91

The Social Memory of Arará in Cuba:

Oral Histories from Perico and Agramonte

Jill Flanders Crosby

Introduction: Hilda, Oddu Aremu and Social Memory

Hilda Zulueta, who passed away in 2008, was a great-granddaughter
of former enslaved peoples, an important keeper of religious knowledge in
her community of Perico, particularly the Arará religion, and a living link
between Cuba and Africa. “We are from Africa, we are the first Arará,”
she would tell me over and over.1 Hilda knew many stories about former
enslaved peoples, their descendents and thus Arará history. Whenever
Hilda arrived at an Arará ceremony, there was always seemingly a sigh
of relief. An important elder, she was the living history and link back to
Africa present amongst the practitioners. AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAfrica
so often is the cry heard during Arará religious ceremony.
I remember Hilda’s animated interest when I showed her pictures
from Dzodze, Ghana, her cries of glee when I danced a specific move-
ment pattern common across two different Anlo-Ewe dances from Ghana,
West Africa and one that mirrors a core movement pattern of Afro-Cuban
Arará dance. Sitting on her front porch, or in her chair in her house, she
would chuckle when I asked her to remember stories from so long ago,
and she would take a breath, lean back and begin. The story I love the
most is the story of Oddu Aremu, one of the Perico Arará deities (also
known in Perico as Las Mercedes or Obatalá),2 and the lagoon near the
former and now abandoned sugar refinery España, a short distance from
present day Perico. It was at España that enslaved Africans – and later,
their descendents who eventually settled in Perico – worked. According
to Hilda, her grandmother, aunts and mother once told her that Oddu
went to the ojo de agua of the lagoon – literally “eye of the water” and
commonly translated in English as a spring – and began to drown:

They had to throw many pieces of white cloth from that

ojo de agua to España so as to make Oddu return to this
land because he was going to Africa. I had the chant they
used in that ceremony, but roaches ate the notebook. They
had to chant and throw herbs until he began to emerge
and got to the sugar refinery.3

Hilda’s story is not the only version for Oddu and the España
lagoon. Guyito Zulueta, Hilda’s cousin, has another story. According
92 Jill Flanders Crosby

to Guyito, her grandfather Justo Zulueta, born free of parents who had
formerly been enslaved, was already consecrated with Oddu when one
day, he fell into trance and made his way to the ojo de agua:

Well I am Justo’s granddaughter and I know what

happened when many of the elders were alive. My
grandfather fell into trance with Oddu and he went to
the ojo de agua. He submerged himself in the water and
the elders had to praise good names to get him out of
there. They placed many white sheets on the road and
spoke good things to Las Mercedes which is also Oddu
until they could get him out. So from that moment on
they established a fundamento in the ojo de agua because
Oddu Aremu was there.4

Reinaldo Robinson, Hilda’s 80-plus year old uncle who lives in his
father Justo Zulueta’s old house, narrates an alternate story about Justo
and the lagoon. When his father Justo (also Hilda’s grandfather) became
consecrated with Oddu Aremu, elders threw him in the lagoon knowing
he could not get near water. But Justo emerged, carrying in his mouth
the precise herb needed for Oddu. Says Reinaldo:

They said he was down there around half an hour or 45

minutes and he couldn’t swim, but he got out. They said
he got out carrying in his mouth the precise herb … and
during his consecration he walked from España, the refin-
ery, to the lagoon. They placed white sheets on the streets
and he walked over the sheets barefooted.5

But Reinaldo also has another version of the day Oddu wanted to
go back to Africa. According to Reinaldo, his father was sitting in his
favorite chair in his Perico house when a woman named María Fidela
Zulueta arrived from España in trance with her deity Malé (the snake).
Soon Justo was in trance with Oddu, for Reinaldo says that frequently
Malé and Oddu would have arguments with each other. This day, Oddu
announced that he wanted to go back to Africa.

Malé didn’t let Oddu leave …The drum was playing and
Fidela was sitting in trance across from the house, “let’s
see what’s going to happen because you cannot go back
The Social Memory of Arará in Cuba 93

yourself, you cannot leave me here, do as you please.”

