By Lydia Cabrera
As a lot a storyteller as an ethnographer, Lydia Cabrera used to be captivated via an odd and magical new international printed to her by means of her Afro-Cuban associates in early twentieth-century Havana. In Afro-Cuban stories this global involves teeming existence, introducing English-speaking readers to a realm of tenuous barriers among the traditional and the supernatural, deities and mortals, the religious and the likely inanimate.Here readers will discover a shiny, creative checklist of African tradition transplanted to Cuba and remodeled through the years, a passionate and subversive replacement to the dominant Western tradition of the Americas. during this charmed realm of delusion and legend, ingenious flights, and difficult realities, Cabrera exhibits us a global became the wrong way up. during this area guinea hens could make dour Asturians and the king of Spain dance; little fats cooking pots may perhaps organize their very own food; the pope can ship encyclicals approximately pumpkins; and officers might be defeated via the shrewdness of turtles. the 1st English translation of 1 of crucial writers on African tradition within the Americas, the gathering offers a desirable view of ways African traditions, myths, tales, and religions traveled to the recent World—of how, of their stories, Africans within the Americas created a brand new international all their very own. (20050801)
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Extra resources for Afro-Cuban Tales Cuentos negros de Cuba
Those who know how to worship her take fruit down to the river to her. Sometimes Ochún rows her boat in her pumpkin crown. If, out of ignorance or forgetfulness, her follower leaves the offering somewhere else, Ochún ﬂies into a rage and kills him. 11 The sun was precisely in the middle of the sky. On the fourth day, she roasted some corn. Then, holding three copper coins and Ogún’s violet cloth, she threw it on the road using her left hand. On the ﬁfth day, walking to the left, without anyone seeing her, she tossed Orula’s12 green cloth on the corner of a street that closed off the night.
Shouted the woman, throwing the ﬁsh down. ” How sad the ﬁsherman was as he rowed his boat. The same ﬁsh came back, stuck its golden head out of the water, and said to him: “I know that I must die today. Take me. But when you are back home, plant my gills at the foot of the obbí, the coconut tree. ” “I will,” said the ﬁsherman. Three days later, the woman, who had eaten Eyá, gave birth to three sons. The dog had three puppies, and the mare had three colts. ”1 Then they ran out and went straight to the coconut tree.
He kept the biggest ﬁsh for his own household. When the ﬁsh was cooked and served on a platter, the ﬁsherman said to his wife: “Do you see how fat and lovely this ﬁsh is? ” Then the woman slammed it down, shouting: “This isn’t the ﬁsh I want. ” “That wouldn’t be right,” said the man. ” “I don’t care,” replied the woman. ” The next day, he went back out to sea. The water was so clear that you could see all the way to the bottom, just like looking through a windowpane. You could even see heaven’s roots.