UWM student Samantha Tripp traveled to Cuba before starting her internship at WUWM in late January. Here are a few of her notes and photos:
Johnnies. That’s what Cubans call people from the United States. At least, that’s what our tour guide said: every American is named Johnny. This was one of the many pieces of the Cuban puzzle I turned over, during my eight day stay there.
I signed up for the trip through UWM thinking two things: that studying Urbanism abroad would be a fun way to gain credit toward my major (Latin American, Caribbean, and U.S. Latino Studies), and that this was going to be the only way I could step foot on the forbidden island. Shortly afterwards, President Obama announced plans to normalize relations with Cuba, more than 50 years after the U.S. enacted a complete embargo.
Still, the thrill of going to a place few “Johnnies” have visited, was not lost. I was excited to eat my fill of rice and beans, drink genuine cuba libres, and of course get a taste of the infamous Cuban cigar. This was the first time I traveled outside of the US, and I was eager to soak up everything I could about Cuba’s culture and people.
The first thing I noticed when we landed in La Habana is that everyone applauded the pilot. I later asked my mother if this was something she experienced when traveling to Guatemala three years ago. Based on her answer, I assume this practice is uniquely Cuban, and it happened on all the bus trips and taxi rides I took there and on the plane ride back to Miami.
Once we exited the airport, huge clusters of people were gathered outside. A roped-off pathway guided us through the crowd. Looking up, I saw an older woman, perhaps in her 60s, crying and smiling. Two women older than the first ducked under the rope and together they kissed, hugged, cried, and laughed. How frantically they embraced- as if they hadn’t seen each other in ages. Then I realized: they probably hadn’t.
The man I sat next to on our flight from Chicago to Miami told me during the last stretch of our flight, that he was Cuban and had left the country when he was four. He didn’t remember Havana, only leaving it. As a confused young boy, he asked his mother where they were going, and if they’d come back: he was greeted with silence and a sad stare. He had not been back since.
I had known for a long time that Cuban people, once they left, were not allowed to return. I knew that many Cubans in the U.S. made the hard choice of leaving their families behind. Seeing the consequences of such decisions unfold before my eyes left me shaken up for the remainder of that first day. The thought of not being able to see family in decades, I cannot fathom.
As we drove to our hotel, I learned that in Cuba, Fidel Castro is not “Fidel” but rather, “He” or “Him.” The semantics reminded me of Voldemort, (‘he who shall not be named’, from the Harry Potter series), and I would not be surprised if these pronouns created urban legends parents could use on their children. If you don’t behave, "He" will find you.
Cuba is just as beautiful as photographs portray. Havana is full of old colonial buildings, painted in bright, beautiful colors, and with cars that make it seem as though Cuba was frozen in the 1950s. Typically these old-time cars serve as taxis. They don’t have seat belts, and while you ride in them, it seems as though there aren’t any traffic laws. I could not fully acclimate to the tangible lack of order.
The other thing I learned, was to always carry spare change, in case I needed to use the restroom. Attendants almost always sit outside, and if you don’t give them a little something, they may not let you enter. Whether bathrooms had toilet paper was hit or miss; a few things I'll no longer take for granted.
Still, the simultaneously worst and most telling realization of my trip was that Cuba is still struggling to recuperate from near economic collapse. The country limped through Periodo Especial- The Special Period. This is the name given to the era following the dissolution of the Soviet Union, when Cuba found itself without its primary trading partner and its economy faltered.
Although The Special Period is considered over, the effects can be seen everywhere, as you walk through Habana Vieja-Old Havana. Buildings are cracking and falling apart. It’s also painfully obvious the people desperately want to fix their homeland; it’s just that they don’t have the resources.
While the beautiful buildings are worn and crumbling, they still echo back to a time when they were strong and vibrant. In my eight days in Cuba, I found the people reflecting the same characteristics: strong and vibrant, despite hardship. Ultimately, I’d say this is the lasting impression I carried away from my trip: Cuba is a nation of resilience, of survival.
