Cuba Day 1 - A Pre-trip Reflection

Hola Familias y Amigos!

For weeks, we have been packing for Cuba. Students, teachers, and parents loaded grocery carts and stuffed duffles, scooped and sealed powdered milk, assembled 200 care packages for eight different communities, hand-wrote personalized notes in up to three languages, and mobilized countless peers, family members, synagogues, friends, and neighbors to join our efforts in ensuring every group we visit on the island feels seen, valued, and blessed. In total, we rolled and dragged thirty-one 50-pound bags of donations to the airport this morning. We also prepared fifteen trash bags full of extra clothes that didn’t fit in our luggage, and it will be sent with our chaperone Elga’s mother to Mexico to communities in need there. Our mental suitcases are at this point bursting at the seams with anticipation and gratitude for all who helped make this humanitarian mission possible.

Today might technically be “Day One,” but for us Day One started last semester. I wanted to take some time to reflect on the glimpses of Cuba our group has already seen in Atlanta over these last six months. We believe both the big and small pre-trip experiences we have had at home are what will enable us to truly open our eyes while here.

A Few Granules
Espresso is how we began this program back in August. As a toddler, my affectionate Cuban abuela used to lower a little ceramic espresso cup and saucer from the kitchen counter into my hand and say “toma.” Drink. The black liquid was so loaded down with sugar that I would chew the granules. It was every kid’s dream. Over 30 years later and now a parent, the thought of giving my tornado of a toddler sugary caffeine instantly sends a rush of anxiety through my bones, so I play it safe and resort to giving it to other people’s teenagers instead.

I began our time together with espresso not just because it’s a staple at every meal; it also symbolizes the values of Cuban culture. With a cup, a plate, and a little spoon, you can’t run with it. You can’t drive with it. You can’t multitask with it. You have to slow down. Cuban espresso is also bold and strong. No outside element–neither milk nor sugar–can really weaken it that much. Cuban espresso cups are also rarely sold as a single cup or pair. They come in sets of four or six, encouraging gatherings.

I’ve converted a few Weber kids to the “dark side” of drinking espresso, but that’s not the real point. It’s these few, sweet granules that the espresso represents–the slowing down, the staying strong, and the leaning into community–that we’ll find ourselves chewing in the days to come from an island that will extend its hand to us like an affectionate Cuban abuela and say “toma.”

From Home to Home
One of the best teaching days of the year for me is loading everyone on a bus and driving to my home for a day of learning. We cook, we sing, we play games, and best of all, we pile into my sala, my living room, and with pillows and couches and my dog moving from student to student begging for pets, we eat and start to see each other as more than classmates.

My house is filled with Cuban art. Eight of the eleven Cuban pieces I have on display come from a surrealist painter, Miguel Martin, an artist and friend who helped begin one of the community projects we will be visiting on Saturday (“Muraleando”). Like much of surrealism, Miguel’s paintings intentionally place out-of-place objects in natural settings. One of my favorites hangs in my kitchen, and it’s a large espresso maker with a jungle inside of it. After your eyes get used to the jarring juxtaposition of a kitchen appliance and nature, you begin to see how much an espresso maker takes on the characteristics of a new reality: it looks like a home.

Miguel’s paintings remind me that, like surrealism, our approach to travel can seem a little out of place. Uncharacteristic. A little hard to explain. Why am I making kids haul so much tuna and powdered milk across international lines? Why does half of our itinerary essentially amount to sitting on the ground talking and playing with kids? Over the years, we have learned to reimagine immersive, transformative travel, and that means getting close to strangers no matter how out of place we feel. Maybe we look crazy to some— like a jungle espresso maker—but we see and know a more meaningful reality: we can create a sense of home for others and ourselves no matter where we are.

Surrounded by Miguel’s paintings and with our mock mojitos, black beans, dominoes, and singing some “Guantanamera,” the time at my house joyfully reinforced why I do what I do. But I do want to share that looking back now, it’s bittersweet. In preparing for our trip, I recently tried to reach out to Miguel to let him know I was coming and couldn’t wait for the kids to meet him. Sadly, I discovered Miguel just passed away from Covid-19. Overnight, the paintings on my walls became so precious and fragile, as I realized I wouldn’t get to add to my collection this year.

Thanks to Weber, the Zalik Foundation Junior Board, Rosing Paint, Leeya Ilan’s “Candy for Cuba” fundraiser, and so many individual donations, we are bringing five suitcases full of supplies to the Muraleando community project to ensure its stability for the future. These suitcases can’t bring Miguel back, but they will be delivered in his memory and will help inspire future Miguels to use the arts to create what others don’t yet see. I hope to spend much of the rest of my life bringing kids to my house with his artwork in the background, learning about the beauty of Hispanic communities all over the world.

Beats and Bridges
A second major highlight from our pre-trip experiences was spending a second full day together learning about Cuba throughout Atlanta. In Kirkwood, we partnered with a professional dancer named Malita who taught us how to salsa. Five Weber Spanish immersion groups have worked with Malita, and I have never seen kids enjoy this activity as much as this year’s Cuba group. Hips swayed, raised arms swung, and legs shuffled to a 1-2-3 beat as we danced both individually in front of a mirror and in partners. We will be putting our rehearsal into practice starting tomorrow!

Before our salsa lesson, we got the chance to practice our Spanish with Cuban refugees who now live in Atlanta. Gaby and Aris Rodríguez, together with their gorgeous toddler Brianna, gathered with our students in a cafe to practice Spanish and hear the Cuban accent. One of my favorite photos from our pre-trip classes is seeing little Brianna with her big curly hair sitting with some of the Weber girls, confidently drinking in all of the attention. Gaby and Aris left family, belongings, and the comfort of their own culture to start over again in the United States seven years ago, and though they hope to reunite with their family one day here in the U.S., they must rely on many strangers to form new relationships in the interim.

We can’t heal the pain family separation brings, but this week, we plan on bringing supplies to Gaby and Aris’ family in Havana, acting as a bridge to connect the families as best we can. We also plan on bringing supplies to many other individuals in need (their stories are to come).

A Welcomed Disruption
Today began a week-long display of iconic pastel edifices and vintage cars that will serve as the typical backdrop for an atypical itinerary: an experience that trades the distanced observation of most tourism for close-knit participation. Expect updates of lots more of what we have already been doing: eating, dancing, playing, praying, and talking to ordinary locals who are far from ordinary, as we learn their values while also solidifying and reexamining our own. We are so happy to intentionally disrupt the American rhythm of run-school-run and take a week to enter into a dynamic learning space which has no need for walls, bells, and tests.

Here are pictures and videos related to this reflection. Un abrazo a todos!!!