She danced a little and came here … and told him, “no
you have to wait for me so that I can leave with you, wait
for me, we have to go back there together. I’m also going
back to our land.” And she kept on dancing going around
the house and suddenly he went after her. That’s why I’m
telling you some things are better seen than told. When
Oddu came down the house was crowded with many
people in trance and Malé was standing there. “Stay here
with me and forget Africa.” María Fidela’s deity pulled
him back.6

Oddu Aremu is but one of many evocative stories from Perico and
Justo Zulueta and María Fidela Zulueta, two of many legendary and re-
vered elders.7 Numerous other stories revolve around names such as but
not limited to Ma Florentina, María Virginia, Victoria Zulueta, Catalina
Frekete, Cheo Chango, and their various deities. But permeating these
stories of elders and their deities are African roots; the stories of their an-
cestors who were the “first” Africans and their ancestors’ religious objects
and ceremonial practices that often arrived here directly from Africa.
My research in Cuba began after dancing religious dances in Dzodze,
Ghana, an Anlo-Ewe community, and dancing in professional Afro-Cuban
dance classes in New York City beginning in the early 1990s. Introduced
to the Arará religious dances in New York, and recognizing their move-
ment similarities to the dances I had previously learned in Dzodze and
reading that indeed, scholars generally argue that the enslaved Africans
who became known as the Arará people of Cuba were most likely of Ewe
and Fon heritage, I began to explore artistic and religious connections
between the Ewe and Arará dances and religion.8
Arriving in Cuba in 1998, I began by learning professional folkloric
Arará dance forms in Havana. But as soon as I could, I traveled out to
Perico, a small town in the Matanzas province recognized for its Arará
roots. While it took time to build the relationships needed for trust, by
2006, elders and religious leaders freely opened their memories and stories
to me and my research team.9 It is these evocative stories of “African”
elders and their religious objects and deities that arrived with them from
Africa that will tell the story of Perico and the parallel and nearby com-
munity of Agramonte. Encased in a fluid and shifting social memory, these
stories resonate with imperfect but evocative history and imagination,
and inform and imbue religious ritual and community identity.
94 Jill Flanders Crosby

By invoking social memory, it is not my intention to discuss social

memory as a field of inquiry, to suggest which story from Perico is true or
not as it really happened and why, to differentiate between social memory
and authenticity, or to even argue that social memory somehow supports
ideas of culture and authenticity.10 This article reveals the stories held
in social memory as told to me and my research team in order to evoke
a sense of place by those who lived and still live there.11 While I do not
use social memory to suggest or argue for cultural authenticity, it is their
African roots that give the people of Perico their own authenticity, or
as Mattijs van de Port (2004) argues, a felt authentic grounding.12 Their
African roots are foundational to their identity in their community where
Arará is practiced. Africa is proudly their source.13

We are from Africa

It is said that Justo Zulueta, who was a foreman at España, received
Oddu Aremu because the “Africans” at España saw a resemblance to
someone known from Africa. When we asked Reinaldo about Justo and
Oddu Aremu, Reinaldo said:

I cannot tell you that. You’d have to talk with Ma Flo-

rentina, María Virginia and all Africans. They said my
father behaved similar to a previous ancestor who had the
same deity and performed the same functions, but I didn’t
see that. When they brought everything here, my father,
like that person, became the most important consecrator.
They said dad was exactly like him, that’s the story I’ve
heard.14

Ma Florentina, along with María Virginia, were freed former enslaved

people who started the first religious cabildo in Perico known as La Casa
de la Sociedad Africana (the African Society House).15 Located close to
España, Perico is a community in Matanzas where the freed Africans
were eventually re-settled in houses built by the España owner. Says
Reinaldo, “almost all slaves from España, the sugar refinery, had their
houses here.”16 It was in Sociedad Africana where the fodunes (material
representations of the deities) of freed slaves from España were collec-
tively housed until each freed slave had their own house in Perico.17 Ma
Florentina’s story is perhaps the most legendary and well known. The
shared and still circulating story in Perico is that Ma Florentina was a
princess in Africa before her capture; therefore she was not only treated
The Social Memory of Arará in Cuba 95

differently by other enslaved Africans at España and by the refinery own-

ers, but she was allowed to bring objects from Africa to Cuba. During an
interview in Sociedad Africana, Midialis Angarica Galarraga told us:

All slaves there made her ceremonies because they saw

her as a queen, a princess. Then, the owner of the sugar
refinery gave her all this around here, this used to be con-
sidered as a single property (where Sociedad Africana is
located in Perico). He realized she was not like the oth-
ers; she was treated differently among Africans. She was
specially treated, he gave her things and she had attributes.
They regarded her as a queen, a princess.18

