Last weekend, I visited the Padrino (spiritual mentor) of a friend of mine. She is of the Santeria faith, which is a very common here in Cuba. It originated from Yoruba practices, and was brought over with slaves during the plantation era in Cuba. It melded with Catholic practices from Spain, native practices, and to some extent Haitian culture. La Mora (her nickname, she wants everyone to call he this), took me by botero to the outskirts of Habana to visit her mentor to have my shells read. Reading the caracoles is a practice she participates in every month to check in on her camino, her spiritual journey. We entered his house, right next to his mothers, and immediately started the process He had me sit on a wire chair in front of a palm mat on the floor. He sat on the mat, with the shells, a Virgin de Carindad doll. It began with a cleansing of my palms with white chalk. He proceeded to place the shells in my palms so I could speak with them. The idea is to ask them questions, focus your words on specific people or things you are worried about or would like answers for. He then recites a few passages of a language I could not understand, followed by throwing all the 12 shells on the mat. He places a black rock and the white piece of chalk in my hands to choose from after the shells hit the floor. This series of shells dropping and hand choosing happens roughly 7 times to fully read me. After the shells fell for the last time, he completed the reading by explaining to me which each pattern meant. I won’t disclose entirely because it was very personal in nature, but it covered themes such as my mother’s health, my health, my spirituality, and how I could protect myself in the future against the bad. Specific saints were listed that were looking out for me, such as the colors red and white (each representing a specific saint).
My interest in this ceremony is what it meant for me, a mostly agnostic 19 year-old from Minnesota, to participate in this ceremony. I deemed it a cultural experience, the same as riding a botero or drinking planchao on the Malecon, but the question of economic exchange is an interesting one. For me, this was absolutely free to me (other than the five cents I offered to the alter) because I had connections to La Mora’s Padrino. It is fairly common, however, that tourists would pay up to 100 USD to have these ceremonies done. La Mora broke it down for me into two groups: work and spirituality. For some, they are combined, and are completely justified in feeding their families with spiritual readings. In her situation, she described the lack of monetary exchange in being a result of her employment status at another location. Still, how does the lack of dedication dilute the belief? How does taking this experience as a ‘cultural practice’ perpetuate Cuban stereotypes? Are they necessarily a bad thing?