Antes de llegar

While rolling my enormous amount of luggage into the bus station today, I could not help but notice the way in which I was incredibly burdened by all of the things that I was attempting to carry: clothes, shoes, books, a computer, shampoo, toothpaste… I was wheeling and dragging behind me months upon months of material items. I was burdened by a standard of living, a type of luxury, to which I was accustomed to and desperately attempting to maintain. And there, in addition to my beloved hygiene products and nestled between items of comfort, was all of the anxiety surrounding this trip. I hate to admit it, but I was nervous.

With all that I had packed, along with the expectation of maintaining at least some part of the standard of living I had always known in the United States, was I already hindering myself from sharing the in Cuban experience? What if I didn’t adjust to the Cuban way of life? What if I was not comfortable? It had been so long since I had taken a Spanish class, what if I no longer have the ability to communicate properly en español? What if I had left that charger for my computer in Lansing? What if I spent the next three months afraid, scurrying in between Casa de las Americas and la recidencia and never stopping to notice the little nuances of Cuban life?

On the way from the bus station to our hotel near the airport, we managed to make a friend in the taxi driver transporting us. He was an old Bangladeshi man who instantly began divulging to us his life story. Despite his willingness to break Canadian law for us and use his phone while driving to call his wife to check what the weather would be for tomorrow and the few times he unknowingly drifted between lanes on the busy Toronto expressway, my nerves slowly began to disappear. Between the account of his time in Tarablus and Al-Saudia, as well as his rendition of the entire recent history of the Indian sub-continent, I began to experience some relief. His obvious accent and his interesting choice of vocabulary did not seem to inhibit our ability to communicate. In fact, I had to laugh because I realized that this is exactly what I was destined to sound like to Cubans. It did seem as though it was possible to make a friend in unexpected place. I dearly hope that we run into our friend in March upon our return just in time to celebrate the independence of Bangladesh, and I now believe that Cuba, while different from my home, may need not loom large in my thoughts as such a worrisome place after all.