The objects widely believed in Perico to have arrived with Ma Flo-

rentina from Africa are still revered and carefully maintained by Midialis’s
father, Victor Angarica (Prieto), grandson of Ma Florentina’s goddaugh-
ter Victoria Zulueta, and by Prieto’s extended family. Ma Florentina’s
African objects include the sacred Arará drums that are still used today
in Arará ceremonies brought with her from España to Perico; one of Ma
Florentina’s two wooden carvings of her Arará Hebioso (the thunder god
also known as Chango/Shango in Santería, Siete Rayos in Palo Monte and
known as Xebioso among the Ewe and Fon),19 and two of her guardian
fodunes located next to Sociedad Africana’s external gate. Mario José,
a religious practitioner form the nearby town of Agramonte, gave an
explanation as to how some objects could arrive here from Africa:

… many of them (enslaved people) brought their deities,

their secrets … Some brought stones; others brought the
power inside the shackles traders made them wear when
they were enslaved, that is in their feet or maybe they had
it under the skin … In Dahomey they had those secrets
under the skin ... and once they got here, they got them
out. They made a ‘fundamento’ out of the things that were
similar. They found similarities in some elements here
and established a syncretism just like the “ceiba” tree.
There was no need to have the original cauldron here, but
you may ask one of the elders, “is that from Africa?” and
he/she will answer, “yes.”20
96 Jill Flanders Crosby

Reinaldo tells us:

… all those that came from Africa, they made their things,
just like my aunt Felipa. They found equivalents here for
all things they had seen in Africa, like trees. Everything
was quite close to Africa, they found things here.21

When questioned about how Ma Florentina’s drums could have arrived

from Africa, Reinaldo replied:

… but there’s something you don’t know. According to

what elders said those persons came from Africa playing
drums and many came in trance.22

Objects from Africa give many in Perico the sense of having the
“real” or the original Arará. According to Hilda, one of the strongest
reasons why Arará in Perico is the “original” has to do with the Arará
fodún representations of San Lázaro, which are best understood by see-
ing them versus describing them in words for the various San Lázaro
fodunes in Perico have multiple realizations.23 The fodún for San Lázaro
is a variation of a bowl-like shape object turned upside down in a saucer-
like shape object (although Ma Florentina’s and Victoria Zulueta’s San
Lázaros have unusually round shaped large rocks inside the saucer).24
According to Hilda, the San Lázaro fodunes in Perico are never sealed
thus one can always see what is inside:

Hilda: and that is what makes San Lázaro original because

Africans brought it like that. I don’t know if you noticed,
but in the African Society they keep it in a big open pot.

Jill: and where did they bring it from?

Hilda: from Africa, those were the real Africans. They

gave it to Ma Florentina, to my grandfather, to all those
persons.25

Arará is not limited to Perico and Agramonte, or even to the Matan-

zas province. So when we asked Hilda about other perceptions of Arará
outside of Perico, Hilda commented that of course, many people know
Arará, but not the real Arará.26
The Social Memory of Arará in Cuba 97

Agramonte
In Agramonte, a half an hour drive from Perico, where stories of
Perico Arará elders are known and shared in Agramonte and vice versa,
African roots are as resonant as in Perico. The ruins of Unión de Fernán-
dez, located outside of Agramonte, once housed a sugar operation and
many enslaved people who eventually settled in nearby Agramonte.
Manuela Gose (Ma Gose), who arrived in Cuba as a slave and who
eventually worked at Unión de Fernández, established the first African
Society House in Agramonte much like Ma Florentina did in Perico. Her
house still stands and is watched over by Manuela’s great-great grand-
daughter Onelia Fernández and Onelia’s husband Israel Baró. Onelia
and Israel are adamant that many of Ma Gose’s religious objects in her
house were brought from Africa, from her fodunes to her ritual necklaces.
Therefore, they revere and keep Manuela’s house and her ritual objects
intact today. Israel says:

She brought them from Africa, but secretly because that

was forbidden … That’s been talked about a lot because
it was difficult to bring any object from Africa, however,
she brought them. That is why this is so important here
since it was so difficult to bring things from there.27

There are several evocative stories about Ma Gose. According to

Mario José, during the dry season, Ma Gose threw water upwards, spoke
in Dahomeyan language and rain began to fall on her property. One time,
he told us, she was taken to jail in trance with her San Lázaro during a
celebration at her house (the story of why she was taken to jail has, ap-
parently, been forgotten):

