La Habana: A Rich Past Of Broken Promises
- MK Dea
- Jun 3, 2024
- 6 min read
Updated: Jun 24, 2024
As the plane pounded the tarmac and the lady beside me grabbed my arm and shrieked "Ay, dios!!" in panic, I focused on my breathing and not my heart feeling like it was about to escape out of my mouth, I hate flying.
Once we had recovered from the shock, we bunched a few serviettes together and mopped up the water she had spilt onto her lap. Griselda was a Cuban native who was visiting from just outside of Milan. She had kept my nerves at bay throughout the flight by confidently speaking to me in Spanglish-Italian about her life and Havana. She had left the Island 30 years ago and was happily married to an Italian man she met whilst living in Cuba. We flicked through photos and videos - her showing me her children and Grandchildren placed in various countries across Europe, and me presenting pictures of my family and relatives from Cuba. Griselda was returning to oversee the progress of the house she and her husband were building in Varadero. Cousins, nephews and gran-nephews were all assisting with the upkeep and maintenance of the new build. It was kitted out with an American fridge, quad-hob oven and other little bits you can't buy in Cuba. She proudly informed me that these were shipped over from Italy and that all her hard work had finally paid off...
She had built a house and she was out of Cuba.
The Reality
I lost Griselda in a queue of natives and visitors at the border control. I stood impatiently in a snaking queue for 45 agonising minutes, wondering if my taxi driver was going to leave my ass behind. Little did I know, the baggage collection was even more tedious than the border control, as hundreds of very hot and incredibly tired travellers were huddled around a small conveyor belt watching 'Maria Jose Luis' and others' suitcases doing the rounds. These cases seemed to have no owners and then finally a man came with a list of names and started throwing them to one side.
Dehydrated and struggling with the repetition of suitcases, I had figured out what was going on. Labels with Germany, America and the Canaries highlighted in bold letters and wrapped in layers of bubble wrap were waiting to be unpacked by families in Havana. It was a small but detailed glimpse at the effects of communism that first and second-world countries would not be able to live with.
Almost an hour later and I was given a heart-felt clapping ovation as my case shakily approached my stretched-out hands. I skipped away with relief and prayed my driver was waiting outside for me as I nervously clambered through the crowd to the outside world.
La Habana - The Skeleton Of Little Las Vegas
Music, shouting and beeping, I can't quite believe I am here.
I am the first person from my grandmother's line to return since she and her family had left Cuba during the presidential takeover of Fulgencio Batista in the 1940s.
My eyes were wide open and full of emotion as I stared at the glittering chandelier that was suspended elegantly over my bed.
I was staying in a 1500s colonial-styled house in the cultural melting pot of Habana Vieja (old Havana). My hosts Amanda & Alex were a couple my Salsa teacher had introduced me to. Amanda was British and Alex was Cuban and with their matrimony, they were able to secure a few businesses In England and Havana and it provided Alex with a better standard of life.
Darted about the place were old unique trinkets, vintage photos and curious props from Alex's spiritual tradition that practices were originated from West Africa and similar to Free Masonry.
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A shabby, barely black 1940s Chevrolet rattled past me as I tried to dodge the debris in the street. There were market stalls full of brightly coloured vegetables, loudly playing Jamaican reggae on every street corner available and queues of people gathering outside random windows. Some were holding a book of rations and were either there to collect their food for the month, or to change foreign currency.
I had met many people between the ages of 20- 40 who had enough of this place and wanted a way out, pronto!
Some locals had explained that before the revolution, Havana was a bustling city full of lights, Americans and gangsters. Everything was booming back then, casinos, rum, cigars - You name it! It was the richest city in the Caribbean at the time and boastfully nicknamed "Little Las Vegas" which has now become a historical monument of a poverty-stricken revolution.
"You can see it everywhere" advised Manuel, a 31 year old photographer from outside of Havana who was earning more than most through his 'Airbnb' experience, taking photos of los gringos (the foreigners). We pulled up outside of 'Hotel Nacional De Cuba' which hosted celebrities like the Carters and the Beckhams. I tried to have my "best side" captured as I awkwardly posed in an open-top car. He snapped away, telling me about the unhinged past of this hotel. "There were lots of drugs you know? Many Gangsters from Colombia and America were putting a lot of money into this place, it is the biggest hotel we have!" and he wasn't lying... There were grounds, a valet service and your stereotypical fountain with fancy water dances. This place clearly was a proud place to be seen in back in the day, and one of the few things the government was heavily investing in.
In Yemoja We Trust
Dolls and candles are a few things that Cubans spend their small, hard-earned cash on whenever necessary. Even though working Cubans would earn around 1,600 Cuban pesos a month (equivalent to £6.28) which would barely buy you a meal at a restaurant, there was always money to invest in hope and that faith was Santeria.
Santeria is a hybrid of West Africa's spiritual tradition and Catholicism, practised by many throughout the Hispanic Diaspora and is not to be confused with Voodoo.
Men and Women neatly dressed in all white have already been assigned to their Orisha, and eagerly buy what's required for their altar so they can connect with their ancestors and banish all evil spirits.
Even though the Cubans have been promised a life of freedom and progression that they are still yet to receive, they passionately pray and dance for change and happily smile throughout the ordeal (older Cubans anyway).
Yes, Che and the mandem did get the land and businesses back for their people, but at what cost? Underpaid doctors, some of the best brain surgeons in the world have said "Hasta luego" and taken themselves into America and Europe where their efforts are appropriately paid. The US embargo, a vendetta held against Cuba for kicking their businesses and people to the curb has deprived natives of the medicine, food and anything that can be imported - not to mention the wild accusations of "terrorist affairs" when US nationals come and visit the island.
"We suffer with a laugh." a quote a friend had told me who also earned his living through Airbnb and has since moved to Serbia. Not only is the Government kicking Cuban butt, but Global warming is also annihilating the farming industry as we speak with farmers having to give 95% of their stock profits to the government, whatever the outcome. Tourism, the one thing a small country like this can rely on is bringing home money that Cubans can only dream of being contributed to the community and disappointingly, is receiving nothing at all.
It seems my grandmother's family had made a successful decision when leaving before the stove had caught fire, even if they had pined to see their country again before it was too late - I asked myself "Would they have been heartbroken at what became of their beloved nation?" and the answer would most certainly have been a simple "yes."
After a truly incredible stay, I came to this conclusion:
Cuba is a ridiculously safe place full of hope, spirit and beautiful people who are unfortunately stuck in a system which had been designed to keep them there forever.
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