Music and Spiritual Life in Cuba
Walking down the streets of Habana Vieja, it was easy to be drawn in to the different bars and sidewalk cafes that featured live music. Our favorite of these was a place
called the Lluvia de Oro, which translates into Golden Rain, but Antonio and I would joke about it being the Golden Showers Bar. The bar was set up with the walls consisting of a fence-like lattice on two sides. When the bar closed, they would roll down garage-like metal doors. The nice feature about this type of set up is that it keeps the bar from becoming too dark and smokey, and allowed for cooling breezes to come in. The best part is that you could sit at the tables and listen to the music and still watch the people walking by on the street. Of course this too allowed for people outside to ask you for money, and the jineteras to ask you to invite them in for a drink.
The music was incredible. The most common (and my favorite) kind of groups that played at these bars usually played traditional Cuban music. The bands consisted of around 5 to 7 members, all playing such acoustic instruments as, guitar, upright bass
and an instrument called a tres, similar to a guitar in appearance but giving a twangy stringed sound that characterizes the band's sound. At least 2 or 3 members of the band played some sort of percussion instrument, bongos, clave (those two sticks that keep the rhythm) or maracas. Although I forgot (or never knew) the name of the band, my favorite was an all female band who would pull people from the audience to dance or sing with them. Thank God they never picked on me. Maybe they sensed my lack of talent. Anyway, from seeing them around all the time and in different bars, they quickly recognized us and talked with us during their breaks. I was surprised to see so many all female bands in Cuba.
The other place I frequented was a place called Don Giovanni, located on the Malecon right across the street from where I hung out the night I arrived in Cuba. Don Giovanni was more of a dance place, with the bands playing a mixture of salsa and traditional music. Although I didn't dance too much, it was great to watch all the other people moving their bodies in perfect time to the music.
Around the middle of the week that we were there, I met a guy named William as I was walking down the street who wanted to know where I was from. He told me that he had recently traveled to Europe touring with his AfroCuban band called Sabor Latino. After chatting a few minutes, he invited me to his house where he said his friends would be playing, haciendo rhumba. Sure enough, as soon as we got there, he called a couple of his friends from the same building and soon the music was going at full swing, with neighbors gathering to listen and dance along. Between songs, William would explain certain aspects of the music such as the names of each of the drums and some of the connections between the instruments and the music to his religion in the Yoruba Tradition otherwise known as Santeria. He proudly informed me that he was of the same Santeria religion as Fidel (later confirmed by other sources who said that Fidel had gone to Africa to be initiated into the religion). When the impromptu jam session started dying out, he came back to explain more about his religion to me. At one point, he took out this metal pot and started pulling metal items from it, such as a nail, a knife, explaining that these things all pertained to the orisha Ogun. When he had emptied the metal pot, he reached in and brought out a rock and as he put it in my hand he explained that Ogun lived in that very rock. At this point I got somewhat nervous, not wanting to drop it or inadvertently show some kind of disrespect for it. Also, I'm sure that my Christian training had something to do with my feelings that this was something scary.
William also showed me another item he called Eleggua. I had heard the name on my first night in Cuba when tribute was paid to Eleggua every time a bottle of rum was opened by Lazaro. Lazaro took some rum into his mouth, then sprayed it out onto the floor with some words about giving thanks to him. William's Eleggua looked like a little bowl filled with some sort of cement, with seashells creating facial features such as eyes, nose and lips on the surface. William explained that Eleggua also liked having rum sprayed on it from his mouth.
Antonio seemed to have come into contact with people who were deeply involved in Santeria. One day he showed me a necklace and bracelet he had been given. He also told me about people he had met who did not shake hands because of their religion. Across the bay from the Malecon where we had hung out before, a tall statue of Jesus Christ was visible on that peninsula. Antonio later went there and reported that around the base of that statue were blood stains where animal sacrifices had been made.
In my discussions with people about life there, whenever the talk turned to spiritual matters, some people would advise me to direct my questions to other people in the group by saying something like, "ask Renoir, he's the brujo." At one point the wife of one of our friends was singled out in this way. She laughed and said "todo el mundo aqui es brujo," meaning everyone here is a witch. This is really what I found there, that as most people in Mexico are Catholic to some degree, the people I met in Cuba were mostly Santeros.
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