They put her in jail. They took Ma Gose to the police

headquarters and she was in trance with San Lázaro. They
locked her in the cell and every time the guard went to sleep,
she was sitting by his side, “oh I left the lock open.” Those
are the stories. “Son take me to my house” for the celebra-
tion couldn’t continue. When they were going to lock her
for the third time, the lieutenant of the guard arrived …
and said, “ah what is Ma Gose doing here?” When they got
here (Ma Gose’s house), the two guards got possessed …
They had to put away their guns and uniforms.28
98 Jill Flanders Crosby

Nearby Unión de Fernández is a lagoon named La Ramona that is

as sacred as the España lagoon is for Perico. Another one of Ma Gose’s
great-grandaughters, Georgina Margarita Fernández Campos insists that
the well in the backyard of Ma Gose communicates with the lagoon, for
the fundamento (deity) of the lagoon lives in Ma Gose’s well.29 And,
according to 92 year-old Agramonte resident Lázara Graciela, one time
a middle-aged man went to the ojo de agua at La Ramona, fell in and
apparently disappeared until several religious leaders went to the lagoon
including a woman named Ma Pilar Caretú who began to sing at the
lagoon edge, as Lázara explained:

Lázara: Then they say she tied a knot in her white apron
and started to say some prayers and the water started to
part. They kept on singing and playing and the water
kept on parting and suddenly the man went upwards.
Once he showed on the surface they started to sing and
dance and say some prayers and they told him, “what
you saw down there you cannot tell anyone, you cannot
talk about that with anyone.” The name of that woman
was Ma Pilar Caretú, a tall black woman.

Roberto: was she creole or African?

Lázara: African, she was saying some prayers and

singing and the water parted. My grandmother always
told us many stories, “respect the water, and respect the
lagoon.” La Ramona, that lagoon is still there.30

When Roberto and Melba told Georgina during an interview that

all three of us had accompanied Mario José to the ojo de agua at La
Ramona, she was quite surprised that we ourselves did not fall in, for
social memory recounts that once three young girls went to the ojo
de agua, fell in and drowned. It is also at Lagoon La Ramona where,
according to Mario José, enslaved people would run away to hide and
where many important religious ceremonies were held.31

A Fodún Watched Over

One day in Perico, Hilda, determined that we learn as much as pos-
sible about the history of Perico, took our research team to the house of
Ramona Casanova Elizalde. Ramona lives in a house originally owned
The Social Memory of Arará in Cuba 99

by her great-grandmother Ma Teresa Zulueta. According to Ramona, Ma

Teresa was an enslaved woman who came from Africa. Ma Teresa worked
hard raising pigs and cutting sugar to raise the money to buy her freedom
and that of her son. Like so many other freed slaves from España, she
actively participated in ceremonies at Sociedad Africana. But it is Catalina
Zulueta, nicknamed Catalina Frekete, who Ramona most remembers.
Catalina was Ramona’s great aunt (sister to her mother’s father) and she
later lived in Ma Teresa’s house. Ramona still takes care of the Arará
fodún left behind by Catalina tucked inside the roots of a tree in the yard
(in the form of a small earthenware container filled with water hidden
underneath a broken piece of roof tile), a fodún that Ramona describes
as belonging to Yemaya. Yemaya, of course is a Santería name, but Ra-
mona could only call it by its equivalent Santería name for she could not
remember its Arará name (although it is most likely Frekete or Afrekete
as these are the recognized Arará names for Yemaya).32 But names are
not important to Ramona. It is the history and legacy of her great aunt
Catalina that is significant for Ramona. She continues to watch over and
care for Catalina’s fodún along with many religious objects left behind
belonging to the family despite the fact that Ramona is not consecrated
inside either Arará or Santería:

I was born here, I’ve lived in this house my entire life

… If it’s here I won’t let it die or throw it away I have
no reason to do that … I respect my elders. I’ve always
respected my family, my elders. They are no longer with
me and I still respect them … It has nothing to do with
religion … It’s easy for me to do it, it’s not a burden, and
it would be a lack of respect if I stop doing it. Somehow
it strengthens my family and my friends. This tradition
will die with me, if I didn’t have this fundamento, I
wouldn’t be living in this house or in Perico. It is part of
my life.33

When we asked Ramona who would take over the house after her
death for she does not have children:

… I still have to decide it. I wanted to make a deal with

a relative of mine and he didn’t want it. He has no house,
the cyclone took it away and he still hasn’t finished
building the new one. He has male sons that some day
100 Jill Flanders Crosby

will require more space and I could have gone to a better

and more reduced space, an apartment, but he didn’t
want to do it. So for a person to live here it should be a
pure, crystal clear being, that’s why I haven’t made up
my mind yet and I don’t know what I am going to do. …
but I wouldn’t like anyone to bring here a different deity
or mix things up, at least while I am alive. That’s clear
for me; I wouldn’t like a person that doesn’t belong to the
family to mix his/her stuff with the things that live here.

