Cuban Troubadour Eduardo Sosa
A native of Santiago de Cuba who lives in Havana, Eduardo Sosa is a pure strained Cuban gajiro (campesino). He has the sensibility of a poet and the voice of a mockingbird – that warbler so typical of our fields.
A native of Santiago de Cuba who lives in Havana, Eduardo Sosa is a pure strained Cuban gajiro (campesino). He has the sensibility of a poet and the voice of a mockingbird – that warbler so typical of our fields.
My mother’s scooter is red not only in color, but also because it belongs to the socialist state, that being an abstraction of what we are all supposed to be a part. That’s why the scooter doesn’t belong to her.
Everyone knows that Cuban baseball is not enjoying its finest moment. One problem that’s been fully discussed is the imbalance between its pitching and batting capabilities, with the latter possessing an overwhelming advantage.
I’m here at the bank where I’m unable to cash a check for 100 pesos ($5 USD), which I earned for the articles I’ve written. The cashier said the signature was invalid.
Vanito Brown’s career has been marked and irrevocably linked with his work in the group “Habana Abierto,” him being one of the Cuban musicians who in 1996 joined that preceding ensemble named “Habana Oculta,” which later became the famous band.
In a rigid but also chaotic system in which there are too many people experiencing unmet needs, things that begin as curious can turn into the pitiful.
Since the issuing of licenses was approved many people have gotten busy putting together their own businesses. This is occurring especially in the areas of food service and the sale of light articles like handicrafts, clothes, etc.
Diana Fuentes is a rising star in Cuban music. Though some try to pigeonhole her within the trova category — which I wouldn’t exclude her from — her work surpasses such a limiting space. She sits with ease on a vast plain of fusion that melds trova, Cuban “feeling,” boleros, pop, hip hop, funk and other traditional Cuban rhythms.
“In Jesus Christ is the truth” – at least according to a sign on a door I pass by daily on the way from work. That message is written in brown crayon on the deteriorating entryway wall. Its strokes seem impetuous, giving the idea of having been scrawled out in a moment of passion.
Yesterday — during the half hour I had free between my machine in a cybercafé and a meeting set up with a friend — I used it to go sit on the malecon seawall.