What I, Kikita, Learned in Cuba

Kikita here.

There are plenty of things about my trip to Cuba that I haven't written about for various reasons. One of those reasons is that I went back to school this semester. School started exactly 4 weeks before I left for Cuba so I made sure to clear my trip with my teachers. I went back to study Spanish, so my teacher was happy to excuse my absence. I was back in class exactly 12 hours after my plane landed in LA. I was back in class, but I was lost. They were in the middle of discussing past preterites and my (recent) past was all too present in my mind to worry about their preterite past.

(Are you confused yet? Yeah, me too.)

One of the reasons I had taken the class was to learn the very thing I'd missed while I was away, but that's not important right now.

Where was I? Ah, yes. The past. Cuba.
I've already talked about how excited I was to attend a meeting of Cuban Dissident Bloggers, but I left out some of the mind-numbingly boring stuff.

Kiki, "mind-numbingly boring"? In CUBA? With DISSIDENTS? Seriously?

Well . . . mostly. . . yes.

It was an hour on "signos de puntuación."

That's right.

A whole hour of learning about punctuation in Spanish. While I was thrilled to be in that room and feeling like I was a part of history, I was also feeling pretty bored and thinking, "When is this lecture ever going to end?"

I hate to admit that in such an amazing moment I was beginning to wonder if it was worth it.

BUT, ignoring my internal boredom, I paid attention and even participated a little.

Then I took pictures with some of my heroes and continued my journey. The journey that has no coincidences. The journey that helped me get caught up in class. The journey that eventually brought me to today.

I have been down with an ugly case of tonsilitis. Without going into detail, just know that I still have my tonsils and when they decide to get sick and swell, they do so with gusto and great pain. (Basically, I was in bed for 3 days sipping water, sleeping, missing school and occasionally reading.)

I wasn't feeling 100%, but I knew that I'd be taking my Spanish final early since I would be in Miami(!) the day of the test so I dragged myself to class to learn one last thing before I take my final next week.
The first thing we did in class was have a test. GREAT. And my teacher, who knew I had been sick, handed it to me anyway. DOUBLE GREAT.
Now I had to take a test on a bunch of stuff I'd never learned and my grade would suffer and . . . wait.

NO. WAY.

I thought I was hallucinating when I looked at the title of the test:

"Signos de Puntuación"

Needless to say, I aced the test and am not too worried about my final. ;-)

**Note: I am well aware of the fact that we abuse punctuation in this blog. That there are times when we use unnecessary commas, parenthesis, etc. We do it on purpose. We do it to sound more conversational and make the reading easier on your eyes. =D

Mother's Day Blog Shout Out

Kikita here.

In case you didn't know (because you've been so busy getting ready for "Kikko de Mayo") Mother's day is THIS SUNDAY.

I know what you're thinking: "¡Ay Kikita! I'm not ready! I don't know what to get her!"

Never fear! Kikita is here!

(Ok, I really can't take the credit for this because it was Mami's idea, but that's not important right now.)

What should you get YOUR Mami for Mother's Day you ask yourself? What about some face time on your favorite blog? Send us a few lines about how cool your Mami is and attach a picture of you together and we'll post them over the weekend. (Yes, you will definitely still need to send her flowers, but what a fun gesture to be on a blog that you love!)

Here's an example for your reading pleasure:

I have the coolest Mami in the whole world. She is my favorite traveling buddy. She taught me how to be smart and funny and the most beautiful Cubana ever! She is a magnificent cook and I am lucky that she lets me hijack on her blog sometimes. My Mami is so cool. She wrote the book on coolness. I only hope that I am half as cool as she is. Happy Mother's Day, Mami!

Got that?

So, grab your favorite picture of you and your Mami and then email it (and the couple of lines) HERE.

Do it.

Now. =D

Kikita and La Casa de la Loma

Kikita wrote this post about her recent trip to Cuba; depending on the kind of person you are you may or may not need tissues.

Have you ever had one of those moments where you thought, "Dang it! I should have taken more pictures!"?

I am having one of those moments.

At the time, I was worried about running out of battery power or something. At the time, tears were streaming down my face.

