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Holguin Siempre Adelante
(sign at the airport)
Holguin Always Looking Forward
An Artistic Journey by Claire Carew
May Day May 1st 2007 I am in Cuba. This is
the day traditionally commemorated in many parts of the
world as Labour Day, not in September as they do in
Canada and the USA.
As soon as I
touched down in Cuba they started to speak to me in
Spanish. At the airport in the line for Foreigners / Visitors a female immigration officer only approaches me
asking me questions pertaining to my stay. I answered in
Spanish/English and she made her exit stage left.
I am here as an
invited guest to attend the
Romerias de Mayo Festival
which is held in Holguin, Cuba every year in May.
A facilitator for the event Karina saw my work on
the internet and after several emails and my official
submission I am here.
It is a time for
artists, musicians, writers, actors, dancers, painters,
sculptors, singers to join in the festivities.
Everywhere I went
people spoke to me in Spanish. I was born in English
speaking Guyana, South America and spoke English except
for one word. Apparently around the age of two; my
mother said I would often ask for water by pointing to
the tap and saying “Agua.” Initially my mom said she was
puzzled; but after listening to a radio show she
understood that agua was Spanish for water. I am
fascinated by that revelation.
May 1st evening
Cuba honouring the Aboriginals
peoples of America.
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Jorge was waiting for me at the hotel
and introduced himself as my translator. I
trusted him right away. He is professional
and a university student. He translated my
thesis at the scheduled conference and took
me to a surreal Santeria Mass as I had
requested. A few minutes later after meeting
Jorge, Alexis—my second translator and in
charge of transportation and meals—calls on
the telephone. He is also a university
student and passionate. He tells me clearly
I must get dress to meet the president of
the festival at a welcoming party. Alexis
arrives by taxi. I like and trust him as
well. We are now three strangers in a taxi
going to a welcoming party for the guests of
the
Romerias de Mayo Festival. |
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We met the president of the
festival and other invited guests from around the world.
We enjoyed ourselves
Exhibition
The racial make up
of most people at the festival were Cubans of European
ancestry. A young 20-something group heavily influenced
by the music culture of England and the United States.
They were playing rock. John Lennon’s “Imagine”
opened up the ceremonies:
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Imagine
By John Lennon
Imagine there's no Heaven
It's easy if you try
No hell below us
Above us only sky
Imagine all the people
Living for today
Imagine there's no countries
It isn't hard to do
Nothing to kill or die for
And no religion too
Imagine all the people
Living life in peace
You may say that I'm a dreamer
But I'm not the only one
I hope someday you'll join us
And the world will be as one
Imagine no possessions
I wonder if you can
No need for greed or hunger
A brotherhood of man
Imagine all the people
Sharing all the world
You may say that I'm a dreamer
But I'm not the only one
I hope someday you'll join us
And the world will live as one
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* * * * |
We waited for
transportation—a bus, a taxi, anything. Then midnight
came and the signal came: trucks and fire trucks started
to blow their horns off in the distance and began to
wind their way and around to us. The Afro Cubans who
were standing on the side of the streets—tall and thin
and dressed in white with umbrellas in the darkness of
the night—went into movement. The music started. The
drums began. The parade had begun to the park.
I woke up the next
morning with the rock bands singing their last song. Big
smiles were on faces as they carried out their friends
on crutches. I think I know where they fell: probably in
those holes in the park. I remember my friends and I
watched a few people go in and out of the holes and we
had to move away. It made us laugh hysterically watching
them get back out.
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Holguin Cuba
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Viva Los Aruacos
Viva todos Indigenous
Viva todos los personas aqui en Holguin
I search for you my Aboriginal brothers and
sisters of Cuba
buried deep in the crevices of this land.
They tell me all signs of your faces are
gone
erased and extinguished from the memories of
the contemporaries
All wiped out 100 fires Cienfuegos
Destroyed
I refuse to accept this as true
I retreat and meditate
Where are you Invisible Ones?
Direct my steps
Guide me on my quest
Will I see faint images of you buried deep
in the walls of colonial buildings?
Desperately I paint you back to life
so others may see your faces
and help resurrect you
I walk with my paintings of your brothers
and sisters
from Canada, Mexico, and the USA.
May I introduce you to your Hopi brother
Lewis a chaman from Arizona?
I have made the long journey to distance
lands
researching, climbing, and documenting the
Indigenous
peoples of the Americas. I come to you with
open arms,
I bring with me the image of Sitting Bull
the Lakota Chief
Does he look like you?
