Afro-Cuban Twin Sisters Profit from Cuban Cigars

So many people are taken aback to learn that a increasingly popular Cuban cigar brand is owned by two young Afro-Cuban woman in an industry dominated by older white Cuban males.

Although fluent in Spanish as well as English growing up in a Miami community heavily populated by white Cubans, they were taught to be black and proud by their grandmother, and became bi-cultural as they embraced African-American culture as well as their own Cuban culture interacting and weaving comfortably well in both Latino and African-American communities.  

An ongoing surprise to me is the number of Latinos who seem to be so unaware that there are black folks in their community who, like they themselves, have Spanish-speaking roots. Cubans, of all Latinos, should know better considering that their home country  has an overwhelmingly black population.

Original article:

Afro-Cuban Twin Sisters Talk About Race Through New Cigar Line

MIAMI, FL -- When Afro-Cuban-American twin sisters Yvette and Yvonne Rodriguez launched their Tres Lindas Cubanas cigar line last year, they wanted it to represent some of the diverse Cuban races as well as honor their grandmother, who inculcated them with pride in their African roots.
On a recent afternoon in a Coral Gables cigar shop, the twins point out their three signature cigars: "La clarita" - which means fair-skinned - and is light-medium bodied; "la mulata," which means mixed black/white as is medium-full, much like their grandmother; and "la negrita" means black which is their strongest, full-bodied cigar.


Coming from a mixed race family, the twins were somewhat confused when they were growing up in Miami, where the Cuban population is predominantly white. Their mother, a Cuban mulata, and father, a black Cuban, settled in the Miami suburb of Cutler Ridge, which had a mix of races.
"We were Cuban, we were black, and the kids did not understand that," Yvonne said. When their light-skinned grandmother would pick up the twins and their brother from school, students were puzzled to see her fair complexion. "Kids would ask 'who's that?' This light-skinned woman picking up three little black kids," Yvonne said. They recall bus rides home from middle school telling students about their ancestry.

The witty and lighthearted twins speak with adoration of their maternal grandmother and admit they were also confused growing up. "She was a mulata of mixed race but she came out very light skinned," Yevette explained.

Their grandmother emphasized the importance of being proud of being black. When people complimented her for being elegant, she would respond 'an elegant mulata.' Yvette explained "it was weird for us because for me she was just a white woman … she was a white woman saying 'nosotros las negras'[us black women]," they said laughing.

Although their complexion was confusing for them when they were 10 years or 12 years old, when they were a bit older they realized they were comfortable around Latinos as much as they were among African-Americans and weaved comfortably in and out of both communities.
"We could jam out to hip hop or R&B and speak Spanish a few seconds later. We are very in tune with both cultures," Yvonne said.

Growing up in Miami, "we were Cuban, we were black, and the kids did not understand that," say the sisters. "We are very in tune with both cultures." Their grandmother, who was much of the inspiration behind the cigar line used to smoke cigars regularly. By the time the twins were 16 years old they were not scolded if they took a few puffs from a cigar during a family gathering. When it came time to name the cigar line they decided on "Tres Lindas Cubanas," - which translates to three pretty Cubans - an old song from Orquesta Aragon, a band founded in Cuba in 1939, that is a constant in Cuban households. While growing up, the twins often listened to the song at family parties. "It's old but we would jam out to it," Yvonne said. 

 

It was through classic music, food, and stories that Yvette and Yvonne learned about their Cuban culture. "Back then the embargo was real and there was no Internet," Yvonne explained. Their parents were traditional, conservative, and Republican. But growing up in the U.S. they embraced African-American culture in addition to their Cuban culture and found their own identity.
"We don't fit the mold people are accustomed to seeing," Yvonne said.
These variations are the essence of the cigar line, which they say has created a dialogue for those who are confused like they once were.

My US Afro-Cuban Connections

Oakland, California

Being a lover of music from Cuba, along with a strong desire to use my Spanish made me want to be closer to the fairly large Afro-Cuban community in Oakland where I spent most of my adult life before returning to hometown of New York. This was especially true after my two week trip to Cuba where I was deeply touched by the culture and the hospitable nature of Cuban people.