At the time, I didn't know how to capture the intensity of the where I was and what I was feeling.

It happened the way all great moments do, suddenly and without warning. It was not exactly part of the plan.

The Plan was to have a quick lunch at my cousin's house, stay only as long as was necessary to be polite, and then drive to Matanzas while it was still light out.

The Plan was proceeding perfectly. The lunch of chicken, veggies, black beans, white rice, and yuca was delicious. 

 

Time was flying by between all the stories, laughter, and sheer joy of just being together.

 

That's when I asked if they knew where "Casa de la Loma" was. It was the last house my familiy lived in before they left. It was the house Mami always talked about. It was the house I'd tried to picture a thousand times in my head. It was the house whose address I knew by heart.

Still smiling and laughing, we all piled into the little rental car and traveled the few blocks over to Avenida de la Loma and stopped in front of #33.

 

I was rather dumb-struck and so I just took a picture of the outside number and stared wide-eyed.

 

My cousin (well, MAMI's cousin), Regina, rang the doorbell and asked the people living there (a French diplomat and his wife) if we could go inside. They were very sweet and showed us THE. WHOLE. HOUSE. Since Mami's cousins Lupe & Regina were with me, they told me whose room belonged to whom. I could barely speak. I couldn't stop my eyes from leaking. I kept forgetting to take pictures. I suddenly understood how "the house in the back" worked.

 

One of the most striking and intense things for me was being there with the primas who kept saying:

"I remember this courtyard being a lot bigger."

 

"I remember playing in this room with your Mom."

 

"I remember this hallway being a lot longer."

 

As we walked through the house, I pictured my mother as a five-year-old running down the long hallway. Or looking down from the top of the stairs. I kept trying to imagine what it would have looked like through her eyes.

 

As the tears of all that my family lost flowed down my face, there were new things that I began to wonder. I knew my mom's story, but she is the youngest of 6. There are 5 other stories I didn't know. 5 other stories. 5 siblings who lived in that house. 5 other points of view. (And that doesn't include my grandparents, I was just thinking about the kids and how they must have seen things differently because of their ages.)

I think that my impromptu visit to Casa de la Loma in the Nuevo Vedado, near the cemetary of Colón, looking over the river Almandares was one of the biggest moments that effected me on this trip. It changed my perspective of my family's story. It brought home to me just how tragic it all is. It has inspired me to seek out everyone else's story. And as I hear their stories, I don't have to imagine what the house looked like. I can see it. I was there.

 

The Sound of Silence

The following post was written by Kikita.

The Damas en Blanco (Ladies in White) held their demonstration in Havana one week after my abuela, Luza, and I had returned from our trip. Most of the members of my big, fat, Cuban family have all expressed the relief they feel that Luza and I were not in Havana when everything happened. As one who likes to be right in the middle of everything, I admit I was a little bummed out. I would love to have been there with Las Damas en Blanco, but it was not my fate.

I've already shared about how, while I was in Cuba, I had to keep quiet. How there were things I "did not" see. I think that SILENCE has become one of the most powerful weapons of the evil (c)astro regime. The people are silent because of their fear, but some voices will not be silenced. 

 

How do you fight silence? 

How can you bring forth change if no one can hear what is not being said?

You fight fire with fire . . . and silence with silence.

I don't think I ever fully realized how deafening silence could be until I experienced it this past Sunday in Echo Park. Thousands of Cubans, that had been cheering just moments before, marched in SILENCE.

 

And now, finally, "El mundo esta escuchando!" (The world is listening.) ~Huber Matos

The world is hearing the sound of our silence.

 

Kikita and The Most Beautiful Beach in the World

The following post was written by Kikita.

My trip to Cuba was many things and I saw all kinds of things. I guess it was sort of magical. Some of the things I saw were as legendary to me as the Sphinx or Stonehenge or the Eiffel Tower.

I knew the video of my mother being dragged into the water of Varadero by heart. I knew the games they used to play. I call out "Buenos Dias, Familia!" knowing it is what the viandero used to say. I knew that they would get up super early to eat breakfast because my abuela, Luza, would make them wait THREE HOURS before letting them swim. I knew that they would HATE to come out of the water for lunch. I knew that they would swim until it was late. I knew the games they would play in the water. I knew Varadero was "the most beautiful beach in the world."

