 At
some point yesterday, I noticed a large supermarket uptown and make
it my first call of the day. Once inside I find myself talking to
a young Cuban mother. She asks where I’m from, what my job is
in England, things like that. She then asked me for 50 U.S cents to
pay for some medicine. I gladly oblige with a couple of dollars and
continue shopping. What a lovely person. It’s so rare to be pitched
for money and for it be a pleasant experience. Instead of the usual
guilt trip or heavy pleading scenario, here was a person who could
make you smile and then asks you honestly and directly for help.
I continue
shopping and find myself struggling. A shop assistant comes over
with a basket to help me out. Then at the next shop the man behind
the counter tells me that I am about to lose my money belt that
is hanging out of my jeans. I love days like this when the world
works with you rather than against you…
Back
at the Casa I unpack the food and remember that I am supposed to
be meeting up with the chap I met yesterday called Eugene. He is
a Santero, a priest in the Afro Cuban religion of Santeria and has
promised to take me to a local ceremony at 3pm. Santeria is a fascinating
religion borne out of post colonial slavery. Many of the slaves
came to the West Indian islands as patrons of the Yoruba faith.
We like to think of it as black magic and voodoo but it is actually
a positive force and a celebration of good rather than evil.
Many
of the slaves were indoctrinated into Catholicism but continued
to hold onto their animistic beliefs and somehow blended the two
faiths, giving rise to Santeria. As such, many of the catholic saints
have been amalgamated with Yoruba spirits to make new deities. But
unlike catholic saints, these deities have human weaknesses and
frailties about them. The idea of original sin and a final day of
judgement is not recognised. Instead, they are happy to worship
their ancestral spirits. Two of the most important Orishas are;
Obatala, an androgynous creator god who is aligned with Jesus Christ
and dressed in white. His wife is called Odudua, who is the goddesss
of the underworld. There is also Ellegua (who is aligned with Saint
Anthony), who is the god of destiny.
Speaking
of destiny, clearly I don’t think that Ellegua was on my side
that afternoon. When I reached the bar (late as usual) Eugene had
set off without me. Feeling slightly disappointed, I decide to concentrate
on more secular matters and go shopping for CD’s. I take a
walk up the Calle Heredia and browse a few stalls. The stallholders
are experts at divining who is fresh off the plane and who has been
in the country a while. I browse in complete peace while my paler
counterparts are pecked to death. I keep asking for a title called
‘Soy Cubano, Soy Popular,’ a massive hit last year but
nobody seems to have it. One shopkeeper tells me that if I give
him $5 he can be back with it in a couple of minutes. I hand over
my cash and find a place to sit in the sun. He comes back after
twenty minutes and hasn’t been able to get his hands on a copy.
I return
to the house and prepare dinner for my landlady Isabella and her
husband. They are lovely, interesting people and like myself, deeply
mad about music. We take coffee and chocolate biscuits on the balcony
as the sun sets. I feel so at home, relaxed and hardly a word of
their native Spanish is lost on me. As darkness descends the noise
of cicadas and Salsa fills the air.  I
thank them for a lovely evening and head off to the Pena club for
another night of Afro Cuban madness.
The
views expressed on this page are those of the contributor and the
opinions expressed are not necessarily those of the BBC.
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