Missive # 5 from Cuba
September 15, 2011
Seminario Evangélico de Teología (SET), Matanzas, Cuba
Each day here is the start of a new adventure; I am starting to feel like Elisa in Back-to-Cuba-Wonderland.
I was just stepping out of my little studio apartment after taking some photos of the inside of this cute little place, when I heard the sound of a soccer ball being bounced, so I grabbed the camera again, and just as I was focusing it, the ball hit one of the two goats perpetually tethered to a huge tree (I couldn’t believe that these two young men were running barefoot around all those little goat poops). The soccer ball hit the goat HARD, the goat actually fell down into the other goat, on its side, stunned for a moment. The kid picked up the soccer ball. It was game over, as the ball had hit the goat’s horns square-on; the ball was dead. The goat, thankfully, is OK.
I was just stepping out of my little studio apartment after taking some photos of the inside of this cute little place, when I heard the sound of a soccer ball being bounced, so I grabbed the camera again, and just as I was focusing it, the ball hit one of the two goats perpetually tethered to a huge tree (I couldn’t believe that these two young men were running barefoot around all those little goat poops). The soccer ball hit the goat HARD, the goat actually fell down into the other goat, on its side, stunned for a moment. The kid picked up the soccer ball. It was game over, as the ball had hit the goat’s horns square-on; the ball was dead. The goat, thankfully, is OK.
A common sound in Cuba I wish I could notate musically has only three tones: one short and flat, one long and a bit higher, and the rest of the tones similar to the first in length but a bit lower. Each tone is one syllable or one word.
The first time I heard it, called out from the street clear as a dinner bell for all to hear for at least a block or two, I thought it was indeed someone from the Comedor, the seminary dining hall, calling us in for a meal. (Actually, they ring a real dinner bell for that.) I began to hear the same three-tone sound all over the place, both here in Matanzas and again in Havana. It was always the exact same tones, but the words changed. Sometimes it was sung by a man, other times by a woman. The same tune was sung several times, slowly and deliberately and almost mournfully.
I finally put together the sound and the person singing it, and I noticed that the singers were usually pushing a cart or a wheelbarrow, or carrying a large basket. So then I had to try to figure out what they were singing. It was the item, usually a specific food, they were selling! It would go like this: Fri—JOOOOOOO--les (if black beans are the item of the day), but I swear that every one of these street venders knows how to carry a tune! They sound like Cuban Gregorian chants.
Interestingly enough, although avocados are now in season and are being sold literally on every corner, the four-syllable word is not sung. If so, it would sound like this: a—gua—CAAAAAAAAA—tes. In Havana, I also heard a man singing: com—pro—OOOOOOOO-ro (I buy gold).
The first time I heard it, called out from the street clear as a dinner bell for all to hear for at least a block or two, I thought it was indeed someone from the Comedor, the seminary dining hall, calling us in for a meal. (Actually, they ring a real dinner bell for that.) I began to hear the same three-tone sound all over the place, both here in Matanzas and again in Havana. It was always the exact same tones, but the words changed. Sometimes it was sung by a man, other times by a woman. The same tune was sung several times, slowly and deliberately and almost mournfully.
I finally put together the sound and the person singing it, and I noticed that the singers were usually pushing a cart or a wheelbarrow, or carrying a large basket. So then I had to try to figure out what they were singing. It was the item, usually a specific food, they were selling! It would go like this: Fri—JOOOOOOO--les (if black beans are the item of the day), but I swear that every one of these street venders knows how to carry a tune! They sound like Cuban Gregorian chants.
Interestingly enough, although avocados are now in season and are being sold literally on every corner, the four-syllable word is not sung. If so, it would sound like this: a—gua—CAAAAAAAAA—tes. In Havana, I also heard a man singing: com—pro—OOOOOOOO-ro (I buy gold).