What I didn't know was the sense of urgency I would feel when I first saw the sign that let me know that I had finally arrived. 

 

I didn't know how desperate I was to dig my toes into the soft powdery sand. I didn't know that I would burst into tears the minute the water came rushing to meet my feet.

 

I did not expect to feel such a sense of loss and longing. I did not expect to wish so hard that things were different. That Mami had continued to grow up there and that I too had been able to grow up spending my summers in that same water. I didn't know HOW beautiful "the most beautiful beach in the world" was.

(it was really bright so I had to squint) 

I couldn't go swimming because it was VERY windy AND there were these beautiful blue blobs all over the beach . . . I think they're called Portuguese Man o' War? ;-)

 

I was in Varadero all day and made it "hasta la puntica" just in time to see the sunset.

I kept thinking over and over, "I'm really here. I made it. I've made it to the very end. The very tip."

 

It was dark by the time we made it to the place where Mami had spent her summers, but I didn't care. The sign was still there. Villa Obdulia. I stood in front of that house and pictured my Abuela with all her kids, my tias y tio y Mami. I wish it had been earlier in the day, I would have knocked on the door. A neighbor told me there was no one home, so I wouldn't have been able to go inside anyway. It didn't matter. The name of the house was still there. I had found my own personal Stonehenge.

 

I didn't care that I couldn't go swimming. I had felt the warm water. Mami's water. I had felt the soft powdery sand. Mami's sand. I scooped up the sand and packed as much as I could into a ziplock baggy for Mami, but then I pulled out another small container just for me. To remember my moment. It wasn't just a beach in Mami's memory anymore. Now it was mine too. It had become a part of me. A part of my memory.

 

NOTE: Added by Marta 3/26/2010:

My sisters and cousins on the porch of our beloved Villa Obdulia. Circa 1960. Read that post here.

Cubans in L.A. Hunger for Change

Kikita here.

I'm still working on getting used to being back in sunny SoCal. I STILL wake-up everyday and have to remind myself I am no longer in Cuba. I hear the silence of my house and miss the sounds of my  great aunts and uncles starting their day.

When my phone rings it usually surprises me, if I hear it at all.

And when I'm falling asleep I still find myself thinking, "Somewhere, not too far away, there are men suffering for their beliefs. God, please bless and protect them." (Which was the thought I had every night as I would go to sleep while I was in Cuba.)

 

Being back has been a struggle for various reasons. In Miami, you can throw a rock and you are very likely to hit a Cuban (No, I'm not advocating rock-throwing or any violence, for that matter, it's just an idiom). 

L.A. is not like that. The Cuban community is not as tight here. We Cubans blend in a bit more. Sure, we get together for a yearly Cuban Festival in San Dimas, but I get the feeling that many people miss out on it because it isn't well publicized.

**For those of you who ARE in L.A. and DO wonder when the 2010 Cuban Festival in San Dimas will be taking place: Sunday, May 2nd is your answer. For more information you can click here.**

Where was I? Ah, yes. Cuban community. We L.A. Cubans just aren't as easy to spot as in Miami which has me rather frustrated. HOW are we going to work to bring about change in Cuba if we don't work together?

Thankfully, there are other Cubans in L.A. who felt the same way and have taken it upon themselves to do something about it. They formed a Facebook group that now has almost 900 members. If you're a Cuban in Los Angeles or Orange County and you are looking to get connected, this group, appropriately called "Cubans in L.A." is a great step in the right direction.

What I found most encouraging about the group is that they are just as hungry as I am to see change in Cuba and they are doing something about it.

Through the magic of the internet, we Cubans in L.A. are going to show our solidarity with the Damas en Blanco (Ladies in White). 

 

For the uninformed, the Damas en Blanco are the female relatives or the 75 dissidents that were imprisoned during the Black Spring of 2003. Every year on the anniversary of the wrongful imprisonment of the 75 brave men, the women dress in all white, carry a flower, and march peacefully in protest of what the communist regime is doing to their loved ones. This year, the women were assualted by an angry "pro-(c)astro" mob and their march was stopped by official agents of the regime. The women were forcibly relocated to the home of their leader, Laura Pollan.

