“SPACE … EVEN FOR THE DEAD, AT THE KITCHEN TABLE”:

Abstract

Entering into grounds I was born into a very poor home, and as many Cubans we belong to more than one race. My father's parents came from the Canary Islands (Spain), and my grandmother (on my mother's side) was descended from our black Cuban ancestors. Many years ago, I had the feeling of entering into holy grounds when I went into my grandmother's kitchen. I saw her sitting at the table having lunch. She was eating and while eating she spoke to an empty chair in front of her. A plate with a delicious meal was on the other side of the table. I sat down silently waiting for the end of this rare conversation with somebody who was not there . . . this was the usual place at the table of my grandfather who had died some months before my visit. My grandmother . . . with curly hair and wider nose that showed clearly to everybody that she was a descendant of our cruel Cuban history of slavery. How much I loved her! She had a beautiful garden with all kinds of fruit, especially mangoes and guava trees. I liked to go there, and usually I walked in her garden full of fruit and flowers, but very wild, like her . . . . My strong grandmother who always received us with food and sweet dishes! But, my questions at that time were: why is she talking with my grandfather if he is dead? How can she communicate with him without having any fear? I was only twelve years old but all these questions were in my mind and this particular scene is still very vivid in my mind and heart. He was there, his presence in the kitchen was so real that I almost could touch him. My grandmother smiled when she saw me and without being scandalized because I had entered into her secret, she welcomed my presence. We sat down at the table together. She didn't explain anything to me. She knew how much my grandfather loved me. Then, we were there with him, talking about small things of our daily life, experimenting with the knowledge that DEATH is not definitive for those who love deeply. As the poem of Birage Diop, quoted by Luisah Teish, says: Those who are dead are never gone; They are there in the thickening shadow The dead are not under the earth: they are in the tree that rustles, they are in the wood that groans, they are in the water that sleeps, they are in the hut, they are in the crowd, the dead are not dead. Those who are dead are never gone they are in the breast of the woman, they are in the child who is waiting, and in the firebrand that flames. The dead are not under the earth: they are in the fire that is dying, they are in the grasses that weep, they are in the whimpering rocks, they are in the forest, they are in the house, the dead are not dead.(1) And I would like to add . . . and they are at our mother's and grandmother's kitchen tables too! In the lives of our Cuban people there is no simple Afro-Catholic syncretism. Their religious sensibility is composed of many ingredients and taken separately, none of them is very simple. They all permeate Cuban culture to a higher or lesser degree, and in diverse forms and proportions they penetrate the different sectors of the population. It has been affirmed that there is no other organized religion that has had more influence on popular religiosity in Cuba than the one we call santeria. The santeria colours the philosophy of the people, above all of the black people, but also that of many whites. Our spirituality was not brought to us by colonization and conquest, but by the first black slave who stepped onto Cuban soil. This is my personal and existential conviction, because it is what I have experienced in my family, my neighbourhood, among my friends and in my community. Paraphrasing a sentence of Nicolas Gillen, our national poet: Whoever in Cuba is not influenced by the CONGO is not influenced by the CARABALI, and this includes not only our blood, the colour of our skin or our festive spirit, it also includes the religious, the spiritual, which penetrates the whole life of my people. …