The mystical blessing I received in Cuba

And learning more about the practice of Santeria.

Her nails were long— perfectly manicured, and adorned with bright colors and gemstones. On her thumb was a Cuban flag precisely painted— the blue and white stripes cascading down her slightly curled nail tip. She took a puff of her cigar, bringing the colorful thumbnail to her chin. A man in white, stoic and observant, sat by her side, their figures framing a table filled with curios. Had I been traveling alone, I would’ve believed they had set up shop exclusively to trap tourists.

“Señora Habana is my fortune teller”, Yanais, our Cuban guide, shared with us. She explained to us that she visits Señora Habana often. Señora Habana is an elder in the Yoruba community and she reads the palms and spirits of many that pass through the square.

A few of us stayed to visit with Señora Habana. When it was my turn, I sat across from her, and gave her my hands. She spoke in Spanish swiftly, the words spilling from her like a book that had already been written. I looked into her eyes, they were wise. She shared the most beautiful vision for me and I thanked her for it.

The next day, Yanais told us more about the Yoruba and Santeria faith on our way out to a tobacco farm. I had a lot of questions and I was grateful for the long drive. She explained to us why we saw so many people in Havana wearing all white, and how this color signifies the year-long initiation period to enter into the religion. She described the sacred river bath that all Santeras and Santeros experience, similar to a baptism. “After the river, a god and goddess are chosen for you, and these Orishas become your guides” Yanais explained to us. She held up two necklaces, the colors represented her Orisha guides. The beads glittered, delicately swinging between her knuckles as the bus accelerated.

On our last day in Havana, Yanais pulled me aside. She could tell my deep curiosity and reverence for what I had learned about the Santeria faith and had a parting surprise for me. “I want to show you something” she said, and motioned for me to follow her, leaving the group to shop and take in their last bits of beautiful Havana. Anne Marie, a traveler I had bonded with on the trip noticed us leaving. Curious too, she joined us. We wound down several side streets and narrow roads, finally coming up to a building that was dark inside. “It’s closed” Yanais said, disappointed. She had led us to a museum that held within it more about Yoruba rituals and ceremonies and how it ended up as an integral part of Cuban culture.

Quickly, she changed course. “Follow me,” she said once again, and we continued our journey down a couple more streets. We arrived at a stand, a man with knowing, light eyes smiled at us. Yanais greeted the man, speaking excitedly and quickly. His stand was filled with some items that I’ve seen before—cowrie shells, dolls, coconuts—and many things I have not. I know that in Santeria, sometimes it’s better not to ask.

Yanais pointed at beads by the man’s head and he presented them to her. She seemed to know what she needed and made quick work of the visit. She asked us to come closer, and opened her palms. She was holding four necklaces, vividly colored. The man dropped cascarilla on top of the beaded necklaces and Yanais crushed it into a fine powder, massaging the necklaces and speaking in what I can only imagine was a prayer. The man stood beside us, taking a swig from a gallon-sized water bottle and then spit the liquid out, spraying it over her hands and the beads. “White rum, to bless them”, Yanais said with a slight smile. She beckoned Anne Marie over, anointing her with each necklace and the orisha it represented. She asked her why she chose the god and goddess for her. “These are for you. They are your essence.” was her simple answer. Then it was my turn. Yanais draped the damp powdery necklaces over my head. I felt them cooling the back of my neck from the late afternoon sun. She asked us to put the necklaces into our clothes and to not flaunt them. “Your orishas are your protectors and they are your guides. They aren’t for others to see.”

Which is why it took me so long to write this story, and why I won’t go into more detail of which Orishas were chosen for me.

Although Yoruba isn’t my faith, there was something sacred about this day and about these chosen protectors. I spent the rest of the day beaming. This was the connection to Cuba that I hoped I’d make. Anne Marie and I giddily walked back to meet the group, feeling grateful to be connected in this sacred ceremony.

I still carry these guides with me to this day, a year and a half later. They not only represent the protection of the Yoruba faith, but they carry with them the mystical magic that is Havana.

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