My professional connections with Afro Cubans in the U.S. was a result of my work as an employment counselor as I started meeting a large wave of immigrants called balseros (Spanish for rafters) because they escaped the Island of Cuba on makeshift rafts. 

One such balsero was Miguel who invited me to a party so I could meet his family. We used to have long conversations in my office as he enlightened me on the things I observed during my Cuban visit. There was also Jesús, a very outgoing Cuban musician whom I interviewed for a salsa music magazine where I served as a part-time staff writer.
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My social connections with the Afro-Cuban community is different and surprisingly limited due to, unfortunately, the cultural comfort zone of the average Cuban immigrant who naturally wanted to be around other Cuban immigrants or Latin Americans. I had a much easier time mingling with Cuban men and women on the island of Cuba.

One exception was Vladimir, another balsero, whom I met at the Caribee Dance Center in Oakland where we hung out on salsa nights. Due to our frequent patronage of the center, our rapport grew. It was about this time when I was planning my trip to Cuba, and Vladimir was good enough to hook me up with his family in Havana where I was welcomed like a member of the family and well fed with Cuban food.

One year after my trip to Cuba, Vladimir's mother, Julia, came to Oakland to be with her son for one year. I used to stop by the house often to keep Julia company in my appreciation of the family-like way she and her family treated me during my Cuban visit. What was strange was that Vladimir spent a lot of time away from the home doing his thing. That would have never happened in Cuba. 

One evening, I just happened to be coming home late from work and found Julia stranded outside of Vladimir's apartment. She was locked out, and she had no idea of the whereabouts of her son. To help Julia, I managed to climb into the first-floor apartment through a side window, and provided Julia her needed access.

After Vladimir's mother Julia returned to Cuba, Vladimir soon moved out of the neighborhood without even telling me. He never even called me with his new contact information or anything. I interpreted that as a break in our friendship, which abruptly ended any rapport that I had with the Afro-Cuban community in Oakland.

It was a Saturday afternoon in nearby Berkeley, CA when I was browsing a Flea Market proudly wearing my Cuban baseball cap. I just happened to pass a stall run by Afro-Cubans selling video and stereo equipment. They were strictly business and not too friendly even though I spoke Spanish and expressed genuine appreciation for the loud Cuban music they were playing in the background. 

One of them gave me a hard, curious look before reluctantly asking, ¿Cubano? (Are you Cuban?). As I tried to explain in Spanish that I visited the island, he simply turned his back and walked away while the owner stated with a smirk on his face, “¡él no es Cubano (dude ain't Cuban)!” I just laughed and moved on to get away from the not-so-welcoming cliquish vibes.


I don't meet too many black Cuban woman in the US, and I'm guessing because not too many of them take the risks of crossing the Gulf of Mexico on makeshift rafts. However, when I was in Cuba, I was drooling over all the attractive black women I could choose from if I lived on the island because so many Afro-Cuban guys seemed to be attracted to white and mestizo women.

Finally, there was Lydia, an Afro-Cuban woman who hated on me for a long time because she felt that my love for the island of Cuba and its music was making me swing to the beat of Castro, a man whom she and many Cuban refugees despise with a passion. Lydia and I used to verbally cut each other up in English and Spanish.

One day, while in one of her civil moods, she turned me on to a book entitled “Hijack” written by Tony Bryant, a former Black Panther who hijacked a plane to Cuba. Tony wrote about how his experience in Cuba converted him from a leftist black revolutionary into a right-wing republican by the time he returned to the USA 14 years later. When I expressed an interest in reading this book (a good read, by the way), she immediately felt love for me as a brother.

What I Know about Santería

What do I know about Santería? Not much, except that it is extension of a West African Yoruba religion, and that African slaves in places like Cuba and Brazil (Candomble) had to take this religion underground, i.e., camouflage it under Catholocism because it was forbidden by their white slave masters. To be caught in openly practicing this Yoruba relation would result in dire consequences. The slaves used the names of Catholic saints in place of Yoruba deities. I had a conversation with a Nigerian gentleman who been to Cuba and feels that the Afro-Cuban is more African than the Africans themselves because the Yoruba language being spoken is the old school Yoruba of the 16th century, not the Yoruba that is spoken in West Africa today mainly by Nigerians. In addition, unlike many Afro-Cubans, many Africans embraced Western religions due to colonialism and the efforts of European and American missionaries.

