In Cuba as a Foreign Student

Part I

It took us almost twenty seven hours besides the time we spent on Frankfurt International and Barajas International respectively before landing at Jose Marti International, Havana, Cuba. Upon our arrival at the customs and immigration, exhausted and jetlagged we met an equally exhausted group of Namibian students that left two days before us but got delayed in Spain because of some misunderstandings regarding visa requirements in Spain to travel to Cuba. It however got resolved after a tedious communication between Namibian embassies in Spain and the UK finally, after all, Namibians do not need visas to travel to Cuba and vice versa. Hugging, greeting and chatting till we finally made it passed the immigration queues I was met by a blow of hot humid air on my approach out of the arrival room. Streams of sweat immediately started pouring down my face as I head to the parking bay where several blue and white Astro buses were waiting for us. It somehow made us feel VIP like. We were met by awesomely friendly people who I later learned were going to be our Spanish preparatory teachers, two male and one female with the latter immediately gaining attention from the young african studs. Politely, we were asked to pack our luggage into the storage cabin of the bus which was already wide open after which we boarded the air-conditioned bus with its cold interior, a tremendous relieve to us all even if it was just temporary.

Time check and it was exactly 19:40 when our bus left the airport for Cienfuegos, “la perla del sur” (the pearl of the south). It was not long after we passed the city of Havana vieja (Old Havana) that the bus got silent and one by one we started to give into exhaustion and fell asleep. Some of course still remained chatting but not for long before their too succumbed to the night bug. For most part of the plus-minus 370km to Cienfuegos we were asleep except for the few small towns here and there that we got awoke by the bright lights of service stations, street lights and houses. It was shy past twelve when we reached Cienfuegos, not that we knew it was Cienfuegos but because upon waking up we literally stood in the University of Cienfuegos where we were going to spend our next year doing the Spanish preparatory course which ultimately would allow us to be enrolled into our different academic fields. Leaving the bus was not much different from what I felt when I left the waiting room at the airport, just a strong presence of tropical plants that crawled their way all over the buildings in the central part of the University, exacerbated by the fresh smell of heavy rain. “If only we could be allocated our rooms as soon as possible” I thought, at least then can I sleep the night away taking with it the hot, humid and uncomfortable weather that greeted us ever since we landed on the island. After a few shouts by the driver and teachers that accompanied us from the airport, a tall, skinny, black man with dreads who introduced himself as Jao, a student representative, approached the bus and greeted us in Spanish, not that anyone of us understood but after the female teacher translated it to us. He immediately struck me as some kind of student representative for all black foreigners coming to study in Cuba. The assertion that he was a student representative was later confirmed, only that he was representing all students including Cubans as the vice president of FEU (Federacion Estudiantil Universitaria) or University Students Federation. Without any hesitation we were finally lead by Jao to a nearby building which on approach appeared to be that of the dormitories for males with its dilapidated doors and windows, not to mention outer walls. We came into a passage on the first floor of the building which had five rooms. “This is it” were the words of Jao when we reached the first room. “The ladies would be using this room”, he said with a smile that left him much more uneasy then happy, probably because of the awful state these rooms were in I quietly thought.

“Eight ladies in one room?” I asked disappointingly towards Maria who could speak Spanish fluently thanks to the time she spent in Cuba as an exile with her family until after the Namibian independence in 1990. Maria, in her late thirties and a temporary teacher appointed by the Ministry of Education to give us introduction to Spanish amongst the other classes we received like biology, physics and math, to keep us busy during the two months we waited before our departure to Cuba, was one of the last minute people who through means still a mystery to most of us got included into the study program. That particular night with Jao, an Angolan who can’t speak English but Portuguese and Spanish only, standing in front of me I couldn’t have appreciated Maria’s presence more when she was doing the translation for us all. “This is just temporary, just for the night” replied Jao which was translated by Maria. “The rest of the four rooms all the gents can divide themselves in” he replied when I hinted to Maria “and us?” We followed him with discipline like a herd of sheep to our kraal where he first opened the room on the far side of the passage. I was the first to enter and regretted almost instantly that I was the first one to set in foot. An awful cloud of dust with spider webs webbed from the door, the ceiling and floor, it seemed from corner to corner greeted us upon entrance, almost as if the room had been uninhabitable for months or perhaps a year. “Ha a, how can we sleep in such a place?” was the dissatisfaction expressed almost simultaneously by all who entered, reluctantly others at first remained outside after having observed the others bemoaning the place. As the leader of the group, I had to settle their disappointment, worry and most of all fear of what’s presenting us and that it was only temporary, at least until we can get some explanation from the relevant university people the next morning. It was not easy convincing myself much less fifth-teen other angry and disgruntled youth who by majority just finished high school, with ages ranging from as young as seventeen to Maria who was the eldest in her late thirties. Their finally found comfort in the thought of us taking up the matter the next morning and started to move their luggage into the derelict room. We divided ourselves eight per room into two rooms as we totaled twenty-four including the ladies. I moved my luggage into the far left corner of the room, securing a side where there was a window. The wooden windows, rotten by termites and other insects were specially made for hurricane, hot, wet and humidity prone areas to allow for the dynamic flow of air through its tilted slides. The room was chaotically equipped with six cots which after some pushing and shuffling we managed to get into an orderly form. “All this, this time of the morning?” I thought to myself sighing. It was 01:47 when silence finally came to the two rooms and within no time I found myself wondering off into dreamland in a country thousands of miles away from my motherland.

06:36 Was the time on my cell phone when I heard a rather alarming knock on the door. “It’s Maria!”, a voice replied when I questioned who it was. I got up quickly and noticed surprisingly on my way to the door that few of the guys were already up, empty beds, sounds of the shower running. I opened the door and with a “good morning” and “how did you sleep” Maria immediately cut the chase informing me that we needed to get to the comedor (dining room) for breakfast before 07:30 which was the closing time for the dining hall during the morning. I nodded and said “it’s ok, I’m gonna tell the other ones also”. She left. With the other eight guys next door including the ladies, whom surprisingly were the reason we were almost late since they were the ones that basically came wake us up, we moved together to the dining hall by 07:25 where we were queuing into the already congested queues which sprung up from all over in front of the hall.

I personally felt embarrassed somehow queuing in front of the dining hall waiting to take breakfast and couldn’t help but to notice the same expression of the others, with all the eyes, Cubans and foreigners included starring at us as if we are aliens from another planet of vast starvation that just touched down into the land of milk and honey. Quite the contrary I would later observe during my studies in Cuba. After a few words by Jao, the vice-president of FEU that was part of a group of student representatives that controlled the crowd, we got privileged treatment the first and the last time I think as far as I can remember. We passed by without any harassment into the hall where another line was waiting for us but which was much more short and organized than the one outside. By the time I finally reach the desk to be served some of my fellow Namibians were already on their way out. “Did I take too long to reach the dining desk or were their hurrying with their breakfast?” was the question that came up my mind. It immediately struck my sight and smell senses why most left the hall when I saw what was for breakfast. Not to show rudeness and ungratefulness I took the steel plate, within it two eggs that had an awful rotten smell, two brotchens spread on it cheese, a glass of yogurt and a guava fruit which was dripping with over ripeness. With all the noise and chattering going on in the dining hall I noticed Zakes, a friend I came to know, in front of me heading for the door where chubby tias (aunts) sat, recollecting the used plates and cutlery. I took advantage and followed him quite closely, spurring up a conversation without being too conspicuous of leaving the hall. It worked for us to get out but I doubt unnoticed.