Here in Holguin I am happy and thankful
to have the guidance and protection
of Jorge y Alexis my translators
assigned to me by the Romerias de Mayo
festival organizers.
They are my eyes, seeing which exist
My mouth, communicating in Spanish
Giving me the time to be quiet and to seek
you
To return to times gone by when you walked
this land
Before the Spaniards
Before the African slaves
Before the workers from China
Today an Afro Cuban young university student
showed me a photograph
She danced and dressed to look like you
I am going back to Canada knowing
that I have stirred the
heart of this young student. |
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Diary entries Holguin
Cuba
Opening Ceremonies
May 2nd 2007
For the first time in my life I am
in a horse carriage in a parade waving to school
children and adults who have come to wish us well. We
sing and dance as we make our way down the streets of
Holguin. I am ecstatic. I choose to sit in a carriage
with my translators and a few of the organizers of the
festival and one of the delegates from Holland also join
us. Over 370 international participants attended the
festival which is held every year from May 2 to May 8.
It started in 1993.
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May 3rd 2007
High Noon
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The Festival includes a pilgrimage to the
Loma de la Cruz (Hill of the Cross).
It is midday—the hot sun pours down and we
must make the long climb up the stair case
of over 400 steps. My translators Jorge and
Alexis suggest an alternative. If I so wish,
we could take the bus. Of course there is
no question. I make the climb with several
mini-rests to catch my breath and take sips
of water and photographs. We were
successful. Jorge and Alexis were patient
with me. It is the day of the
cross—celebrated also in Mexico. But in
Holguin the cross has been transformed into
an enlarged replica of a Taino hatchet,
Hatcha Taina. We are here to honour the
aboriginals in any way we can. At the summit
of the hill many have lit candles and are
writing little notes to leave between the
crevices of the stones or next to the
candles. I do the same. |
I am starting to think
that I can connect the Native carvers from British
Columbia to the Cubans who carve the Hatcha Taina
in a style similar to a totem pole.
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Opening of My Art Exhibition
in honour of the Aboriginals peoples of the Americas
May 3rd 2007
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It is
early evening I am tired, but exuberant. We
climbed the staircase and we did not get wet
from the torrential rain that poured down a
couple of times as we made a sprint for the
awaiting bus to take us back down the hill.
It is
now time to open the doors to my art
exhibition.
My
exhibition went well. Art in Cuba is brought
to the masses in restaurants, video stores,
murals and functionary household items. My
show is held at a popular video store.
Can you
believe it I asked for music and when I
arrived there was a professional opera
singer there to serenade the guests? I am
humbled and thankful. |
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People came and signed my guest
books; candles were lit; singers sang and we joined
in, people asked questions, fascinated and ready to
learn more about why the lives of indigenous peoples
intrigues this African Guyanese Canadian. I am happy
my exhibition was a success. I can rest knowing “I
have made my mark.”
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Holguin Cuba
May 6th 2007
I am protected on
this land of the Indigenous peoples. Yesterday at the
art school I spoke to over 600 students. Several years
ago Fidel Castro came to open the school. Students are
in bright, cheerful uniforms. They are well dressed,
tidy, and quite friendly. The student council came to
greet Alexis, Jorge, and me—girls first then the boys.
We were taken into the director’s office to get know
each other—there were delicious omelets and café con
leche.
In the midst of my
presentation the school next door had a practice bomb
alert. Students running and hiding. Jorge told me what
was happening—the reality of Cuba in a world where the
threat of an invasion floats to the surface from time to
time.
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I spoke
on the importance of connecting to other
cultures—respecting others cultures. As I
looked out to the sea of a quite homogenous
population—no hijabs, no one appeared to be
Muslim, Hindu, Aboriginal. I emphasized the
economic benefits of learning different
languages, for a country such as Cuba which
has had an embargo placed on it for several
decades.
The art
work of these students—17 to 18 years of
age—is impressive. However basic art
supplies are lacking. The magnificence
outdoor murals painted in the heart of the
city just a year ago are beginning to peel
and fade I make a promise to myself to send
them sealers so their murals will stand the
test of time. |
Something that keeps coming to mind
here is that I have to also honour my life in paintings
and sculptures. I cannot just dedicate myself to the
struggles of aboriginal people or other struggle.
Somewhere in between I have to make time for my
biography through art.
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Honour Song
Drummers and
trombone players honoured me and sang Happy Birthday to
me in Spanish. Young women dance a sensuous dance to the
drums. Jorge told me what was happening. It opened my
heart to hear the drums and especially song, The African
presence is very strong. I reluctantly leave this awe
inspiring school of the arts.