Being of African heritage myself, a salsa music lover and dancer, and an admirer of Afro-Cuban culture, I thought Santería might be a worthwhile spiritual practice to explore, let alone reunite me with my African roots. After all, I was searching for a true spiritual connection at that time. That's when the touchiness of Santería really began to rear its ugly head, especially among some of my so-called friends who were directly or indirectly involved, and appeared reluctant to introduce me when I openly expressed my enthusiasm. 

To me, their reluctance and defensiveness was a red flag. There is something wrong when people feel that they have to be so clandestine with their connection with a higher power. Born again Christians approached me with open arms. So did Muslims and Buddhists. What is so wrong with Santería being that slavery has long ended? Another concern is why did these Yoruba deities permit the capturing of African people to be put on slave ships, their sufferings during the middle passage, and their oppression long after their arrival in the western world? If anyone reading this can enlighten me, I sure would appreciate it. Like I said, I know very little about Santeria other than the fact that I just might not be missing anything!

Havana City

These days, I have to be careful how I list my studies at the University of Havana in Cuba on my résumé because people tend to think I sneaked into Cuba illegally, and never bother to ask how I was able to enter legally.. I traveled to Cuba through the Global Exchange program, which has a license from the U.S. government to sponsor trips that are educationally and culturally focused. At that time, Global Exchange had a partnership with the University of Havana where Americans can learn and develop their Spanish-speaking skills through total immersion in that the instructors, tutors, and host families speak Spanish only. ....

Being the salsa music lover that I am, I was excited about not only improving my Spanish, but improving my salsa dancing skills as well. In my travels to more than 150 cities in 14 countries, I've never felt so much at home as I did in Havana. It was pure joy to just walk down the street hearing son-montuno music, charanga music, danzon, and timba music blaring from cars, homes, and businesses. One afternoon, there was a group of us walking through Central Havana where we heard this loud salsa song coming out of a restaurant. I grabbed one of the women in our group and we danced right there in public.


The beauty of this trip was that I stayed with a family in the middle of a community where there are hardly any tourists. It was amazing how so many people in the community looked at me and assumed that I was just another Cuban until I opened my mouth. My foreign accent was a dead give-away. I did make some fine friends with people who went out of their way to make me feel like one of them. One was Denalys Fuentes, a cute, petite Afro-Cuban woman who was my salsa dance partner as we went to party at the Palacio de la Salsa (Salsa Palace), a major Havana night club. She and I continued to write each other after my return to the US.

In a city of over two million, I found the Habaneros (Havana City people) to be so pleasant, neighborly; and highly approachable. You don't feel that sense of paranoia and fear when you stop people and ask for directions like here in US cities. It's probably because Havana is a much safer city than "any" mid to large city in the USA, mainly because punishment for crimes are a lot stricter in Cuba, and the potential criminal, more often than not, will think thrice before committing any crimes. The street hustlers, called jineteros (hee-neh-tay-roes), will befriend you and coerce you into spending your money on them. For me, this was an amusing opportunity to practice my Spanish.


Any animosity between Cuban people and the United States lies solely with the two governments, not the people. The average Cuban citizen I met admire American people and American culture. They love it when American visitors bring t-shirts, CDs, and other American-style items they no longer need to give away. In fact, I didn't want to wear any of my Cuban t-shirts that I bought as souvenirs because that would have been another dead giveaway of my being a foreigner. I simply waited until I make it back to Oakland.


Side note: I'd be remiss not to mention the thousands upon thousands of Cubans who fled Cuba and are scattered not only throughout the US but in Europe and Latin America. These Cuban refugees who sought asylum in other countries lived and experienced a Cuba that visitors like myself do not get to see or experience.

For Blacks in Cuba, The Revolution Hasn't Begun

 

I had the opportunity to visit Cuba (legally) back in 1998 to take a Spanish-language intensive course at the University of Havana, but was not there long enough to notice the apartheid type policies that were in place because I was protected by my US passport and dollars. At that time, US currency coveted by Cuban businesses for circulation. We foreigners from everywhere were having the time of our lives, totally oblivious of so many naturalized Cuban citizens risking their lives to escape and seek asylum in places, like the US, Spain, Mexico, and Perú.