Today I’ve met two Swiss residents of the seminary, both from the only area in the country I know somewhat, from the high-school year I spent in France: Geneva and Lausanne. Benedict is a student, and Rocco is one of the two IT guys in the (nicely air-conditioned!) computer room for the students.
I had noticed a very slight accent in their Spanish, but it was hard for me to trace. It was very nice to chat in French with them; in less than two weeks, in this small corner of my home country, I’ve already found people with whom to fluently converse in English (a Jamaican seminary student who sings beautifully and always leads us in a song before a meal), French, and German.
My Cuban Spanish is getting a bit better every day. All these silly idiomatic expressions--phrases I’d only ever heard uttered by my parents, and had not entirely understood, because the context was not always clear, and I’d never seen it written--keep popping into my head at night before I fall asleep. I’m going to start writing them down so I don’t forget them. One that I recall my father using all the time is: “Alabado sea Dios” which literally means “Praise be to God.” The confusing thing, however, is that he only ever uttered that phrase in annoyance, convinced that he was about to hear that something bad had happened. No wonder I’m confused.
I had noticed a very slight accent in their Spanish, but it was hard for me to trace. It was very nice to chat in French with them; in less than two weeks, in this small corner of my home country, I’ve already found people with whom to fluently converse in English (a Jamaican seminary student who sings beautifully and always leads us in a song before a meal), French, and German.
My Cuban Spanish is getting a bit better every day. All these silly idiomatic expressions--phrases I’d only ever heard uttered by my parents, and had not entirely understood, because the context was not always clear, and I’d never seen it written--keep popping into my head at night before I fall asleep. I’m going to start writing them down so I don’t forget them. One that I recall my father using all the time is: “Alabado sea Dios” which literally means “Praise be to God.” The confusing thing, however, is that he only ever uttered that phrase in annoyance, convinced that he was about to hear that something bad had happened. No wonder I’m confused.
Living and teaching in the same place with all of my students is really great because it allows us to tear down the classroom walls. Already, my students naturally speak to me and to one another in English outside the classroom. This afternoon, two students of mine who are a married couple invited me to their apartment after lunch for some coffee. We sat in their small kitchen in two rocking chairs brought from their home in the center of Cuba. Another one of their professors dropped in, just before the next class they had with him: The History of the Protestant Church in Cuba.
This man immediately recognized my name, and he knew the story about Chana and the statue of the sculptor of the Alma Mater, along with my entire family history, better than I know it. He grabbed one of his most recently published books, titled "PROTESTANTISMO EN CUBA" and dedicated it to me:
This man immediately recognized my name, and he knew the story about Chana and the statue of the sculptor of the Alma Mater, along with my entire family history, better than I know it. He grabbed one of his most recently published books, titled "PROTESTANTISMO EN CUBA" and dedicated it to me:
Para Elisa Menocal, amiga y colega, y nieta de la “diosa criolla,” con especial afecto y gratitud. Carlos R. Molina SET/Matanzas, 15 sept. 2011
“For Elisa Menocal, friend and colleague, and granddaughter of the “Creole Goddess,” with special affection and gratitude.”
This morning, I spoke with Ariel (I'll later relate the story of how to make phone calls in Cuba), who is the caretaker of my grandmother’s house in Varadero. As my cousin Virginia had mentioned, the house is entirely rented out through the middle of next month. But Ariel told me that a room will be available for me to come and stay from October 16 through 20. I looked at the calendar and saw that those dates include my two teaching days. When I mentioned the problem to my students at lunch, they immediately said, NO PROBLEM! WE COME TO VARADERO FOR ENGLISH CLASS!
No joke, either. The four of them have already organized it so that they will take the bus (very cheap with Cuban money) to spend the day at the beach house with me: SWIMMING IN ENGLISH.
No joke, either. The four of them have already organized it so that they will take the bus (very cheap with Cuban money) to spend the day at the beach house with me: SWIMMING IN ENGLISH.
No comments:
Post a Comment