A Revolution in Cuba

« Return to Cuba

I conclude with two scenes:

The South Americans press decide they’re going to play the European press a game of football. The World Cup is in the air, and with a few strays from Canada, we have two teams. The bus drops us off at a local sports field, where hundreds of young, fit Havana kids are playing soccer, working out, running track. There’s no field available, but through trial and error we arrange to play one of the local sports teams, complete with referee. Europe and South America (with Canadian assistance) join together, and considering we’re a bunch of washed up hacks, we do surprisingly well. By half time, the Cuban kids are 1-0 up, with a couple female journos cheering on from the sidelines, enjoying the view of young honed men with skin like chocolate milk. Their opponents, namely us, look like clowns tripping on snowballs. My few touches of the ball are both fun and painful. It’s been years since I played in University for the worst team in the league. But I get a shot, a pass that allows me to run into the box and steady for the hero goal. Just then, I get tackled from behind, swan dive into the air, and land awkwardly with my fist clenched under my ribs. It takes several minutes before I can a) breathe b) see d) do my a b c’s – all the while our team argues for, wins, and scores a penalty. Nobody save Ken shows the least concern for my health, since the South Americans and Italians assumed I had just fake dived anyway, as is custom in their countries – einaaa! Anyway, the final score was 4-1 to Cuba. I limped off with a bruised rib and sprained ankle. We all shook hands in good spirits. It was the most authentic moment I had all week with real life Cubans. Nobody asked us for tips.

Final night, on a tip from Conner, we head over to the Jazz Club la Zorra y e el Cuervo, on Calle 23 near the corner of Calle 0 (look for the red British phone booth). Yasek Manzano is playing trumpet, along with various friends in a jazz ensemble. The groove these guys found was jaw dropping. I’m no jazz connoisseur, but I know my music, and here was a group of maestro musicians making love to their instruments. As I’d seen all week, the zeal in the eyes of Cuba’s musicians blast holes through all the other bullshit.

Cuba is not North Korea. Whether Fidel is breathing or smoking a big fat stogie in the sky, Cuba is not some rogue state that threatens anybody. After the earthquake shattered Port au Prince in neighbouring Haiti, the Cubans responded by sending in hundreds of doctors. The US responded by sending in the troops. Conner, who has followed Cuban doctors to disasters in Haiti and Pakistan, is proud of what Cuba can do in the world. The country is a raw beating heart, running on the passion of its people, and seemingly little else. Sooner or later, the embargo will cease, and Cubans will reach out across the ocean and make peace. Sooner or later, Cuba will enter the modern world. After all, the country and its people have a proud history of revolution.

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