My Afro-Cuban neighbor here in Oakland, CA, connected me with his family in Havana, but never explained to me why he himself faced the perils of the waters to escape Cuba on top of an inner tube of a tire. None of his friends whom I also befriended ever complained or reprimanded me for visiting Cuba, like so many other Cuban refugees who left Cuba long before them.

--W Bill Smith

Reposted from New York Times Sunday Review 

By Roberto Zurbano, editor and publisher of La Casa de las Américas (House of the Americas) publishing house. This essay was translated by Kristina Cordero from the Spanish.

CHANGE is the latest news to come out of Cuba, though for Afro-Cubans like myself, this is more dream than reality. Over the last decade, scores of ridiculous prohibitions for Cubans living on the island have been eliminated, among them sleeping at a hotel, buying a cellphone, selling a house or car and traveling abroad. These gestures have been celebrated as signs of openness and reform, though they are really nothing more than efforts to make life more normal. And the reality is that in Cuba, your experience of these changes depends on your skin color. 

The private sector in Cuba now enjoys a certain degree of economic liberation, but blacks are not well positioned to take advantage of it. We inherited more than three centuries of slavery during the Spanish colonial era. Racial exclusion continued after Cuba became independent in 1902, and a half century of revolution since 1959 has been unable to overcome it. 

In the early 1990s, after the cold war ended, Fidel Castro embarked on economic reforms that his brother and successor, Raúl, continues to pursue. Cuba had lost its greatest benefactor, the Soviet Union, and plunged into a deep recession that came to be known as the “Special Period.” There were frequent blackouts. Public transportation hardly functioned. Food was scarce. To stem unrest, the government ordered the economy split into two sectors: one for private businesses and foreign-oriented enterprises, which were essentially permitted to trade in United States dollars, and the other, the continuation of the old socialist order, built on government jobs that pay an average of $20 a month. 

It’s true that Cubans still have a strong safety net: most do not pay rent, and education and health care are free. But the economic divergence created two contrasting realities that persist today. The first is that of white Cubans, who have leveraged their resources to enter the new market-driven economy and reap the benefits of a supposedly more open socialism. The other reality is that of the black plurality, which witnessed the demise of the socialist utopia from the island’s least comfortable quarters. 

Most remittances from abroad — mainly the Miami area, the nerve center of the mostly white exile community — go to white Cubans. They tend to live in more upscale houses, which can easily be converted into restaurants or bed-and-breakfasts — the most common kind of private business in Cuba. Black Cubans have less property and money, and also have to contend with pervasive racism. Not long ago it was common for hotel managers, for example, to hire only white staff members, so as not to offend the supposed sensibilities of their European clientele. 

That type of blatant racism has become less socially acceptable, but blacks are still woefully underrepresented in tourism — probably the economy’s most lucrative sector — and are far less likely than whites to own their own businesses. Raúl Castro has recognized the persistence of racism and has been successful in some areas (there are more black teachers and representatives in the National Assembly), but much remains to be done to address the structural inequality and racial prejudice that continue to exclude Afro-Cubans from the benefits of liberalization. 

Racism in Cuba has been concealed and reinforced in part because it isn’t talked about. The government hasn’t allowed racial prejudice to be debated or confronted politically or culturally, often pretending instead as though it didn’t exist. Before 1990, black Cubans suffered a paralysis of economic mobility while, paradoxically, the government decreed the end of racism in speeches and publications. To question the extent of racial progress was tantamount to a counterrevolutionary act. This made it almost impossible to point out the obvious: racism is alive and well. 

If the 1960s, the first decade after the revolution, signified opportunity for all, the decades that followed demonstrated that not everyone was able to have access to and benefit from those opportunities. It’s true that the 1980s produced a generation of black professionals, like doctors and teachers, but these gains were diminished in the 1990s as blacks were excluded from lucrative sectors like hospitality. Now in the 21st century, it has become all too apparent that the black population is underrepresented at universities and in spheres of economic and political power, and overrepresented in the underground economy, in the criminal sphere and in marginal neighborhoods. 

Raúl Castro has announced that he will step down from the presidency in 2018. It is my hope that by then, the antiracist movement in Cuba will have grown, both legally and logistically, so that it might bring about solutions that have for so long been promised, and awaited, by black Cubans. 

