THE LAND OF WHISPERING HOPE

The sky was an exceptional blue, the turquoise Caribbean sea a broad expanse before me, a warm breeze was blowing, and, because it was noon time, there were few people on the beach, as both workers and tourists were enjoying a siesta from the heat. I had chosen to stay at the beach. I savored the quiet time and enjoyed the marvelous rustling whispers of the palm fronds that formed the roof of the beach shelter where I had sought shade.

The fronds whispered, the sea teased the shore with a quiet subdued sound, people greeted their friends in hushed tones, the rotating water sprinklers emitted a whispering sound as the beautiful, bountiful blossoms of all sizes and colors bobbed their heads in the breeze. I settled back with my book, enjoying the warmth of the sun and the dreamy sound of whispers. I had experienced similar days in this beautiful land of Cuba, the Pearl of the Antilles in the Caribbean Sea.

However all of the whispers of Cuba are not as pleasant. This country is one of the last bastions of Communism in the Western World, where people are rarely granted a passport, and rights and freedoms are mere words. Education is of a high standard, yet once educated, Cubans are expected to give two years of service to the government, and after that they face a pathetic future as they are not permitted to leave their own country with it’s high rate of unemployment. Salaries are poor, even for the most educated, so an underground economy has developed, an economy that is boosted by the tourism industry. Whispers are everywhere; the bartender will whisper the question as to whether you wish to buy rum or cigars, the bellhop will ask in a whisper if you would like to go with him to Havana for a day, the young waiter will whisper a question about your athletic footwear, as the drive for survival continues for the people of Cuba.

One day I had missed the ‘chambermaid’, as they still call themselves, and went to find her. I wanted to give her some items for her ‘bambino’. I soon found myself a part of the land of whispers. The lovely young woman with the bright brown eyes, who spoke perfect English, was so grateful for the gifts. She then pointed to my right hand, to my nurse’s graduation ring with the distinctive red cross in the center of the crest, the ring of the Grace General Hospital School of Nursing, in St.John’s, Newfoundland and Labrador.

"You are a nurse?", she asked in a whisper.

"Yes," I told her, "I am retired now." I found myself speaking in a quiet tone.

She startled me with her words when she said "I am a nurse too. I have a Nursing Degree, but I have no job as a Nurse. My family is upset that I work as a chambermaid, but now they are beginning to understand that I make more money on tips working one day here than I would working twelve hours as a nurse. Besides there are no jobs for us. So I work here. Then my bambino can have ice-cream every day. So now my family begins to understand."

We continued our quiet conversation as Mariela told me that at the hotel there were three nurses working in our hotel as service staff. She told me this was not uncommon in Cuba. We discussed our love of the Nursing profession, her longing to work as a nurse, that they still wear their caps, how expensive the uniforms are, how little they are paid, but she longs for the day when she can practice her learned skills, when she can be part of the profession she studied to be able to join. Four years at the University of Havana, and she is still doing the job of a ‘chambermaid’. My heart ached for her as she asked about Canadian Nurses, what we earn, how we work, what our credentials are, and what work is available. Her and her fellow nurses are all in the same situation-working at the hotel for ten pesos a month, and benefitting from the tips they receive. I knew this happened in Cuba, but never had spoken to anyone who actually was a professional nurse working as a maid.

Her story intrigued me and we spoke many times after that. She cannot believe we are so fortunate to be able to leave our country, travel the world, find jobs, buy nice things for our children, and own a car. Through the eyes of Mariela I realized what a contrast there was between her world and mine. I also realized that her generation, the young people in their late twenties and early thirties know very little of the Cold War, the Cuban Missile Crisis, President Kennedy and Nikita Khrushchev with their Bay of Pigs standoff, where the phrase ‘Khrushchev Blinked’ was coined, or the way Democracy works. They have a steady stream of Communist Propaganda on their television and radio, and outside of that, if they want to learn more, they talk to tourists, whisper what they learned to their peers, and are in awe of how we live. I also realized that we, as well, have a generation that knows very little of the Cold War, except for what they learned in a History book. But for us in our fifties and sixties, who lived through it, we know about the Cuban Missile Crisis, our lessons were learned by living through those days, and our young people can access the internet, books, or History Television and learn the facts if they wish to research that time in history. The young Cuban people will never have that opportunity if things remain the same as they are now.

One thing the young Cuban people do know is the ‘Wet Feet, Dry Feet Policy’. This is an American policy that determines whether or not you are given an immigration hearing if you cross to Florida, USA, from Cuba, with the intention of getting out of the Communist Country. Cubans who are successful in getting two feet on the ground in Florida, are entitled to an immigration hearing. If they are still in the water, whether in a boat or swimming, they are sent back. However if they claim that their lives will be endangered, they are sent to a third country, or a safe haven camp. It is the American law, the law of their country that puts controls in place, or chaos reigns. Rarely do young women try this dangerous escape, usually the young men are the ones who make that valiant effort, endangering their lives. The whispers that take place as a group plans to leave Cuba must be extremely quiet and lengthy, with an element of fear.

Yes, Cuba is ‘The Land of Whispers’, the whispers of nature, and the whispers of it’s people who long for a better life. Sometimes, but rarely, a Cuban citizen is granted a permit to leave.

At the end of our two weeks in Cuba, as our plane coasted down the runway, bringing us back to Canada, I could not help but think of Mariela, her beautiful smile, and her friends who studied at the university with her. I remembered our whispered hallway conversations, and I felt an ache in my heart for those young women who want so badly to be nurses. All those years of preparation, and they cannot realize their dream. Something I could and did do, and was so free to do so.

I remembered the ‘Old Sanky’ hymn of my childhood, titled ‘Whispering Hope’, because ‘Whispering Hope’ is what the people of Cuba hold in their hearts. Maybe one day their hopes and dreams will come to pass. Meanwhile it will remain as it is now for the beautiful, kind, and talented people who live in the ‘Land of Whispers’!

The line of the hymn that applies more than any other is the one I told Mariela, and I so hope she remembers it. It says these words:

'Hope with a gentle persuasion, Whispers her comforting words’

Someday, Mariela, you will be the ‘NURSE’ you long to be. Hold on to your dreams.

Bonnie Jarvis-Lowe,RN.Rtd.

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