I met Alicia de la Campa in 2006 at “Patrimonio,” the Cuban Ministry of Culture where she was doing business with the Puerto Rican publisher of Arte Latinoamericano, who would prominently feature her works in his magazine. I was there on a mission to have the paintings I had purchased from a number of artists, documented and approved for exportation.
A year later, I am in Alicia’s Havana home workshop asking my long-time Cuban interpreter and facilitator, Jose, to explain my predicament. I have fallen in love with five of Alicia’s compelling paintings but, alas, a last minute change in purses finds most of my money still lying on the bedroom dresser at home. Would Alicia even remotely consider letting me take these beautiful images home to the U.S., and I will send the payment back to her?
She shifts on her stool. “How will you send the money?” She is aware that due to the embargo, a maximum of only $300 can be sent to Cuba. In this country nearly devoid of lawyers and litigation, she likely would perceive this as a highly risky decision. Her gentle, chocolate Korean-Cuban eyes search mine.
“I will find a way.”
There is something about her demeanor on that stool … serious, confident. She and Carlos softly confer, friends since their college days at San Alejandro Academy of Fine Art where she later became Professor of Fine Art.
In barely the time to think these thoughts, she murmurs “ok” with a slight nod of the head. I have the hope, but she has the faith … a brave leap of faith.
I dance a jig and hug them both in gratitude. Then, in a gesture of sisterhood and in the absence of a sharp instrument to prick for blood, I impulsively slip a favorite bracelet off my wrist and onto Alicia’s.
I did, indeed, find a way to send payment. and through time and simple trust in each other, a bond of lasting friendship has grown and endures to this day.
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My interpreter, José tells lots of stories about life in Cuba, sometimes moving to the edge of laughter and tears at the same time. Last week, pointing out a cannabalised trash can, he said, ”Ask anybody in Havana who takes their garbage to the curb about the enterprising spirit, here.”
It seems the sturdy metal wheels of the country’s large plastic trash cans had been going missing, one and two at a time. After a little while, they starting reappearing on all manner of things like toys, tricycles and delivery carts. The system was silent about this. After all, everybody knows the economy would collapse if the black market suddenly disappeared.
But when the wheels started showing up in schools around the country, the government got involved. Many of the small trucks that transport school lunches from the central kitchens often a mile or two away, are breaking down and staying down. Into the vacuum appears sturdy handcarts sporting “the” wheels.
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