The battle behind the beat

by Kimona Kisten (South Africa)

Making a local connection Cuba

Years of a fleeting dream saw me dancing sunrises and sunsets away in a place that seemed like a distant planet. It suddenly hit me like an uppercut to the jaw…the place I had envisioned with all its fascinating beauty, multi-colored structures, vintage cars, and the ever-increasing bulging and pounding of rhythms echoing through the diatomic oxygen particles themselves, was suddenly a visible reflection in my hickory coloured iris. It surpassed even my most exaggerated visions of it. My only thought was the simple: ‘Cuba, we are finally together.’ The culture carved into the very essence of each building, glasses clanking, kind eyes and sheer warm-hearted smiles popping up over my entire radius, passion flowing over the vessels we see as mere humans and the universal beat of grounded music taking over my spirit: Pa pa u pa pa pa. As I turned back, holding my skirt between my legs and brushing the hair out my face, I was greeted by a backdrop of everything I had longed for. The feeling of pure adrenalin multiplying and resonating with my need to feel like I was someone who belonged somewhere. As we dragged our suitcases along the bumpy tar roads, trying to figure out which quadrant we had lost ourselves in and gracefully made our way to the house that would become our humble abode, we were abruptly greeted by our host, Frank. Settling in and sitting down for a late afternoon cup of tea before our first night out on the town, we decided to make introductions and get to know the family that had so vulnerably opened their home up to strangers. Taking a stroll to the studio that would be our dance home for the next three weeks, we made a pit stop at a pizza place on Calle de Compostela, where I met my soon to be dance partner: Enrique. Perfection…the constant demon that everyone and everything secretly strives to appear to be, creeps its way into our everyday lives. Although always denied, everybody wants to be accepted into the narrow box society has created for us over time. Public image has become the number one suppressor, and as tears trickled down the mountainous contours of Frank’s face, he reiterated that countries were, no different. Two weeks in, still enjoying our time there, our chats with Frank, his wife and his mother in law became something of a constant over morning tea, and desserts specially prepared for us. We had come to realise that although the country looked so incredibly beautiful and perfect on the outside, the people on the inside were suffocating. But would that not represent every country in existence? Working their fingers to the bone, they paid most of their hard-earned money to a communist government who consistently denied them documentation to visit family on the outside, or just to leave at all. Hustling to make a basic living, their faith in their once beloved country slowly subsided, but their warm-heartedness towards any soul they encountered, only grew stronger. And although they had very little, they were willing to give it all to those that needed it most. This yearning for a better life not only poured out of Frank and his family but also Miguel, the grandfather captaining the yacht at the beach while trying to control his arthritis, Julia, the waitress from the pizza place trying to get an education, Jorje, the incredible street musician just trying to break even, Paulo, the chef at the bar working to improve his skills and Enrique, the dance partner I didn’t know I would form such a strong a bond with. After listening to the stories of so many different people, one thing boggled my brain…How was it that despite all their hardships and financial burdens, every single one of these people found such joy in everyday life? It wasn’t until the very last day in Havana that I realised. We swung out one last night on the town…and as I got onto the bus to go to the airport, was passionately kissed by Enrique, encapsulated by a sunrise, and at that very moment, I understood…