168 Hours In Cuba

by Doyinsola Oladipo (United States of America)

Making a local connection Cuba

I distinctly remember sitting in the living room of my home, with my mother and older brother, discussing the strength and vastness of Yoruba culture in the Americas. It was then, at the age of sixteen, that my initial interest in the Yoruba Diaspora began. I researched and read about the perseverance of a culture and people generations removed from Africa. To learn that there were people in Latin America and the Caribbean that speak an older form of Yoruba -- that is no longer spoken in Nigeria today, pray to Yoruba Gods and integrate Yoruba practices into their daily lives, both directly and indirectly, made me realize there is so much more to being Yoruba than speaking the language, eating iyan and egusi, and wearing geles. Descendants of the Yoruba people are far and wide, spanning parts of West Africa: from Nigeria, Benin, Togo, and even Ghana (shushh don’t tell the Ghanaians). As well as in the Americas from Louisiana, Cuba, Trinidad, Haiti, to Brazil. I wanted to know what it meant to be Yoruba around the world, rather than assigning my Yoruba-American experience to everyone. I set my eyes early on Cuba, and waited patiently for my opportunity to travel there, knowing the influence of Orisha worship on religion, dance and culture. Seven years later, during my senior year in college, while my friends packed their bags to travel to typical Spring Break locations like Miami and Cancun, I boarded a plane to Cuba. I went with a good girlfriend and she brought her good girlfriend. We spent 7 days, 168 hours, traveling between and exploring 3 Cuban cities: Havana, Viñales and Varadero. In hindsight, our trip was touristy, too touristy for my taste, but it was still a great time. We went horseback riding, visited tobacco farms, and took a tour of Old Havana in a 1950’s red convertible Chrysler. I was unable to visit many of the Yoruba heritage sites as they are spread out across the country. Due to my timing, even some of the sites located in Havana were closed due to construction, like the Orisha Museum. But when do you ever travel and feel like you’ve seen all you’ve wanted to see? I’ll just use it as an excuse to go back! The highlight of the trip was my last full day in Havana, before my return to frigid Boston, I spent some time wandering through an outdoor art market. I was pleased to see many of the vendors selling painted interpretations of the Orisha pantheon. As I looked inquisitively at a painting of Yemaya or Yemoja, the Yoruba Goddess of Waters and Maternity, an older, seasoned man approached me and gave me an elementary lesson on the different Gods and Goddess, their powers, and their relations to one another. It was as if he knew I needed the explanation. I ended the day watching musicians and dancers perform traditional folk songs at Callejon de Hamel. I couldn’t understand what they were saying, but knew it wasn’t Spanish or the Yoruba I spoke at home. To confirm what I was thinking, I leaned over to the man closest to me and asked, “what language are they singing in” and with a smile he responded, “in Yoruba”. The way Yoruba was spoken generations ago, in the 1800s. I was finally experiencing the “time capsule” I’ve read about so many times. This is why I travel and the beauty of travel, it’s not for the pictures or bragging rights, “it’s to see something once rather than hear about it a thousand times”, especially when it resonates with your being and brings you closer to your ancestry.