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| Image Taken By Bruce Hodes |
Bruce Hodes
Founder/ CEO of CMI Teamwork
La Mujer Vieja in Spanish means old women and this was by
far the strangest dance that happened to me.
I first noticed her on my way into the restaurant and another pseudo
Cuban Pork lunch. I did not realize then that she was an angel. She actually looked just like another wizened
old Cuban Crone with wrinkles who swayed to the rhythms of the congas and
guitar.
We had driven about
an hour from Havana to what dad called a Potemkin village. This was a term that went back to Stalinist
Russia. This was the Cuban version of what a village in a socialist utopia
should look like. Think Shangri La with a Latino beat and Cuban Music blaring.
Ethereal and other worldly–
full of tourists like us brought there by modern Chinese buses. The
community was beautiful situated on terraced hills with buildings that were
white and shone in the bright sunshine and sparkled against the blue sky with
those puffy white clouds. This bucolic
town nestled in the tropically foliaged hills looking clean, neat and pristine.
Four story apartment buildings topped with ceramic tile; dotted around the
hillsides and sitting upon terraces that were separated by ravines and streams. My god, they even had a zip line course. Now, that really felt out of place.
The dogs were fat and sleek as were the horses that grazed
on the hillside. This is distinct from the scruffy pooches that lurk the
streets of Havana and the gaunt horses that pull the urban taxis and carts. I
passed the elementary school full of laughing and playing children. What was that blond hair blue eyed kid doing
in the middle of recess surrounded by the black haired dark skinned Cuban kids? “Russian father,” the guide said and smiled
benignly…….
So the old woman soon to be angel was off to the side
swaying to the rhythm of the music. There is always music at meals in
Cuba. These musicians were whipped up
and grooving. The skinny young black man
was the headliner and wailing on the timbales. He had impressive technique on
the cow bell. She was
enjoying herself in her white top and beige pants – she looked eighty. Lots of vibrant oldsters in Cuba and why not. Cuba
has one of the best health systems in the world.
At that moment I did not pay her much mind. I was much more interested in Maria, who owned
the coffee store downstairs , ran the restaurant with the government as a
partnership – interesting concept – she was also 80, smaller and had stage 4
cancer. She was our hostess greeting us
weakly from her open living room as we passed.
On the terrace
overlooking the ravines we ate lunch. I actually eat much better Cuban food in
Chicago and Fort Myers-There were never any tostones, plantains or rice and
beans. Sacrilegious and perhaps fodder
for an international incident. More on
that later. After the bland lunch came
time for a wandering. I am not much for
sitting, especially with this group of 70 and 80 year old. As they prepared themselves for dessert and
Cuban coffee, I excused myself and headed for the staircase in the back on the
Right as I followed the cement stairs down and down. I found pigs and chickens. The apartments were terraced on the
hillside. The buildings were the roof
and the animals were kept in what was an open faced basement. The animals lived under the apartments in
pens. This was something the turistas
were not seeing or smelling or hearing for that matter. Smelly animals living in squalor. I wandered away from the basement barnyard and down to the
horse and goats. Then I saw on the lake
were the flamingos just standing, preening and feeding. I
thought flamingos only came in plastic. It was all very peaceful and sublime.
It happened on my way back to the stairway that would take
me back to coffee and if I was lucky flan. I took a shortcut by cutting across the grass to the cement
stairway. The grass was a vibrant green
and the ground solid yet suddenly I found myself up to my shins in this black
muck and sewage. It was really awful and
the smell was of feces and then some. It was black and slimy, completely yucky.
I found myself suddenly enmeshed in this Utopian Village
septic system. It was a fairly crappy
system apparently – no pun intended-even though from the outside it looked
normal. Would I get a disease, would my
feet fall off -help. What do I do? I
panicked, and took another set of stairs up marking it with putrid muddy smelly
footprints. I found myself in the
parking lot by myself with the first floor apartments on my right. I needed a
hose. There is not a spicket anywhere in
Cuba, nothing was around let alone a hose.
Finding a spicket in a US neighborhood is no problem. They are everywhere. In this Cuban residential area it was
laughable and the spickets and hoses nonexistent. Then
I saw her. Our eyes met and she
assessed me and the situation in a calm manner. It was obvious, the dilemma an
older tourist whose legs were covered in shit who shortly needed to get back
on his tourist bus to return to Havana. It was the woman who had been swaying to the music. She motioned me over. It was no big deal. We did not talk. There was calm, peace and
serenity in the air. She motioned me to
sit on the kitchen chair on the porch and left returning with a steel bowl full
of warm water. She took my sandals off
and proceeded to clean my feet. It was
surreal and very matter of fact. No big
deal. First the feet were rubbed down
and cleaned. She sitting on a stool washed my feet with her aged hands in a
poised and gracious manner. This was
like a gift that she gave from time to time.
It was a Really Good job. My feet were refreshed and felt great.
Then, new water was brought and the sandals had their turn.
Again the cleaning was performed in a methodical and sanguine manner. There was grace and appreciation
present. I felt appreciative and for
whatever reason had been delivered to a better place. Certainly my problem had been
transformed. She clearly was
appreciative of me and my existence and that was the mystery of the experience
for me and what was unfathomable. In
American culture, in Oak Park, Illinois this cleansing by a stranger who was an
old woman would just not be happening. This was jarring to me.
I soiled the space – no pun intended by reaching for my
wallet to give her some money. She would
have none of it and just waved the wallet aside. I
said goodbye stunned and numbed to what had just happened. With few words this woman had washed my feet
and then sent me the bald gringo, on my way. I approached the bus legs cleaned and ready to
board. On the return, I felt peaceful
and serene. Like I had been touched and graced by an angel. This is the first time that I have shared
this experience with anyone. Wow! – Fantastic!
Another inexplicable strange dance in Cuba.
