Cuba es para los Cubanos

“Cuba… es para los cubanos.” These were the words of Chino (the manager of la residencia) on our first night in La Habana when he went over “las reglas de la residencia,” and they have resonated in my mind ever since. He has told us many times, “Recuerden que ustedes no están en los Estados Unidos.” He and others remind us that we are not living like Cubans, nor could we really, no matter how hard we may try. It is these comments that keep me conscious of my role as a ‘stranger’ in Cuba, along with the stares we get walking in the streets dressed differently than the locals (with backpacks, beachwear and flip flops while Cubans, 80 degrees being their winter climate, wear pants, close-toed shoes or heels, and jackets) and by the frequent “Taxi?! Taxi?! El MEJOR servicio y precio en la Habana!” offers shouted at us from the road.

The dynamic of being a professional stranger in Cuba often leaves me feeling quite uncomfortable. The abundance of fresh-squeezed jugo de piña, mango y guayaba, rice, beans, meats, calabaza, yuca, boniato (my personal favorite, a Cuban sweet potato), rolls, papaya, piña, cabbage, tomatoes, tea, and the best café I have ever had… all of this excess and variety of foods contribute to my awareness of our ‘place’ as wealthy Americans here in Cuba. We go on excursions and read about Cuban life and history. We read about the Special Period and how there was hardly enough food for people to survive. We walk past bodegas where Cubans receive their rationed necessities and stop at food stands selling items in “moneda nacional” with full meals amounting to less than one US dollar. The food prepared for us each day is Cuban, but real Cubans don’t eat like we do. We are reminded of this every time we step in and out of the country’s two-tiered, dual-currency system and the incredible inequality between the two. We see that tourism, el mal necesario (“necessary evil”) as the government has called it, infiltrated the culture and people of Cuba yet allowed it to survive by providing a source of hard currency after the fall of the Soviet Union that was desperately needed. We step through entrances to the homes of Cubans along calles in la Habana Vieja which are not yet ‘restored’ and contrast that with our living conditions at la residencia. Sure, the elevators are not the most functional and one has a hole which covers about one third of the ceiling, so we can watch our slow ascent and descent. Sure, (even if the building is not in one of its temporary and frequent power outages) they might not always work. Occasionally, one will open only to reveal a brick wall on floor ten and a half, then close, lower a few inches more, open once more, again revealing a brick wall, continue this way until opening and exposing only half of the doorway to one of the floors… at which point we give up/laugh/feel like we are living scenes from Beetle Juice, get scared and take the stairs. Sure none of the toilets have seats (who needs ‘em, anyway?). Sure, the window next to my bed rattles like it is about to break free, plummet thirteen flights down and shatter along Calle Primera whenever the wind picks up.

All of these imperfections are just that – imperfect – by U.S. standards. It is all subjective. We’ve learned that there is one word vital to Cuban life – inventar (to invent). ‘Los cubanos siempre estan inventando’ is what Gerardo (our personal tourguide/main professor/historian/friend) teaches and shows us. All I had to do, as Chino put it, is stuff “papelitos” in the crevices of the windows and problem solved. Although it drove me crazy to hear my window banging against the pane and left me with one less night of sleep, it was nothing a few little pieces of paper couldn’t fix.

There are things that would be deemed dangerous, unheard of, and unsightly - to say the least - in the wealthy city of Ann Arbor that I call home, but these conditions are far better than those of Cuban citizens. What’s more, all six of us would say that we are living quite comfortably, actually. All of this amounts to one of the powers I gain as a stranger – a rich stranger by Cuban standards – living in a spacious penthouse, overlooking the Malecon, with two home-cooked meals served every single day. The details are quite irrelevant. We have what we need and more. We’re not living like Cubans, but we’re not living like Americans either.

Right now I really cannot say I miss much from home. I miss Mister Gregory (my Cocker Spaniel), Cocoa (my cat) and my father. I miss my roommates and friends. Even so, there are many more things I am glad to have escaped from than there are things that I am longing for. I am overcome with joy at leaving the bitter cold winter of Michigan. I am happy to leave my cell phone. I still imagine my cell phone vibrating, still have impulses to ‘check my phone’ and now and then I feel like I must make sure I packed my phone when we leave the residencia. Slowly I think these awful impulses will disappear. I am delighted to escape an extremely consumerist society and give my mind a rest in that respect. I think this trip has come just as I was finding myself on the verge of being too immersed in such a society.

Seeing as I am at such an impressionable time of my life, ‘the college years’ - where one begins to develop personal philosophy, opinions, and world viewpoint; when one starts to view the world much more critically and thoughtfully - I am glad to be experiencing this culture. It is a culture which seems, or at least aims to be, much more modest, humble… unaffected (by materialism, consumerism) than the high-strung and competitive culture of our capitalist society back home. As I spoke with a 40-year-old bartender (born in Puerto Rico whose parents moved to the U.S. from Cuba nine years ago), I told him I thought in many ways life in Cuba is “una vida más pura.” He readily agreed, and then went on to talk about how much the U.S. embargo hurts the Cuban economy. Again, equality for all and a society free of consumerist culture is the goal but not always the reality of Cuban life. With the introduction of tourism, an inherently capitalist industry, into the socialist ideology and idealistic spirit of the country, Cuban life certainly has been complicated. I am happy to leave the frustrations of my life back home but am aware that life in Cuba certainly has its own difficulties. Sometimes I do not understand the contemporary political, economic and social issues here and cannot begin to formulate solutions for or opinions of them. But then again, maybe I am just not supposed to. After all, Cuba es para los cubanos, and I am just a ‘professional American stranger’.