Ramona remembers that her great aunt Catalina and Justo Zulueta
had a close relationship and spoke almost everyday together in their
African language:

When Justo Zulueta got out of his house he got to the

corner and came here; he greeted my aunt Catalina in
African language and then he moved on. That happened
every day of her life. Before going to the place he
was meant to he came here and saluted her in African
language.34

A Muerto as a “Remembrance”
Without a doubt, Justo Zulueta was an important personality in town.
And then there was Justo’s friend Cheo Chango, also well remembered,
some in Perico say famous, and an important elder. Cheo Chango left
a “remembrance” to Hilda Zulueta Dueñas (Macusa), Hilda Zulueta’s
niece. The first time I encountered Macusa, I was at Sociedad Africana.
I had turned my head for an instant as I wound down my recording of a
staged Arará music and dance event. When I turned back, Macusa was
in trance and crawling on the floor out to the roots of a tree where the
deceased Cheo Chango’s prenda (material representation) for Siete Rayos
is housed at Sociedad Africana. Siete Rayos is a muerto in Palo Monte,35
not an Arará deity.36 However, in Perico, as religious practitioner Marcos
Hernández Borrego says, all things religious in Perico are related. It is
not unusual for a muerto to come down during an Arará ceremony or for
Arará practitioners to also hold Palo Monte ceremonies.
Ten years later, at a ceremony in progress at Reinaldo’s house in
honor of Justo’s own muerto, María Vence Guerras (or “Oya”),37 and
much like the earlier recording project a decade before, in will come
Macusa, already in trance from the street. No one will see this as unusual
The Social Memory of Arará in Cuba 101

for they know that Macusa was left with Cheo Chango’s “remembrance”
of his muerto Siete Rayos, even though, as Macusa says, “… I am not
consecrated to anything.” When Macusa was a small girl, word came
that Justo Zulueta was seriously ill and on his deathbed. Macusa and her
mother went to Justo’s house. When Cheo Chango arrived at Justo’s,
as Macusa tells it, it seems that Justo was waiting for something. Cheo
Chango spoke something to Justo and then announced to Macusa’s
mother that he was going to leave her with a huge remembrance. Ever
since that time, Macusa falls into trance with Siete Rayos at any time
while doing ordinary activities and she will show up during ceremonies,
at events and/or in locations around town while still in full-on trance.
Macusa has even “… been in bed sleeping and he has pulled me out of
bed.” Because of her “remembrance” from Cheo Chango, Macusa will
choose wisely which celebrations she attends, preferring to honor those
at Hilda’s, or at the house of her deceased grandfather, Justo Zulueta, for
according to Macusa Siete Rayos takes possession of her body whenever
and wherever he wants. “Once I crawled from one corner to Hilda’s
house.” “What a remembrance,” she says, “I don’t regret it and I say the
day I have nothing for him … if I have to steal, I’ll do it.”38

Josefina the Last

There is one last story about a woman not widely recognized in the
social memory of Perico, although her gift to Justo Zulueta’s altar is leg-
endary. According to Reinaldo Robinson, Josefina Tarafa, the last owner
of the España refinery, had a thirst for knowledge about religious life and
history in the España community and in nearby Perico. Josefina spent
significant time in España with an elder named María Faustina Zulueta
who told Josefina how the Africans arrived there and their history. Jose-
fina then came to Perico and met and became good friends with Justo.
They would spend hours talking together in the small room that housed
Justo’s altar for Oddu Aremu. Josefina told Justo that she felt something
was missing from Justo’s altar. One day, she came back with a leopard
skin from Africa that still hangs from the ceiling in Justo’s old house in
front of his altar and is still cared for by Reinaldo. Legend has it that the
leopard’s tail has special powers. Hilda Zulueta recounts:

Three years ago it rained a lot and that day I arrived

soaked. I said to myself I have to go because it’s my fam-
ily, but I never thought it was going to be so crowded.
Lots of people with trench coats, umbrellas in that tiny
102 Jill Flanders Crosby

room, because you know they play in the hall you see in
front, but everyone was packed in that small room. They
were all pulling from the leopard tail. People say they ask
something out of it and it rewards everyone, but I’ve never
touched it because I respect it. Many people go there and
wish for something and they achieve what they wish for.
That leopard’s been there for many years.39