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John Lennon Song “Imagine”
opened up the closing ceremonies
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Imagine there's no
Heaven
It's easy if you try
No hell below us
Above us only sky
Imagine all the people
Living for today
Imagine there's no countries
It isn't hard to do
Nothing to kill or die for
And no religion too
Imagine all the people
Living life in peace
You may say that I'm a dreamer
But I'm not the only one
I hope someday you'll join us
And the world will be as one
Imagine no possessions
I wonder if you can
No need for greed or hunger
A brotherhood of man
Imagine all the people
Sharing all the world
You may say that I'm a dreamer
But I'm not the only one
I hope someday you'll join us
And the world will live as one
*
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We waited for transportation—a bus,
a taxi, anything—to take us to the closing ceremonies.
Then the clock struck midnight. Bells sound. This is the
signal: trucks and fire trucks started to blow their
horns off in the distance and began to wind their way
around to us. The Afro Cubans who were standing on the
side of the streets tall thin and dressed in white with
umbrellas in the darkness of the night went into
movement. The music started . . . the drums began. The
parade had begun to the park.
I woke up the next morning with the
rock bands singing their last song. I left the windows
of my hotel room and smiled as I looked at the time.
They played all night.
Making my way out to the front of
the hotel to wave goodbye, bus loads of bands are
loading up the buses to take them back to Havana. A good
time has been had by all.
Big smiles on the faces of those
carried out by their friends on crutches. I think I know
where they fell, probably in those little obscure holes
in the park. I remember my friends and I watching a few
people go in and out of the holes and we had to move
away as we were so tired that we were laughing.
Farewell till we meet again
In the few days I have been in
Holguin, I have noted a resilient people. Strong Cubans:
a willingness to live triumphantly amongst harsh
conditions. I have noted cultural values and gender
specific behaviour. The women of all ages are sensuous;
dressing in seductive wear, walking like goddesses. At
no time did I find the outfits risqué but more of a
respect and a tribute to the female form.
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At
first I was baffled. Isn’t this a communist
country? Why do these women dress
seductively? My feelings being shaped by the
images I saw in Moscow years ago and my own
understanding of emancipation of women.
However as a visual artist I soon dropped my
assumptions and I too took in the beauty of
my Cuban sisters in all shades and shapes
The sensuality of the women and the role of
the man. The love of children and ever
present surprising prominence of Catholicism
and African base Santeria spirituality
alongside secular living.
In
today’s world of technology and embargos it
is the love of each other that carries
Cubans through. Warm kisses on the cheeks,
hugs. A man stops loading his truck calls
out to a girl who greets him with a kiss on
the cheek.
A young
sad looking woman is curled up in a fetal
position at the festival head office she is
taking a siesta. She is a brown young woman.
In Canada we would call her Black or
bi-racial. A young man who we would call
European quietly went to her and gently
kisses her on her forehead. For a moment she
opens her eyes and smiles. He validates her
existence demonstrating that she has a
reason to be happy. She is loved. These
examples are but a few that we saw repeated
over and over, love manifested in the
ordinary.
I am
going back to Canada tonight and I have not
checked my email since May 1st.
It felt good. Just now I said goodbye to
Alexis y Jorge. Of course I was sad and I
waited until the last moment before entering
the airport shuttle to give them their
gifts. .Although that did not stop my tears
from flowing... |
This life here for
a week has been devoid of distractions. I have not
listened to the news. I have lived intensely for a week
enjoying watching dancers on balconies and city squares,
gallery hopping, staying up late and waking up to music.
Hearing the sounds of tropical birds and falling in love
with Cuba.
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Reflections
of a Butterfly
I am neither Guyanese nor Canadian
No soy ni guyanesa ni canadiense
I am neither male nor female
No soy ni hombre ni mujer
I am neither a nomad nor a settler
No soy ni una nomada ni colono
I am neither a chaman nor a humanitarian
No soy ni un chaman ni un humanitario
I am who I am, a child of the universe
Yo soy quien soy hijo del universo
A star in the sky, a flower growing
Una estrella en el firmanento un flor que
crece
A tree holding strong
Un arbol que resiste
A butterfly unfolding.
Una mariposa que
crecimeinto. |
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Creativity abounds in Holguin Glossary
Bici/Taxis Bicycle Taxis: A bicycle
taxi has seat for two on the back of a bicycle. They are
fast can get around cars and you pay the rider. He of
course is usually a strong muscular man.
Claire Carew
www.clairecarew.com
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The
Artists of Santiago de Cuba
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posted 14 December 2007 |
