 At some point yesterday, I noticed a large supermarket uptown and make it my first call of the day. Once inside I find myself talking to a young Cuban mother. She asks where Im from, what my job is in England, things like that. She then asked me for 50 U.S cents to pay for some medicine. I gladly oblige with a couple of dollars and continue shopping. What a lovely person. Its so rare to be pitched for money and for it be a pleasant experience. Instead of the usual guilt trip or heavy pleading scenario, here was a person who could make you smile and then asks you honestly and directly for help.I continue shopping and find myself struggling. A shop assistant comes over with a basket to help me out. Then at the next shop the man behind the counter tells me that I am about to lose my money belt that is hanging out of my jeans. I love days like this when the world works with you rather than against you
Back at the Casa I unpack the food and remember that I am supposed to be meeting up with the chap I met yesterday called Eugene. He is a Santero, a priest in the Afro Cuban religion of Santeria and has promised to take me to a local ceremony at 3pm. Santeria is a fascinating religion borne out of post colonial slavery. Many of the slaves came to the West Indian islands as patrons of the Yoruba faith. We like to think of it as black magic and voodoo but it is actually a positive force and a celebration of good rather than evil. Many of the slaves were indoctrinated into Catholicism but continued to hold onto their animistic beliefs and somehow blended the two faiths, giving rise to Santeria. As such, many of the catholic saints have been amalgamated with Yoruba spirits to make new deities. But unlike catholic saints, these deities have human weaknesses and frailties about them. The idea of original sin and a final day of judgement is not recognised. Instead, they are happy to worship their ancestral spirits. Two of the most important Orishas are; Obatala, an androgynous creator god who is aligned with Jesus Christ and dressed in white. His wife is called Odudua, who is the goddesss of the underworld. There is also Ellegua (who is aligned with Saint Anthony), who is the god of destiny. Speaking of destiny, clearly I dont think that Ellegua was on my side that afternoon. When I reached the bar (late as usual) Eugene had set off without me. Feeling slightly disappointed, I decide to concentrate on more secular matters and go shopping for CDs. I take a walk up the Calle Heredia and browse a few stalls. The stallholders are experts at divining who is fresh off the plane and who has been in the country a while. I browse in complete peace while my paler counterparts are pecked to death. I keep asking for a title called Soy Cubano, Soy Popular, a massive hit last year but nobody seems to have it. One shopkeeper tells me that if I give him $5 he can be back with it in a couple of minutes. I hand over my cash and find a place to sit in the sun. He comes back after twenty minutes and hasnt been able to get his hands on a copy. I return to the house and prepare dinner for my landlady Isabella and her husband. They are lovely, interesting people and like myself, deeply mad about music. We take coffee and chocolate biscuits on the balcony as the sun sets. I feel so at home, relaxed and hardly a word of their native Spanish is lost on me. As darkness descends the noise of cicadas and Salsa fills the air.  I thank them for a lovely evening and head off to the Pena club for another night of Afro Cuban madness.
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