An important first step would be to finally get an accurate official count of Afro-Cubans. The black population in Cuba is far larger than the spurious numbers of the most recent censuses. The number of blacks on the street undermines, in the most obvious way, the numerical fraud that puts us at less than one-fifth of the population. Many people forget that in Cuba, a drop of white blood can — if only on paper — make a mestizo, or white person, out of someone who in social reality falls into neither of those categories. Here, the nuances governing skin color are a tragicomedy that hides longstanding racial conflicts. 

The end of the Castros’ rule will mean an end to an era in Cuban politics. It is unrealistic to hope for a black president, given the insufficient racial consciousness on the island. But by the time Raúl Castro leaves office, Cuba will be a very different place. We can only hope that women, blacks and young people will be able to help guide the nation toward greater equality of opportunity and the achievement of full citizenship for Cubans of all colors.

Havana City Slickers

I grew up in New York City, so I know a hustler when I see one. I don't care if I'm in Tokyo, Montreal, or Havana; a hustler is a hustler, and they give off the same vibes that is instantly recognizable--usually!. At the time of my Havana visit, I only brought $250 worth of spending money to last me two weeks. This was money for souvenirs, dating, and entertainment. Although, I was successful stretching my money to last a couple of weeks, I only had $10 in my pocket when I arrived at Havana's José Martí International airport heading back to Mexico City, before catching my flight back to Oakland, where I now live. Because Cuba does not recognize American banks, I could not use a credit card or an ATM until I arrived in Mexico.

Many of the Havana hustlers, or jineteros (pronounced Hee-neh-teh-rohs), as they are called in Cuba, are Black like me. However, they viewed me as a rich tourist first and a Black man second. All I could do was play with their minds when they approached me with their little games. I even got to the point where every time a jinetero would approach me, I would say something like, ¿qúe bolá? ¡Quiero ser jinetero como tú, asere! (what's up, I want to be a hustler like you, man).  They would always give me a nice little chuckle and move on.

The most interesting case of my being hustled, and not knowing it was when I hired Ernesto, a Black bicycle-taxi driver with whom I began to establish rapport and get advice on things to do about town. I'd arrange for him to pick me up at certain places at certain times. One day, as he was taking me to my Spanish language intensive class at the University of Havana, he told me that this Wednesday night, there was going to be a birthday party for his little niece. He also told me that he wanted to introduce me to a nice woman. He even introduced me to someone whom he claimed to be his brother, and his brother looked at me as though I were a gold mine; a Black gold mine, thus easier pickings.

Wednesday evening came around, and I forgot all about this little party as I was with Luisa, an attractive woman whom I met the first day I arrived in Havana. As Luisa and I returned from a local restaurant, heading back to her house, we ran into Ernesto who had just stopped by the place where I was staying. He was visibly annoyed. His so-called brother was in the car with a group of other guys driven by one of Ernesto's friends. It certainly looked like a set-up. They wanted to party hearty with plenty of food and liquor at my expense.

When I returned to the place I was staying, which was across the street from Luisa's apartment complex, I was told by several house-hosts that it is very unusual for anyone in Cuba to have a party for a child on a Wednesday night, and they vehemently warned me about fooling around with jineteros, people who hustle foreigners, most of whom have regular jobs, white and blue collar, and moonlight hustling tourists. This is big business in Havana

Black Cuban Revolutionary General

General Antonio Maceo, Cuba

June 14, 1845 – December 7, 1896

José Antonio Maceo y Grajales was born in Santiago de Cuba, the son of an Afro-Cuban woman and a Venezuelan father. His father taught him how to use weapons, manage small properties, and develop leadership qualities. His mother instilled in him order and organizational skills, all of which contributed to his prowess as a military leader and a decorated general. When Maceo, the oldest of the children turned 16, he began working for his father as a delivery boy. 

Due to his physical strength and repeated successes in recovering from more than 25 battle wounds in about 500 battles, he became known as the Bronze Titan.

