I have been home for exactly one month today and strangely, some parts about my former life seem more foreign to me than they did before I left in January. I don’t think that people assume me to be any different than any other African American. In the States, I am not usually mistaken for Cuban, Barbadian, Martinican or anything other than a U.S. citizen. This is definitely a shift for me. My daily mindset had been to try and make sense of things partly based upon whether people thought that I was Cuban or a foreigner. Here, that is not really a concern. I don’t have to be nervous about whether or not my speech is clear and understandable. I can ”fit in” without having to reveal to someone that I am not who they thought that I was. I am not here visiting family. I live here, and that’s not a surprise.
Not standing out in the crowd definitely has its share of advantages and disadvantages. At home, it is highly unlikely that I will experience delayed service because the waiter or waitress suspects that I have foreign citizenship. I also feel a bit more at ease in knowing that I can go places without people trying to take advantage of me because I look like a tourist. In the same respect, there is one major disadvantage that I’ve come to realize. Other people don’t seem to find me all that interesting. My hair or the way that I speak doesn’t elicit any questions or impromptu conversations from people who are eager in finding out who I am. Ricardo at the Violín pizzería or Udalia at the peluquería (beauty salon) were quick to ask me, “Why are you in Cuba? How long have you been here? What are you studying?” At home, there is nothing of the sort. I just feel like I’m walking around with this amazing secret and I’m just waiting for someone to express even the slightest bit of interest so that I can share my experiences with them.
The few friends that I have talked to since being home all want to know what I’ve been up to for the last three months. They ask about the weather, about the food, but the most popular question is, what is the one most important thing that I’ve learned while in Cuba. I’ve learned that I’m capable of doing amazing things and creating important relationships if I just get over my initial shyness. That’s my answer for now, but it may change. I find that I will only realize how much I’ve learned when those opportunities arise where I’ll do things differently than I would have done a few months ago.
One friend asked me to tell her a funny story. How could I begin to tell her about the night at the fuente when I was approached by a middle-aged vendor who singled me out as the “negrita más linda” without first explaining what the fuente is, that there are vendors who sell mani, what mani is, who was with me and then finally translating “negrita más linda.” By the end of it, the act of retelling this funny story made me feel rather depressed about the life that I had left in Havana.
I miss seeing people walking down the street. There’s just cars here. Honestly, there aren’t many streets that I’ve ever walked on if they weren’t in my neighborhood or in the more touristy, downtown area of my city. I want to walk, but I feel confined by the weather and not being near places that are designated for walking, like a public park. Here, it’s so easy to be alone—which after spending three months in a house full of friends, is a big adjustment. But I am also surprised at how easy it was for me to get back into my normal routine. Most things, like driving, using my cell phone, or turning on my stereo, was like I had never left.
Admittedly, I hesitated the first time I was asked to use my debit card because I did not know if the six digit code that came to mind was actually my PIN. I hadn’t had to recall a meaningless sequence of numbers for the last three months. As I stood in the checkout line, I bowed my head and hoped that the little screen would tell me that my payment had been approved. Yes! Managing C.U.C and moneda nacional got a little difficult at times, but I always knew how much I had and couldn’t overspend like I often do when I am swiping away with my debit card, not thinking too seriously about how each transaction eats away at my bank account.
Ordering food for my welcome back meal was also a bit of a disorienting experience. As I stood in line looking over the menu at Noodles & Company, I was a bit overwhelmed by the abundance of offerings and the thought that the employees were ready to prepare most anything that was on the menu. It wasn’t too late in the day or the wrong day for me to order a particular item. After ordering, the half liter cup I was given was so much larger than the more manageable glass cups that I had grown accustomed to using in Havana. I was reminded of our problem with proportions and over-eating. Oh, America. Furthermore, I have become a bit more conscious of the things that I eat. Additives, preservatives, “natural flavoring.” I liked knowing that when I ordered food at the cajita stand on F/5 that it was a home cooked meal that promised to be riquisimo (very delicious). Longing to find that same taste, I made my own version of pan con tortilla (a sandwhich of egg and bread sometimes with lettuce and tomato). I rarely cook, but I was really missing the Cuban cuisine that I had grown to love.
Lastly, things here just aren’t as bright as they are in Cuba. It has been overcast, and chilly since I’ve been home, and even the colors that people wear—including myself—appear to be just as drab as the weather. Where is the woman dressed in Ochún yellow from head to toe with the Dolce & Gabbana rhinestone embellished t-shirt and matching wedges? I miss her.
