munoz. We went to hear him speak about his project, Proyecto Diana, and to learn how people in Cuba must diversify their interests to get ahead. Julio owns a bed and breakfast, is a photographer, and an animal lover. His passion is change through education - be it for himself or for the horses he cares for. I shook his hand and sat down, the others arrived. He began to speak.
Sometimes our body knows things before our brain finally kicks in and lets us in on what's happening to us. I was suddenly flooded with sadness, and started to cry.
It was just a general sadness at first. I couldn't quite figure out why I was so upset, but Señor Munoz seemed so familiar. Then he spoke. About change, about animals and photography and about how important it was to reach out to people. I looked into his eyes, the same eyes as Abdi. His mannerisms, his voice - it was disconcerting to say the least.
If Abdi was alive and living in Cuba, he would be doing this.
I finally had to leave, because I could not get over the similarity.
I know that Abdi would have been so proud of me for being in Cuba; for gaining this knowledge, having this experience with people that my government has a punitive relationship with. I mourned the man who changed the entire direction of my life, who told me that the last year with cancer was the best year yet - his chance to experience true love from his friends, the man who gave me Hafez and Rumi.
Abdi had also introduced me to someone who told me to "just go." And here I was in Cuba.
The blueness of the cheese.
How lucky I was. How blessed. To feel Abdi's presence again, to think of him and remember what he had done for me. Something was telling me that I was in the right place. Despite my messy way of getting here, I was here and it was right. Or it would be right eventually.
I spent most of the rest of the day on my own, meditating through photography.
Looking for the blueness of the cheese.
Comments
Post a Comment