In 1868, a revolt against Spain known as El Grito de Yara (The Cry of Yara) erupted and Antonio Maceo, along with his father and brother, joined the revolution. Antonio, who enlisted as a private, quickly rose through the ranks as a Major, then Lieutenant Colonel, Colonel, and Brigadier General all because of his bravery and skill in military tactics against the Spanish Army. Because of class and racism, Maceo was forced to wait longer than he should have to be promoted to Major General.Author and historian Philip Foner had this to say in his book about the Bronze Titan Antonio Maceo, who was known by the Spanish press as the Lion: Maceo delighted in outsmarting the Spanish generals; again and again, he decoyed them into situations that were disastrous.  

Antonio, who enlisted as a private, quickly rose through the ranks as a Major, then Lieutenant Colonel, Colonel, and Brigadier General.

Due to his physical strength and his repeated successes in recovering from more than 25 battle wounds in about 500 battles, he became known as the Bronze Titan.

Maceo, a mason, was also an influential political strategist as well as a military planner. José Martí, the father of Cuba was among the Cuban leaders who were inspired by Maceo and who was quoted as having his primary duties to his country and to his own political convictions as above all human effort. He was determined to reach the pedestal of freedom or die fighting. José Martí says that Antonio Maceo has as much strength in his mind as in his arm.

Like his father and brothers, Maceo died fighting for Cuban independence. His final moment came in the battle of Punta Brava, in Western Cuba where he and his men were outnumbered by Spanish troops. Maceo was hit by two bullets, one in the chest and another in his skull.

Today, there is a municipality named after Antonio Maceo y Grajales in Santiago de Cuba. The airport in Santiago de Cuba is named after Antonio Maceo y Grajales, and a monument in Santiago de Cuba was built in his honor.

The Langston Hughes of Cuba

Nicolás Guillen of Cuba











Two black poets, from two different cultures, who speak two different languages, but inspired by the same passion, which influenced world-class poetry on the same issues. Nicolás Guillen of Cuba (above) and Langston Hughes of the USA (below). Langston Hughes and Nicolas Guillen were both born in 1902. Both are of African decent, and both came from families committed to social change. They made the struggle for social justice for blacks and the oppressed their guiding principle in life and the inspiration for their poetry.









Langston Huhes, born in Joplin MO, and a major contributor to the Harlem Renaissance.












In March of 1930 Nicolás Guillen interviewed Langston Hughes for an article in a Cuban publication where he was quoted as saying, I live among my people; I love them; the blows they get hurt me to the core, and I sing their sorrows, I express their sadness, I put their anxieties to flight.

In the 1920s, when Afro-Cuban sounds and instruments were changing the world of Cuban music, Afro-Cuban culture began to spread to the realms of art and literature. Initially, Afro-Cuban poetry, or “negrista” poetry, was mainly published by white Cubans. It wasn’t until the 1930s when Guillén would appeal to the literary society by giving an accurate personal account of the struggles, dreams, and mannerisms in the Afro-Cuban community

Guillén is probably the best-known representative of the "poesía negra" (black poetry). His most famous works include Motivos de son, Sóngoro Cosongo, West Indies, Ltd., Cantos para soldados, and La paloma de vuelo popular: Elegías.

Lucrecia: A Young Celia Cruz?

Afro-Cuban Singer Living in Barcelona, Spain

"First I am a musician, and I'm Cuban."

Some of Lucresia's music has included a mix of traditional Cuban music with the modern beats of today. Lucresia, who has recorded nine CDs have done traditional music, salsa, and boleros. After phenomenal success in Spain and throughout Europe, he is looking forward to similar success in the American market.

Born in the El Vedado section of Havana, Cuba and raised in Guanabacos towns of Cuba, Lucrecia seemed to have been born with music in her heart. At the young age of six, she began her musical studies with a concentration in piano at El Instituto Superior de Arte de Cuba (The Superior Institute of Art in Cuba). In order to complete a well-rounded musical structure, she also took voice classes. As a result, she received many awards as a vocalist in different competitions in Cuba including the Joseito Fernandez Award, acclaim at the Benny More Festival, and an award in el Concurso Jovenes Compositores y Instrumentistas (the Young Composers and Instrumentalists Competition). She was also the lead vocalist and keyboard player for the famous Cuban female orchestra "Anacaona." It was with "Anacaona," that Lucrecia participated in tours around the world, which brought her to Barcelona, Spain where she stayed and now resides.

