Remembering Pancho
Last Monday night I was with some friends, and they asked me what it is that I love about Cuba. What is it that keeps drawing me back? I'm sure my answer was inadequate, and afterwards I thought about what I could have said. I could have talked about the three trips I've taken in recent months, the generous meals and conversations I enjoyed in forty-seven different homes across four different provinces, how I was blown away in each encounter by the resilience, the heart, the determination and inspiration of people enduring daily trauma. Or, better yet, I could have honed in on one of those homes and described in detail one of those families; I could have told stories about one of those friends. I could have told them about Pancho. Our dear friend Pancho died just a few hours after my friends asked me the question and I fumbled for my response. Had I known the news I would awaken to, I could have—and would have—regaled them with many stories. Pancho is the best answer I can t...