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| The Malecón Seawall |
The other evening, we took a taxi, una maquina, from Marianao to Vedado. The vintage Chrystler thundered down the street with an engine that roared amid a background of stuttering metal. The maquinas are quite a scene here, racing back and forth across the city, picking up passersby along their route for a fee. Most are tricked out with hover lights, ornamental mirrors and high tech pioneer sound systems that blare Latin reggaeton.
It was early evening and night soon began to fall upon the Malecón seawall that stretches along the city’s coast. The shadows danced a graceful choreography of silhouettes down the skyline of decaying colonial archways. It was one of those evenings when the ocean was flipping ferociously, rushing up to the wall in whirlpools, pushing and pulling with fluid intensity. The sea line that met the sky was dark and mysterious. I often stand along the seawall and imagine the stories shared here, for there must be many…the hopes, the dreams, the longing, the tales of grief, tales of passion, tales of desire. Like the radiant depths of my grandmother’s bosom, I always find a safe solace near the sea. When I’m there, I often hear her “take it and tell to the sea.” In some sections of the wall, the water was completely crashing over and splashing into the street. The night glistened with the moisture of sea foam and my mouth affectionately embraced a taste of salt that was both warm and ethereal. In the distance, I could hear a familiar rhythm being played on a chekere. As I drew near to the sound, my heart radiated with warmth when I happened upon a group of children with their father sitting along the wall. In the Yoruba language, the children were laughing and singing in time with the chekere, “Yemaya shikini, ala modanse Ashaba shikini, ala modanse….”
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Playa d’Ancon, Trinidad, Sancti Spíritus Province |
