Visiting family in Cuba

I was told visiting Cuba would be like taking a trip back half a century, but it was more like taking a trip to another planet, a sterile, repressed one. Especially coming from the craziness of DF, it was a stark difference. No begging, no selling on the streets, no advertising of any kind (besides communist propaganda), no internet, only 2 TV channels, no graffiti, no traffic, no stray animals, no guards with guns: nobody is allowed to have weapons since it could pose the risk of revolution, police are very well-paid (complete opposite from MX, that’s why they are always looking for bribes here), and strictly-enforced and abundant rules.
I’ve been trying to digest the trip (that reminds me: thank you Cuba for being my number 7 Latin American country to introduce me to the pleasures of Montezuman runs. You would think one of the perks of having a Gastroenterologist father would be a robust bowel. Now you are a better person for knowing the truth.).

I’ll start off with Nuria. This is Nuria and her brother in yesteryear: In her backyard: She is Abuelo Hector’s youngest sister and housed us for most of the trip. She had exquisite food—seriously some of the best (of course, second-best to Maria’s)—and wonderful stories to tell. Unfortunately, it seemed like we always got home late and the stories were told when my attention was diverted by tired kids as I tried to stuff their mouths as fast as possible. I did get some second-hand stories from Hector though, as he explained to Marguerite. Nuria sewed grenades and other weapons into her skirt to carry them to Che and Fidel’s rebels. Now she espouses a different doctrine. She is also an entrepreneur of sorts (quite difficult to be so completely in Cuba): she runs a B&B. She has to pay a monthly tax to the government. This tax is quite high and it’s fixed, not a percentage, no matter how many customers she has.
One night I was watching the news with Nuria. There was a section called “Reflections of Fidel.” Full of brainwashing. It focused on medical care and medical education (it’s true that Cuba does have a good reputation throughout Latin America for its medical schools). The majority of the broadcast stated statistics (one of David’s favorite quotes: 3 types of lies: lies, damn lies, and statistics.) showing Cuba’s superiority to other countries. Even the regular news showed that Cuba was peachy keen and only getting better.

Next we met Gloria (aka. Nena) who is Abuela Maria’s oldest sister. She was the one Maria was particularly anxious about visiting since her health is declining. What a life she’s had: part of a long family feud, recently broke a hip, cross-country move, infected sores on her legs that constantly drip, but what a character! She told us that she was really 22, just aging prematurely. She also spoke of the difficult life of a person trying to survive in Cuba: buying expensive food on a meager income, how you get fined if someone steals your cow because the cow is government property. “Fidel lives surrounded by doctors and I have to beg for medical care.” She used the word “criminal” a lot. We also met Nena’s family. They were supreme examples of outward love for each other and respect for the elderly. I only hope I can raise my kids the way Gloria and her daughter have raised theirs. Gloria’s grandson, Roy, hadn’t had much contact with his grandmother growing up, but when he recently learned that she had broken her hip and didn’t have much family support, he drove across the country to pick her up and bring her back to live with him. Now he bathes her, cooks for her, and does it so lovingly and tirelessly. Roy’s mother was also welcoming. We never got to meet her husband since he is a policeman and was afraid of being fired if he met us since Americans aren’t too popular in Cuba.
I learned from Nena that Grandma Maria was always known as “la llorona” (the crier) of the family. When I heard that it reminded me of the night in Mexico when Maria and I talked while the others were out. She told of the pain of sending her only son away a month before he turned 15 so that he would not be enlisted in the Cuban army. Paying a neighbor to take him on the dangerous ride to the American base in Guantanamo; how he rode in a truck full of people and then crossed a field full of mines on foot. A woman who was traveling with them had a small child who was making too much noise. The child was given a shot of sedatives to ensure their security. An American summoned and encouraged the fugitives from the American side. Hector sent a telegram to his mother from the base, but she never got it. She was in agony, not knowing whether he was alive, until she got the telegram when Hector arrived in Miami. And then her sorrow at reading a letter from her teenaged son in New Orleans who told her he needed her with him and knowing she was stuck, helpless in Cuba. And even more agony upon learning, years later that her son wasn’t loved in the new country as much as she loved him and yearned for him in Cuba.

Abuelo Hector’s younger brother came to Nuria’s house for a visit. He spoke English well. He rents equipment to people who make movies in Cuba. He was extremely warm and talkative. Unfortunately our visit was cut short (can’t remember why).

We also met Maria’s younger brother, Angelin, such a loving, welcoming man. He told us we always have a home in Cuba. Although we didn’t talk politics, he had a picture of Fidel and Hugo Chavez hanging up. We went through his old pictures and he had pictures of him with both Fidel and Raul. He was a fighter pilot for them. The one thing he did mention was the anti-communist sentiment against him: someone said they wouldn’t have gone to his house if they would have known he was communist. On a different note, this visit was absolutely priceless: watching Hector (who is the first grandchild on both sides) able to bear his testimony for the first time to family in a country where the gospel hasn’t been introduced. There were many wet eyes in the room; tears come as I recall the experience. He said that one day young men would come to Angelin’s door to share this message, just as his children had visited people across the world. He told them to open the door to their home and to their hearts. He spoke of forgiving the past to have a better future. Another touching moment was watching Maria crying, hugging her brother as she said, “When will we ever see each other again.”

We took a trip to the beach for a few days while Maria spent time with Nena. When we went to pick up Maria, we were able to meet Roy’s wife and daughter. I spent some time with Roy’s wife Yadi (they’ve been married over 3 years) and daughter Rosio: 2.5 years old. Yadi was a teacher who got promoted to be second-in-command at an elementary school. She was extremely nice and talked to me about her sister who had just moved to Miami. Her brother-in-law moved there first and tried to bring her over by sending an American for her to marry, and therefore legalize her. That fell through, so he had to pay $10,000 for her to come over on a boat. She spoke of the difficulty of keeping in touch and the pain of her sister not being able to come back for their grandmother’s funeral.
Saying good bye: Hector left Gloria’s family with a few Liahonas and a beautiful prayer. The night before we left, the rest of the crew went back to Angelin’s house to say goodbye. I stayed behind with the sleeping kids. There they met other family members. The only story I heard about the visit is when David’s cousin asked him if he spoke Spanish. David replied that he did, as well as English, French, Portuguese, and Russian. He must have forgotten that he was in the country that is Russia’s best friend. His cousin started speaking to him in Russian and David’s mouth dropped.