Cuba, the country of the sigüaraya

In a reflective essay, Cuban writer Eduardo N. Cordoví portrays Cuba as 'the country of the sigüaraya', an emblematic tree symbolizing the nation's contradictions and absurdities. Through anecdotes from his Lawton neighborhood in Havana, he illustrates the evolution from a prosperous area to one plagued by corruption and decline. He critiques how current leaders demand defense of nonexistent achievements, heightening social paradoxes.

The sigüaraya, scientifically known as Trichilia havanensis, is a Cuban tree with lush foliage linked in folklore to the orisha Changó, syncretized with Saint Barbara. Popularized in Benny Moré's song 'Mata siguaraya', which warns that 'without permission it cannot be cut down' due to its 'power', the theme gained worldwide reach through artists like Oscar D'León and Celia Cruz. In 2017, Jamila Medina Ríos published the book País de la siguaraya, cementing its metaphorical use to depict Cuba since the republic's early days, rivaling the royal palm as a national emblem of contradictions.

Living in Lawton, a marginal Havana outskirts neighborhood, Cordoví recalls its economically privileged past with residential areas like Vista Alegre or Alturas de Lawton. It featured corner stores, sugarcane-juice stands, bakeries, pharmacies, laundries, and more. There were two large cattle slaughterhouses, two bus terminals linking to remote spots, and six movie theaters, one with a stage for performances by figures like Chilean Oswaldo Gómez (El Indio Araucano) and Argentine Luis Aguilé in the late 1950s. Nearby was the famed Alí Bar cabaret, rivaling Tropicana.

By the late 20th century, Lawton harbored underground economic power via illegal cattle-meat trade, fueled by official corruption and gang thefts, leading to crimes and attacks. Private gaming rooms emerged with games like silo, cubilete, la siete y media, fañunga with dominoes, pool tables, and even roulette, resembling a 'homegrown gangster movie' complete with street shootings.

Today, contradictions intensify: hierarchs urge an 'extraordinary war' to defend 'the conquered conquests'—namely, what no longer exists and won't return under their rule. Cordoví exclaims: 'This is the country of the sigüaraya!'

Awọn iroyin ti o ni ibatan

In Havana neighborhoods like Lawton, residents are setting fire to corner garbage piles, possibly due to fuel shortages or as a form of expression. This occurs amid urban deterioration, transport scarcity, and widespread tension. The author portrays an atmosphere of uncertainty and anxiety in daily Cuban life.

Ti AI ṣe iroyin

In a personal diary entry, Cuban writer Lien Estrada reflects on the disappearance at sea of her cousin's father while trying to reach the United States and what it means to have a fatherland under oppression. She argues that no land is worthwhile under slavery.

In a diary entry, Veronica Vega describes a taxi ride from Alamar to Havana and her thoughts on the persistent stagnation in Cuba, evoking memories of the 1990s Special Period.

Ti AI ṣe iroyin

In a personal diary, Veronica Vega describes the collapse of public transport in Cuba, comparing it to the 1980s and the Special Period crisis. Despite current desperate conditions, hope emerges for change driven by cultural expressions and predictions of transformation. Vega concludes that Cuba is worth it as a place to stay and build a future.

 

 

 

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