Cuba Diary Snippets: May 15, 2013

I didn't go to the institute with the other students today.  I went to the Fundación Fernando Ortiz as Rodrigo suggested and bought some books from his colleague Yolanda that he suggested.  When I arrived, I met a grandmotherly lady from Jamaica originally, but whose family has been in Cuba for 80 years.  Her name is Josephine [note: I'm leaving out her whole name].  We chatted, she gave me a program of upcoming events at Casa de las Americas and before I left, she gave me her phone number.  She said "my house is your house" and at that moment, I wanted to cry.

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Before I left the residence, Carlos, the administrator of the residence along with a few of the workers were discussing politics in a way I never anticipated discussing politics with Cubans. Carlos [said], "This is all Obama needs to do, we don't care about Guantanamo or any of that.  Just ask Castro, 'What do you want?' And then send over 100 ships full of products and supplies that people need, and then the embargo will be over."  He talked about the fact that the politicians eat every day, they have plenty of money and everything they need while they're debating politics, but who really suffers is el pueblo [the people].  He said that people who are involved in tourism are tricking the foreigners who come.  He said all they want us to see are the children in uniforms smiling, oh, everything is happy, etc., but they don't want you to see the suffering or a child on the street who doesn't get enough to eat every day.  Then he asked if I was going to become a senator after a this political discussion, and we all laughed.

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On my way back, an older Cuban man remarked at how pretty I was and how beautiful my teeth were—prettier than a model in a toothpaste ad.  He took it upon himself to accompany me across the street and kiss my hand and say that we could have a very beneficial relationship ("no sexo ni nada de eso," [not sex or anything like that] he clarified).  I was trying to avoid saying I was American, but I guess I give off an American aura.  I've heard a lot from people that they thought I was Cuban or Dominican . . . I guess I like the fact that I "could" be a lot of things.  Anyway, I had to gracefully get away from my old Cuban admirer ("Si yo fuera más joven . . . " [If I were younger] he lamented before I walked away).

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Walking a little further on was a guy asking if we needed a taxi.  "Taxi, señorita?" I shook my head no.  We kept walking.  "Cuban boyfriend?" he offered.  I laughed heartily.  If I didn't need a taxi, maybe a Cuban boyfriend would be what I was looking for.

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This afternoon, I legitimately cried after lunch.  One of the servers in the cafeteria told us that he tried to reach the US en balsa [note: a balsa is basically an inner tube people would use to try to get to Florida from Cuba] twice, but each time, he was caught and got brought back and mistreated by the Cuban authorities.  If felt horrible just thinking about so many peoples' realities.  "No seas así," [don't be that way] he said.  His name is Elio.