The Cuban-American singer, Gloria Estefan has called for all Cubans who live in the freedom of the U.S. and anyone else who supports Human Rights to show their support for the Ladies in White. Gloria will be heading up a march in Miami on Thursday, March 25th, in Little Havana. The march, which will begin promptly at 6 p.m., will take place on 8th Street from 22nd to 27th Avenues. Those wishing to take part should assemble on Beacom Blvd., between 7th and 8th Streets, before 6 p.m.

For anyone NOT in the Miami area and wanting to help show support for the Damas en Blanco and call for the release of the political prisoners in Cuba here is what you can do:

1) Join Oscar-winning director Pedro Almódovar and legendary Peruvian writer Mario Vargas Llosa in calling for the immediate release of all Cuban prisoners of conscience by signing the online petition.

2) Pledge to fast 12 hours on Sunday, March 28th from 6am to 6pm.

Orlando Zapata Tamayo died a month ago after being on a hunger strike for more than 80 days. Many of the other prisoners have begun their own hunger strikes. 

 

3) Change your Facebook profile picture to one of the Damas en Blanco shots or of Orlando Zapata Tamayo or of Dr. Oscar Elias Biscet.

 

4) Get the word out. The power of "Hunger for Change" lies in spreading information about what’s happened and demonstrating solidarity with those involved. The more people know, the less likely the Cuban government is to continue repressing those in Cuba who dare to speak their own beliefs.

5) And for those of us in the LA and OC area: 

We will be meeting in front of the Jose Marti statue in Echo Park at 2pm. Please wear white, bring a flower and a poster board / sign commemorating the political prisoners, Las Damas, etc. We are going to march around around Echo Park, wear white, and carry flowers and images of the 75. The march will begin and end at the Jose Marti Statue.

If you can make it, please come find me and introduce yourself. I am always so encouraged to find other like-minded Cubans in SoCal. (Also, I look fabulous in white!)

 

Kikita and The Unseen Cuba

The following post was written by Kikita; who has recently returned from a trip to Cuba with her 96 year old grandmother.

Every day that I was in Cuba, I would get home to Tio Timbiriche's after a long day of adventuring and the question "Los Viejos" would ask me was always the same, "What did you see?"

And every day I would start my response with, "The question is: what did I NOT see?!?"

And I would proceed to tell them all the wonderful things I had seen, and I very carefully left out all the things I did NOT see; rather, all the things I was not supposed to see.

Part of my reasons for locking these things away was because they were looking at me with such joy on their faces, the way parents watch a child on his/her first day at Disneyland. They were looking at me and waiting to hear stories of places they have known and loved their whole lives, especially my abuela. I would not disappoint my audience. I would tell them what they wanted to hear and I chose my words carefully. I was even careful about what I wrote in the little journal I was keeping . . . and a good thing I was too, because one night Tio Timbiriche asked to see my journal. My heart just about stopped, but I made sure he didn't see anything but the beautiful things I was supposed to be seeing. The rest I was saving for now.

I did not tell them about the long walk to Yoani Sanchez's house. 

 

I did not tell them about the view from her patio.

 

I did not tell them because I did not "SEE" it. When, in fact, I did more than just SEE it. I FELT it.

Every where I went, I could feel the oppression. But sometimes it was hard to see.

It reminded me of a "What's wrong with this picture?"

 

Some things were glaringly obvious:

 

while others were not:

 

I didn't talk about all the doctors I saw in the streets because they can not afford a car. I didn't talk about the constant presence of olive green uniforms anywhere I went. I didn't talk about the "Punta de Control" checkpoints we had to drive past. I didn't tell them how scary and wrong it felt slowing down to almost a crawl while not making eye contact with military operative who could decide to pull us over for whatever reason. (Luckily, we never got pulled over.) I didn't talk about how I thought it was strange that not only were there militarios everywhere, there were police too.

