Demos Gracias

(blog by Stan)

(Marisela, Arturo, and Comprendo, photo by Julio Cesar Valdés)

In this season of celebrating Thanksgiving and another trip around the sun, I have been thinking a lot about my friend Arturo. I learned a lot about being grateful from Arturo, a "third age member" (senior citizen) in Matanzas who passed away a couple of weeks ago. He was well up in years, and had been in poor health for as long as I had known him. He and his wife, Marisela, lived in a small solar, one of the humblest of dwellings I have visited in Matanzas, just a few blocks from the church. Neither could hear very well, and Arturo could barely speak; his shouts would still be in the whisper range. But he loved to talk, to tell stories, especially of how he had gotten involved in music as a youth and had played percussion in the Matanzas big band. While Marisela spent her days walking all over the city (it was uncanny, whichever direction I headed toward on any given day, I would invariably run into Marisela), Arturo spent his days sitting in a chair on the sidewalk outside their home on Calle Cuba. I loved approaching him and seeing the wide smile come across his face when he saw "el Americano" coming. I knew he would have a story to tell, and a song to sing. And he always had gratitude to share. The last time I saw him, he was talking about how thankful he was for the children of our church, and he had composed a "short" song for them, for the next time they were all in church together. He started singing (in that whisper of a voice), and ten minutes later, he finally finished the last verse!

Arturo had fallen a couple of years earlier, and broken a hip. When he returned from the hospital, he was filled with gratitude for his beloved Revolution and its world-class health care system. He was so proud of the care he had received, and wondered if a poor person like him would have been treated so well in one of the rich countries. Back in December of 2020,  before we returned to the states, Arturo was so grateful that Trump was no longer going to be president; he was sure that Biden would undo all the damage that had been inflicted on his country over the previous four years (Arturo was not alone in that illusion, or in the disillusion that followed). 

But the thing I heard most from Arturo during my visits in October was his delightful gratitude for the meals he was receiving. He repeated the story several times, telling me about how he had been at death's door in the summer. COVID had ravaged Matanzas, causing a near collapse of the health care system. He had found himself bed-ridden, hurting all over, and had lost the will to live. He knew that his time was up, and was ready to go. But then, the lunches started coming. His eyes would light up and his smile broaden as he talked about the wonderful lunches that were delivered to their door, and how they had brought him back to life.

It was in the peak of that summertime crisis that a few young women had been at the home of Nereida Horta, one of Cuba's "master chefs" (she is professor of culinary arts for the resort hotels in Varadero). There they were bemoaning the rumors they were hearing, that some of the most vulnerable of the elderly, those whose families had long abandoned them and left them without support, were going hungry. Between COVID and the downward spiral of the economy, the scarcities were having a dreadful effect. One of the women said, "we can't let that happen. As long as I have something in my kitchen, I'm going to share it. They at least need a warm bowl of soup." They all agreed, and as word got out, the stone soup legend began to come to life. The circle of people wanting to share grew, and Nereida began preparing menus. For her, it didn't matter how much or how little you had to start with, you prepare the meals with love and care. Soon, there were four kitchens at work: Nereida's, Elaine's, Yivi's, and Dianelys and Lisbeth's. They worked with the local health clinics to come up with a list of the most vulnerable seniors in four neighborhoods, recruited people to help deliver, and before long, thirty-nine senior adults were receiving a hot (and elegantly prepared and presented) meal three times a week. 

Where do the ingredients come from, given the food insecurity of the city? Some friends from the U.S. heard about the project, and knew of a way to get food to them. There is a an online business, Rios Envios, (https://riosenvios.com/) where you can buy combos of food from Cuban farmers and have it delivered to the door. Don't ask me how this works, how it gets around the embargo or how it affects the Cuban economy. This is not the only site doing food combos, but from what I have heard, it is the best, in terms of the quality of food for the price. So the U.S. partners send combos every couple of weeks, the cooks prepare it, and it gets delivered. It was one of the highlights of my time in October to work with Lisbeth and Dianelys and Yivi, preparing  and delivering some of the meals. 

The best experience, though, was hearing Arturo share his gratitude as he raved about the lunches. I love the fact that in the last few weeks of his life, he enjoyed five-star cuisine, prepared and presented with great love. The whole experience fills me, too, with gratitude, for having known him, and for having people like these young women in my life. Seeing them at work, sharing heart and soul with the most vulnerable, and seeing how it brought them alive as well in the midst of a dire crisis, was totally inspiring. Thanks be to God.