I don’t remember, now, how I used to imagine my family in Cuba.
Both of my parents were born in Havana, yet they passed on to me very different impressions about their lives and families in a Cuba of the early 1900s through the mid-1950s.
My father’s experiences seemed fairly clear to understand. He often spoke of feeling like an immigrant while growing up in Havana, and it was because his parents had journeyed to Cuba from the Galicia province of Spain, and then associated closely with the large Gallego community in their new land. It was easy for me to imagine the arrival of my father’s family to Havana, especially since I had visited my grandparents’ birth places several times in northwest Spain.
Thoughts about my mother’s family, however, were always hazy.
Her mother’s side of the family seemed to have been a long time in Cuba. My mother enjoyed being able to grandly pronounce the double last names of her Cuban-born maternal grandparents, and she could share some details and personal memories about the people within the large family whom she encountered most often.
Yet, my mother was missing any specifics beyond the generation of family she knew.
Details about her father’s side – and her paternal grandparents – were even fuzzier. My questions about this DeZaldo family were often answered by my mother’s wistful reveries of vague stories she had overheard, or of visiting relatives from elsewhere.
My mother Adelita was the youngest cousin of her father’s DeZaldo family.
She didn’t remember distant relatives or the exciting travels and events from well before her time…
My mother had spent her early years living at the DeZaldo estate near Havana, and she loved to reminisce with tales formed by her favorite childhood memories.
But since she was the youngest cousin of her father’s DeZaldo family, my mother didn’t remember those people who visited from overseas or have details about the exciting travels and events from well before her time.
She would attempt to share some family information with me, but I sensed that my mother’s vague recollections were sketchy. She also had a propensity for coming up with stories and explanations that you knew were barely based on facts. Entertaining, yes, but my many questions about my mother’s extended family remained unanswered for years.
It’s mostly because of my mother’s stories – told with vivid enthusiasm and a touch of drama – that I’ve always imagined Cuba as elegant, strong-willed, earthy, and culturally diverse.
Adelita De Zaldo y Moré
Havana, circa 1951
My mother, Adela De Zaldo y Moré, was a charming character – expressive and “simpática”. She was fun, and she left a pleasant impression on everyone she met.
And it is mostly because of her collection of stories – usually told with vivid enthusiasm and a touch of drama – that I’ve always imagined Cuba as elegant, strong-willed, earthy, and culturally diverse.
The stories she shared were simple – rich snapshots from her life growing up, without much analysis of cause and effect – and they were perfect for helping me to create my own visions of the people and places I had never known.
Now, I am imagining Cuba differently.
It’s an evolving view, one that keeps adapting to new details and my changed impressions. Cuba now feels closer to me and so much more familiar.
And I keep noticing that I don’t quite remember how I pictured it all before – my distant family and the journeys of their lives.