En La Cola (Waiting On Line)

Today, I was at the grocery store and overheard an old voice saying; “Oye mijo, adonde estan las malangas?” (Hey son, where are the taro root?) I thought, oh God that was so Cuban. I quickly turned around and smiled at la viejita and with an upward nod of my head asked; “Cubana?” She asked how I knew. All I could say was; “Quien no conose a su gente?” (Who doesn’t know their own people?) I can’t explain what a treat it is to bump into Cubans, especially old ones, in a demographic so different then Miami’s. Although the word Malanga is part of the daily vernacular in most cuban kitchens, it is extremely exciting to hear it in my local grocery store where, la cola is only prolonged by the length of time a credit card transaction takes, the counting of food stamps, pennies, or the jerk that writes a check for a gallon of milk. Well it beats a rations-card any day don’t you agree?

I always experience a certain fervor of excitement and ethnocentric identity that catapults me past decades, states, dick-tators and Florida-Straights right into the heart of the island no matter where I am. I love my Cuban culture beyond words. It lives in me. My site although having not too much to do with Cuba and-or Cuban politics has everything to do with Cuba. After all, my underlining sense of identity, probably the first or second thing to come out of my mouth when describing myself in the first person, is the fact that I am Cuban. To bump into another compatriota on the outskirts of the Diaspora makes my day.