Beat of the Bongo Haibun

Havana Cuba, July 1959, a small group of tourists, on a very small aircraft, touched down at the Havana Airport. Helen, her two sisters, our mother, aunt, uncle and two cousins. Possibly one of the last groups to enter Cuba for what would be decades. 

Armed soldiers patrolled the airport, drab green military garb a bit disconcerting .. but I was about to turn eighteen! Feeling invincible! This was another country! Another world! My first 'adult' adventure!

Since then I've read volumes about Castro and the Revolution. I will never know how we were able to engage a Tour Guide with a van, visit cigar and rum factories, sample delicious Cuban dishes, enjoy drives into the countryside .. ending our week with an evening under the stars at the famed Tropicana Nightclub!

The second we walked into the room, bongo drumbeats called my name … I can still remember how I felt, that raw energy. In front of me a gorgeous man, bongo between his legs, accompanied by flute, guitar, bass, and snare drum.

That evening I watched as a swarthy Cuban approached our table, asked permission from my Mother for a dance .. with ME! A whirl around the Tropicana dance floor, his arms, scent of musky aftershave .. I will never forget.

foot-tapping rhythm

my heart beats in 'bongo time'

simply have to dance

Havana 1959