Instead, he bought a pig.

by Arianna Kemis

Havana, Cuba

“I was four years old,” he had said. “I listened to music, and I felt it.”

 

I never knew that amidst the waving jungle trees and clucks of Cuba’s national bird, the tocororo, I would find a story of music and a lifestyle that epitomizes the struggle of life and love in Cuba.

There, listening to his performing group, I met Junior Santana, a 30-year-old saxophone player and lifelong citizen of Cuba. He was intrigued by why I came to Cuba, and I videoed him as he played enthusiastically for our group.

It was María.

by Arianna Kemis
Las Terrazas, Cuba

We were at Las Terrazas, a settlement high in the jungles of Cuba’s highest mountain range. There, nestled away in Cuba’s sunny, mountainous countryside on the shores of a quiet, green mountain lake, pale homes with clay-colored roofs and open windows lay tucked into the hillsides among the mango trees, bromeliads, and hibiscus hedges.

The group had stopped to visit a tiny coffee shop that was decades old. Our guide, Julio, told us that Café de María had started as support for a servant, María, in the 1940’s when she lost her husband. A business man came and had a cup of her coffee, which she worked daily to make locally for plantation owners and neighbors.

“This must be hard for you,” the business man had said. María had nodded.