I didn't talk about how seeing Che Guevara's image every place I turned made me want to vomit. In fact, the day I was coming from Yoani's house, I was so worried about my "cover story" that I shut off my emotions completely in order to get the proper pictures I thought would be requested of me later. No pictures were requested.

 

I did not hear the indoctrination of the Cuban people first hand when someone mentioned Orlando Zapata Tamayo and called him an idiot for dying because "he wanted a bigger tv." (Let me clarify that: the woman did not know the real reason why Orlando Zapata Tamayo had gone on a hunger strike. She thought it was because he had wanted a better tv or a microwave.) I didn't turn on the radio and hear that Cuba was the FIRST country to send aid to Chile and that Cuba also sent the MOST aid.

Yes, of course I saw the Granma. Yes, I saw the newspaper too. 

I didn't see the tin roofs.

 

I didn't see the look of hopelessness in the eyes of some of people.

 

I didn't see the broken benches at a park near where my grandmother used to live.

 

I didn't see any propaganda.

 

I didn't see a buildings that looked to be on the brink of collapse 

across the street from the magnificent Hotel Nacional.

I didn't see graffiti. I didn't see my family members cleaning their plates as if they had no idea when they were going to eat again.

I didn't see the outside of homes.

Only the inside.

 

I DID see the manisero, but I didn't see how old he was or that he had a cane.

 

I didn't hear someone say, "No, park further forward. There's a camera watching this corner."

I didn't see a sign for nominations  for the Committee for the Defense of the Revolution posted above an elevator.

And, finally, I didn't walk up a set of super steep and narrow steps to a room of MAYBE 300 square feet. I didn't see that there was a full-sized bed with thread bare sheets in front of me. I didn't see the grey slab of cement floor. I didn't see the bathroom that looked to have enough room for a sink, a toilet, and a stand-up shower. I didn't turn to see a pin-pan-pun (cot) pushed up against a short wall that would stop only a small person from falling down the steep stairs. And I defintely did not see that on top of those thread bare sheets were two little girls between the ages of 3 and 5 playing and laughing. I did not see the small refridgerator or the small counter or the hot plate serving as a stove. I did not see a pregnant woman arrive at this place she called home. I did not hear one of the little girls wave at me and say, "Adios!" as sweetly and innocently as possible. I didn't wonder what her future held. My heart did not break.

What did I see? What DIDN'T I see, THAT is the question. 

Speaking of Cuban Dissidents . . .

The following post was written by Kikita.

My whole life I've grown up hearing the songs about how beautiful Cuba is. I've seen the paintings. I know Cuba is beautiful. I've always known.

"Pearl of the Antilles"

"La Reina de la Mar Caribe"

"Cuba Linda de mi vida"

Despite constantly hearing it growing up, something happened when I was actually there, standing in front of things I'd seen and heard of my whole life.

I found myself constantly in awe. It really was beautiful. 

Looking out at the ocean . . .

 

or Havana . . .

 

or just pine trees . . .

  

or the Malecón . . .

   

or hills . . .

 

or El Cristo . . .

or even a sunset . . .

 

I wanted to dance. I wanted to sing. I wanted to paint. I wanted to write.

I wanted to drink it in forever.

Every song about Cuba and it's beauty became instantly more meaninful to me once I had seen it with my own eyes.

Now as I listen to these songs that made me smile as I grew up, I want to cry. They are inspiring a fresh sense of loss. A new understanding of how painful this exile is. They are bittersweet. They celebrate the beauty of Cuba while mourning its loss.

And I now feel more fiercely than ever the desire to see freedom for my people.

Here at MBFCF we try to stay focused on family and Cuban-American life. We try not to get too political, but we definitely do not keep our positions and beliefs a secret. If you've been reading for any amount of time, then I'm sure you know where we stand. That being said, it would be impossible to keep politics completely separate from a Cuban-American family, because it was politics that originally ripped our families apart.

Seven years ago, Mami, Adam, and I were planning to take a missions trip to Cuba with our local church. We were getting all of the paperwork ready to go when something happened to change Mami's mind. The (c)astro government was arresting political dissidents in a crackdown that would come to be known as "La Primavera Negra" (The Black Spring). The political unrest on the island worried Mami to the point that she changed her mind about going and we went to Miami instead. (Hey, I'm not going to complain, we had a fabulous time, but that's not important right now.)