In 1993, she finally gained wide recognition in Cuba as an artist having her songs play in the Hit Parade of radio and TV. That same year she participated in the Havana International Festival of Boleros, where she was one of the distinguished guests. In 1994 she released her first album in Spain entitled "Me debes un Beso" (You owe me a kiss), for which she was the producer and musical director. Her second release in 1996 was entitled "Prohibido" (Forbidden), where she brought the song "La Noche de la Iguana" (the Night of the Iguana) by Juan Pablo Silvestre. La Noche de la Iguana was dedicated to oppressed people all over the world. The song also served as the lead single of the Sonora band in the movie "Balseros." Lucrecia's third album "Mis Boleros" (My Boleros) came out later that same year.

Celia Cruz

October 21, 1925 - July 16, 2003

In 1997 she released "Pronosticos" and in 1999 "Cubaname," for which she once again served as producer and musical director. Also in 1999, Lucrecia made her debut as an actress in the movie "Ataque Verbal" (Verbal Attack) directed by Miguel Albadalejo. In 2001, Lucrecia released a single entitled "Amparame," which has been rerecorded for her latest album "Agua." In addition to her musical and theatrical credits she has also written a children's book called Besitos de Chocolate (Chocolate Kisses), and has appeared on a children's program in Spain.



Throughout the last few years she had also met and collaborated with some of the best in the industry including artists that have personally influenced her like Celia Cruz with whom Lucresia had many encounters and began a friendship. Lucrecia will always remember Celia Cruz for her strength and dedication at all hours, and the beauty of her music. Unfortunately Lucresia couldn't immediately leave to be at Celia's side at her death because she had shows scheduled, but a soon as it was over she left for the burial in New York. The night of her concert, a wake was being held for Celia in Miami, and during the show fans lifted up signs that read "Agua con Azucar," linking the two artists with their famous catch phrases. At the cemetery, Lucrecia sang a song dedicated to Celia entitled "Noche con un Angel" (Night with an Angel), and composed a song for Celia called "Agua con Azucar y Ron (Water with Sugar and Rum).

The First Black (and Latino) Astronaut

Arnaldo Temayo Mendez, of Cuba.
The first man of African heritage in Outer Space

Even before African-American Guion Blueford was launched into space on August 30, 1983, a Cuban of African heritage was sent into space with the Russian Soyuz was launched into space aboard Soyuz 38 from Baikonur Cosmodrome on September 18, 1980.
His Résumé or Curricum Vitae includes the following:

• Director of the Military Patriotic Educational Society
• Brigadier General
• Director of International Affairs in the Cuban Rrmed Forces.
• Deputy in the Cuban National Assembly

He has been honored by the Cuban Government as "Hero of the Republic of Cuba."

Note: Guion Blueford, is the First African-American in Outer Space

Hip-Hop Cubano (Cuban Hip-Hop)

Many young blacks in Cuba are very unhappy with the system, particularly with Cuban racism, and the economic disparity between the blacks and the browns, and the whites.

It was July of 1998, when I was in Havana, Cuba with a group of Americans studying Spanish at the University of Havana. I just happened to be only one of a handful of American-Americans in the group when an Afro-Cuban host was explaining to us that when you hear music, you put your hands in the air to show that you are having a good time. I was so tickled to say the least. I was humored because I'm a native New Yorker where hip-hop was born long before it reached the island of Cuba, let alone the rest of the world.

My mind went back to one of the first hip-hop groups to hit the airwaves, the Sugar Hill Gang, when in their song "Rappers Delight," they sang the following line, "put your hands in the air like you just don't care." I then thought to myself, who does he think he's talking to, LOL.

Today after work, I saw a filming of “Inventos: Hip Hop Cubano” or Cuban Hip Hop, which combines traditional Cuban rhythms with that of hip-hop along with lyrics dealing with social and political issues, as well as globalization, poverty, and identity on the island.

The Cuban Hip-hop movement is an awakening opportunity for young people to discuss their realities in informal, grass roots locations such as the back yard of someone's house or on a stage with microphones. In this film, you see the same attitudes and styles of African-American rappers. Only it is in Spanish with English subtitles.

Video of the Cuban hip-hop group "Orishas.