Quiero un animal

Hasten to battle, men of Bayamo,

For the homeland looks proudly to you.

You do not fear a glorious death,

Because to die for the country is to live.


To live in chains

Is to live in dishonour and ignominy.

Hear the clarion call,

Hasten, brave ones, to battle!



This is the Cuban National Anthem. For those of us who remain more cultured than the rest, in Spanish:



Al combate corred bayameses

que la patria os comtempla orgullosa

no temais una muerte gloriosa

que morir por la patria es vivir

En cadenas vivir es morir

en afrenta y oprobio sumidos

del clarin escuchad el sonido

a las armas valientes corred.



It is my utmost goal in life to read out loud these lyrics and truly understand what they mean. I want to understand not only what they mean to me, but to the lives they've affected for years...






Little did you know, my grandma lived in Cuba. She was "Grandma Z" as I knew her. Her real identity. Her real alias was: Florence Hedin(later on Florence Zapf). She was a simple Swedish lady. She was tall, had blonde hair, was kind, funny, witty, and put a smile on everyone's face. Well, Florence, or "Grandma Z," one of a few silly Swedes seeking a fortune in Cuba, lived along the shores of the Isle of Pines with her parents Ellen and Lars, 3 sisters, and brother.

Her days were spent riding the beachy shores of the island just off the coast of Cuba on horseback, eating coconut flavored ice cream, and lazing away the evenings while watching the flames of a bonfire dance across her vision. It was a mysteriously pleasurable life that keeps me wondering.

These tales of her life were the tales of my childhood. My dad used to tell his little Meechy (yes that was my nickname) to drink all of my "guitzalitza." What is guitzalitza? Haha well it's delicious. It was that wonderful powdered drink...you know, the one that turns your tongue and lips an obnoxious color and even at times gave you a subtle mustache. Yes, it was koolaid. And how was koolaid in anyway guitzalitza? Well, it was mixed with lemon lime soda. That was our guitzalitza. It was refreshing. It was sweet. And everytime it made its way into our refrigerator, an hour or so later I recall my dad creaking open the white box's door, pouring himself a glass, and belting out in a satisfied voice, "guitzalitza." This hysterical word was no doubt stamped into the back of my mind because it is so odd. Who could have possibly thought up that word? Thought up that drink? Later on in life, I'd find out it was Grandma Z. It was her. She was embodied into a single word that was no doubt a product of her past. It represented a conglomeration of her experiences. It was the Swede in her mixed with Spanish mixed with her goofy mind, mixed with the rosy colored memories of childhood and the American culture. It stands for my family. I am a guitzalitza I think. I am crazy, and I am about to embark on the journey of a lifetime. I am about to embark on an investigation of this past.

Where will I begin this trip?




Stop 1: THE SENIOR THESIS


Prepare to stay tuned and read about my exotic investigation into the lives of the Mariel Boat Lift Refugees in 1980. Who were they? They were Cuban. Where did they live? Right in your backyard, Fort McCoy, in Prarie Du Chien, WI. Why should you care? Because I bet you never knew they existed. They made an impact, and one that I will tell you about over the course of the next year...

Why am I writing about them? Well, I have grown fond of Latin American history. It's this spiraling ball of complicated information that has somehow transparently manifested itself into my mind. I suppose you could say its been a long time coming. I've been searching for an identity and one to grab a hold of. I've done the whole German extravaganza. I took a Swedish class or two. I went across the globe to Ukraine, and still my world was not fully rocked. Then I took some Latin American history, I engaged in many conversations with particular people of Latin(ish) American decent and found myself pining. I found myself considering the one identity I had shoved to the bottom of my list for such a long time. Essentially, forever. I discovered that I had unraveled the possibility of experiencing a world much like Grandma Z's. I'm going for it now. I've got so much to do, so many places to go, so many people to meet. I can't wait to hasten like a brave one to this battle. This battle to establish my identity...to follow my dreams.

Here's what I've learned so far:


Quiero un animal, pero no quiero un perro. This is the extent of my Spanish. So brilliant.





TATA



Michelle