During the crackdown, that began on March 18th and lasted two days, there were 75 dissidents (SEVENTY-FIVE!!) arrested. They ranged from journalists to librarians to human rights activists. Some have been paroled. Most remain in prison. Our good friend, Marc Masferrer, at Uncommon Sense has the whole story.

Tomorrow, seven years after we canceled our original trip to Cuba and now immediately following my return from the island, Mami and I will be attending a private screening of a documentary titled "Oscar's Cuba."

 

The music was done by Arturo Sandoval and the word on the street is that Andy Garcia will be doing the narration. =D

A brave film-maker by the name of Jordan Allot was in Cuba working on another project when he heard about Dr. Oscar Elías Biscet González. Jordan then took it upon himself to expose the truth about Dr. Biscet's reality. Dr. Oscar Elías Biscet González is a Cuban dissident who had served a 3 year prison sentence, was released, and was re-arrested about one month later during the Black Spring and then sentenced to 25 years.

His crime? Exposing the horrendous communist government practices of: slaughtering newborns and forcing abortions on women with problematic pregnancies.

To read a review of the film, you can click here.

If you'd like more information about the film itself, you can find it at www.oscarscuba.com.

Here in the U.S. we have the liberty to freely speak our minds. That is completely intolerable to the current Cuban government. And so they round up the free-thinkers. They imprison, beat and torture those who dare to disagree.

But there is movement in Cuba of political dissidents and it's growing each day. Those of us who are free and believe in human rights would do well to support those who are not free and whose basic human rights get routinely trampled on.

If you have an extra $10, please donate it to support this documentary. It's a small price to pay to further the cause of freedom and human rights.

If you do NOT have an extra $10, please, just get involved. Get the word out. Any way that you can.

There is a glimmer of hope. Let us feed the flame.

Kikita and the Cuban Dissident Bloggers

Marta here. Back in February of this year, my friends over at Babalú blog and Uncommon Sense posted a link to a Cuban dissident blogger whose name was Regina Coyula.

I was a little shocked. I have a Cuban cousin with that name, but I knew her family to be hardcore communists. However, when I clicked on the link, I saw her familiar face. It was Regina. Blogging about the harsh realities of life in Cuba today.

This photo was taken in Cuba in 1959. I'm the 2nd cowgirl from the left. Regina is over to the far right.

Unable to contact her, we surreptitiously sent a zip drive with Amy (brilliantly attached to a make up bag - see that photo in this post) and hoped and prayed for the best.

Amy was able to not only meet and spend time talking with and interviewing her, she got to go on A Dissident Adventure with her in Havana.

Here's that story:

Kikita wrote this post and is PUTTING HER FREEDOM TO WORK.

By some amazing chance (or Divine Intervention), I was able to get my cousin Regina alone and deliver the flash drive. What struck me was how grateful she was not only for the flash drive, but for the make-up that came with it. She LOVES make-up.

While she went about pulling out the various compacts, we were having the most amazing conversation about her blog, La Mala Letra. 

She told me that she is not afraid, which is why she has her picture and full name on her page, but her family is. She does it for herself more than anything because she just couldn't stand to keep quiet any longer. She had been a strong communist for over 20 years and then became disillusioned with the "Revolution."

While I was in awe of her courage, what impacted me even more was her view of what she is doing. She explained that she does not expect to make any big change by herself; that she feels like one small pebble falling from the ceiling each day, but hopes that one day she will look around and so many other pebbles will have fallen that the ceiling will collapse.

Her son was born 16 years ago and she has been wanting a better life for him ever since. 

This is him and his friend, Brian, being teenage boys. My eyes well up every time I watch this. He is a junior in high school. After he graduates he will have to serve in the military for at least a year before going on to college. He is the best English speaker in his class and asked me when I was coming back, but then decided he would like to visit California better. I think he looks like a combination of Lucy and Jonathan. He was such a sweet boy. It kills me to think of what possible future he has if he has to continue growing up on the island prison.

