Focus

This Sunday started for me in an unusual way: I was woken up by my mother, with lots of kisses and the smell of a cup of coffee. She told me it was time to get out of bed because a friend of hers and her husband were coming to visit them. And it was my turn to make the guava smoothie for breakfast. {lol}

What a pretty mess they make in my silent and boring life! Imagine that I rarely eat breakfast. I just drink water, lots of water and coffee, while I work on my stuff, you know, writing, editing photos, reading and planning new projects.

I'm not complaining; quite the opposite. It's good to get out of the routine a bit. They even helped me make a few moves around the house, let's say, for example, relocate furniture. Mamani above all was the most active in this outburst of mine of change and renewal because Papaenzo was in what he likes, cooking.

During the time they were here, I barely looked at social media, nor did I go near my desk, despite the fact that the girl (my laptop) was screaming in anguish for me to put my little fingers on her.

They're gone. The landing took place at 10 a.m. on Saturday and the departure today at 4 p.m. I'm laughing a lot with what I'm writing...

Well, focus, nani.

Actually, I don't know where I'm going with all this. It's about me telling an experience... let me review the topics that Galenkp proposed because I forgot about them. They always bring snacks and drinks, we even invited my neighbor to dinner yesterday. These things that take me out of the routine so much, also leave me a little out of place and then it's not easy to get back into my rhythm.

The Ship of Oblivion

𝑾𝒆𝒆𝒌𝒆𝒏𝒅 𝒘𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒔𝒖𝒈𝒈𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔
Weekend concert, bands, theatre and live shows - Share one of your own and tell us about it. Remember to use your own photos.

Art galleries, museums, cultural centres, historical sites, fairs and markets: Share your weekend experiences at one or more of these places. Remember that all photos must be your own.

🤔

I remembered something, I think. And it was the Sunday before last when I went to this place in the neighborhood of Centro Habana. It is an alley where the walls speak and the sound of the drums can provoke delirium.

Yes, I think this fits here.

It is a socio-cultural project that the artist Salvador González Escalona began in 1990, and that ultimately resulted in a very beneficial initiative for that place that was characterized by its marginality.

It all started with a mural that he went to paint at a friend's house and from that day on the Callejón de Hamel (Hamel's Alley) was configured step by step as an urban retable for Afro culture and its sonorities.

I spent a while there and enjoy the performance of this artists singing and dancing to the Yoruba deities and I was able to take these photos.

Today, spaces for art, gastronomy, and an Afro-Cuban cultural club called La Rumba de Cayo Hueso are intermingled there.

Here they offer local food and there are also options for vegetarians

These are the views of the two entrances to the alley. As you can see, there is also room to enjoy refreshing drinks and snacks outdoors.

I'm going to tell you something.

I was talking to my father about his grandparents who were from Spain. He describes them vaguely because they died when he was a child. We rarely talk about this, but this Sunday we spent a while thinking about remembering their names. It's difficult for him, because he says that the birth certificates of my grandmother Mulata and my grandfather Torombo do not have the surnames of their parents. Inevitably, as I write these lines, I think about how multiracial we are. Somehow the blood of the Iberian Peninsula runs through my veins, but I also have Congo and Carabalí as the poet Nicolás Guillén says in his verses. Maybe that's why I get so out of control with flamenco and rumba with its guaguancó also awakens a certain fascination in me.

On the other hand, my father's name is Lorenzo and his first surname is also Lorenzo. Could it be that I also have Italian blood in my veins? 😐

It is still a mystery about my ancestors.

I was telling you that in that place the walls talk. There are messages that leave you thinking. I think Salvador is not only a painter, he also wanted to save the people who visit the place in some way, with some phrases full of wisdom.

It happens to me that every time I go I find new meanings in what the walls scream, and this depends, of course, on the moment of my life in which I find myself.

I'm dying with you, but I'm not dying for you

I think the same thing must happen to many. Maybe you are one of those people who see beyond words and can feel them in a different way each time.

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_{Original content (text and photos), by @nanixxx.}

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