in Cuba
WEAR AND TEAR
T H E C O LO U R F U L C O S T U M E S A N D B I G C I G A R S A R E J U S T A F E W O F T H E TO U R I S M I C O N S O F H AVA N A . B U T W H O A R E T H E S E S M I L I N G FAC E S A N D W H E R E D O T H E Y C O M E F R O M ? BY RO D ERICK EIM E
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very day, there she is on the same step. Every day, an immaculate new outfit, a basket of fresh flowers and a Cohiba cigar the length of her hand and as thick as an anchor rope. Her skin, which is the colour of rich honey, contrasts perfectly with her bright, banana-yellow traditional bata cubana (frilled dress) and matching headscarf. I’m here in in the UNESCO World Heritage-listed Centro Histórico of Havana where mojito-sipping tourists throng to the beat of Afro-Cuban rhythms among the plazas, narrow alleyways and lanes first cobbled by the Spanish in the 16th century. The atmosphere is light-hearted and buoyant and every corner seems to have its own minstrel or costume character. I’m intrigued by these bright personalities who ply their trade with tourists, posing for snaps for a few dollars a click. Smiles and poses always at the ready, they transform instantly from semi-boredom into ebullient artiste at the sight of a camera. “These are the city’s official costumbristas,” says guide Yummet Vallin, adding, “they’re here every day, rain or shine. It’s their life.” Costumbrista is a new word to add to my vocabulary: it means ‘one who adheres to local customs and manners’, particularly in former Spanish colonial countries such as Cuba. I sneak a few candid shots of my colourful subject as she leans nonchalantly against the dark wooden doorway, one hand on her hip,
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the other elbow on her knee and the smokeless cigar pressed against her thick lips. Her eyes stare down the street, looking but not seeing. “Can we take a few more photos?“ I enquire of my guide. “Sure, let’s ask,” replies Yummet. As we approach, our costumbrista bursts into life as if a switch is flipped. All smiles and fluttering eyelashes, we get the whole treatment and her full repertoire of poses. It’s a practised routine, but one that delights the tourists nonetheless and soon she has drawn a small but appreciative audience. Our private performance complete, we give her a few pesos and she’s clearly pleased. But who is this woman and what brought her to this vocation? Her name is Migdalia Baez and I learn she is a former percussionist and has plied her new trade here on the historic Calle Obispo for more than five years, just 20 metres from Hemingway’s favourite haunt, Hotel Ambos Mundos. She earns several times her former salary in a country where even doctors earn less than US$50 (AUD$66) per month. But even though individual entrepreneurship is now carefully encouraged in Marxist–Leninist Cuba, Migdalia pays a hefty tax to smile and pose for tourists. Around her neck is her official licence that can be inspected at any time by the municipal authorities. Around the corner near La Bodeguita del Médio, the spiritual home of the mojito, we