Regina woke up one day not too long ago and realized she HAD to do something about it. And not just for her son. She wants the youth of Cuba to have hope for a better future instead of just hoping to one day leave. She said she writes what she sees. She writes about the realities of Cuba. And she is part of a group of bloggers that meet on a weekly basis at THE HOME OF YOANI SANCHEZ. YES!! Ms. Generación Y herself! My eyes began to leak when I heard that Regina was going and I practically begged her to take me. I explained that I had harbored a secret hope that I would be out walking somewhere and just run into Yoani.

But . . . I was staying in the house of Tío Timbiriche, a communist. Regina and I shared the sentiment that we absolutely adore our family, especially Timbiriche, and that is why we never discussed politics in front of him (or the youngest of abuela's siblings: Mari, who is also a firm believer in "la Revolución). Because there was no way we could tell the truth about where we were going, Regina told them she was taking me to La Plaza de la Revolución.

I couldn't believe it. I was participating in dissident behavior! Lying to everyone and keeping a big secret in order to go to a meeting . . . AT YOANI'S HOUSE.

We had to take a couple of buses. And then we had a long, hot walk. But I smiled when I saw the door.

 

And I couldn't believe how many people were inside. There were easily 25-30 and more showed up over the 2 hours while I was there. Honestly, it reminded me of a prayer meeting. 

 

And seeing all those people gave me a new hope for the future . . . 

For Cuba. For Cubans. For LIFE in general.

And then they asked me questions that I felt like I had no business answering.

"What do the Cubans over there think of us?"

"What do people say about us?"

"Sometimes people send me gifts and I'm embarrassed to take it, why do they do that?"

I just kept telling everyone how much support they had from "la Yuma." That people were for them and would do whatever they could to help. That they send gifts because they want to help and don't know how. I told them to be encouraged because they WERE making a difference.

One of the guys from the group, Porno Para Ricardo was there.

I couldn't help feeling like a fish out of water. These people were incredibly courageous. They risked their lives every day. What was the worst that could happen to me? I get deported? Sent back to my comfortable life in Southern California? While these thoughts were swirling in my head, the other thing I kept thinking was "They are just people trying to make a difference."

Then Yoani came out. (Mami posted about Yoani back here.)

  

AND I GOT TO MEET YOANI SANCHEZ! 

 

And then we had to hurry up and get to La Plaza in order to create our alibi.

What a dichotomy I was living! I was right in the thick of it!

Morning at Yoani's house, afternoon at La Plaza. SHUT. UP.

The buses were on time for us all day and Regina mentioned that that RARELY happened.

I gave her my easy answer, "That's because Jesus loves me."

 

I asked her to send a message to our family . . . so my big, fat, Cuban family I am proud to introduce you to my cousin Regina Coyula:

Morro Castle In My Sky

The following post has been brought to you by Kikita.

On my most recent Miami adventure, the Fabregas family had me over for dinner. Once we had finished dinner, dessert and café the strangest thing happened.

 

I'm not exactly sure how it happened other than the fact that I probably instigated it, but we all jumped up, piled into their über-cool van, and they showed me around "Sweet Home Hialeah." 

 

Comeplete with a stop at . . .

 

Yes, MORRO CASTLE. For Churros con chocolate. It was a heavenly experience. As only churros con chocolate can be.

  
 

It wasn't until about three years ago that I really saw El Morro Castle. It was my first time at Cuba Nostalgia and when I found out that sitting on the wall in front of this castle-thingy was "THE thing to do," I simply HAD to do it too. Nevermind that I had no idea where this castle sat in relation to Havana . . .  if taking a picture in front of it was a Cuban thing, I was going to do it.

Even when Mami wasn't there to take the picture for me, I still did it.

And always, El Morro was up and to my right. It was my "castle in the sky" just like the idea of ever seeing the REAL one in Havana seemed to be . . . until now.

Moments like this . . . I am keenly aware of how awesome God is. Not only did I get to re-create the very picture I had taken when it was "just a dream" . . . but it's as if He heard me say "One day, I want to make it to Morro Castle" and took me literally so I got to go to the Morro Castle in Hialeah as well as the one in Havana. (Sometimes that guy cracks me up!)