The many times our research team has been with Reinaldo where
he lives in Justo’s house, it is not unusual for people to frequently stop
by to stand underneath the leopard’s skin and make requests. So many
requests have been made and the tail has been pulled so often that the
tail physically broke off. Reinaldo had to make repairs and re-attach it
with a leather patch.
Reinaldo is the only elder we have interviewed so far who has
mentioned Josefina. It is clear, however, that he has great respect for
her. During an interview, Reinaldo commented, “but I said to myself,
that lady is blacker than blacks themselves.” When asked if Josefina left
any writings behind, Reinaldo was not aware of anything she did leave.
“Josefina Tarafa. I don’t think people leave anything here. All of them
are just like me. I don’t write anything.”40
Josefina, of course, is not the only person who has asked to hear the
many stories of Perico. Hilda mentions researchers who have come ask-
ing for information, and then laments that they did nothing with all that
they heard and wrote down. Hilda once told us, “don’t be like those who
have been here, gathered much information, and didn’t do anything.”41
The history of Perico is important to Hilda. Perico community members,
concerned that the youth will not know about the detailed Arará history
have told us to be sure please to talk to Hilda before her information is
lost. The first time we interviewed Hilda, she began this way:

Well I know a bit, not a lot because with age I have forgot-
ten many things, do you understand? But I do remember
some things because all my elders belonged to this Arará
religion. My grandfather’s name was Justo Zulueta from
the house of Mercedes. Africans brought him and he was
bought by a Julián Zulueta who lived in sugar mill ‘Es-
paña’ [although Reinaldo and Guyito remember Justo born
as a free man]. My grandfather had many children with
different women, not only my mother. He used to have his
The Social Memory of Arará in Cuba 103

celebrations on September 24 and we have kept that tradi-

tion, that day is really important to us. I also remember
vividly the house of Victoria Zulueta who was raised by
Ma Florentina and at present I am the godmother of those
drums. As I am the older they gave me that function and for
everything they consult me and count on me. Sometimes
they forget things because they are young people.42

Conclusion
Social memory is evocative and powerful. It is, at one and the same
time, a collective weaving of history and myth, construction, change,
reimagining and reweaving. Social memory is also a collection of indi-
vidual memories dependent upon age, personality, social acceptance into
the circle of social memory power brokers, elder reverence and religious
status and objects still in the family possession. It is memory of youth
and stories told, moments of imagination at the telling of that story and
age at that moment of imagination. Is it fact or fiction or both?
Social memory, notes Ruth M. Van Dyke, consists of shared ideas
of the past.43 Social memory is front and center in this essay on Perico
and Agramonte. But it is not easy to be evoked in written word when
its actual state of being is ongoing, performative and shifting, existing
inside a public sphere of interactions and recollections always brought
into agency by both simple as well as complex rituals. There are slippery
edges around each story as they appear to be part history, part myth and
part imagination.
The fluidity and slipperiness of the evocative social memory in both
Perico and Agramonte are intriguing and our responsibility to Hilda to
bring these stories publically forward is enormous. One of the methods
our research team will use to bring the multiplicity of stories, histories and
shifting layers of meaning forward is that of a contemporary collaborative
art installation utilizing video, photographs, dance, narrative, and visual
art.44 It is collaborative with religious practitioners and traditional drum-
mers and dancers not only in Perico but also from my Ghanaian field site
of Dzodze. There is something intoxicating about using this aesthetic to
capture the fluidity of social memory through the fluidity of art-making
coupled with the embodied practices of keeping traditions alive even as
they are renewed, reinvented and transformed over time.
Interestingly, our research team has entered into the social memory
of Perico. I say this not as an egotistical comment, or to provide an overly
self reflexive comment, or even to imply that our team will stay long inside
104 Jill Flanders Crosby

the social memory sphere. I raise this because our involvement with this
community is part of the ebb and flow of social memory. Whether we
wanted to or not, our presence has impacted realities in Perico. Friend-
ships have been formed, intimate stories have been brought forward from
the past and shared, money exchanged, promises made and collaborative
projects envisioned and built. For me, as a scholar/artist, I cannot escape
this reality. Its transparency, I believe, must be evident and its impacts
on my analysis and art production considered.
The elders in Perico, and their elders before them, are the keepers of
the immediate traditions. Voices from the dead still resonate and imbue
contemporary practices. One can certainly question whether core values
can be carried forward. As societies shift through time, cultures shift,
outward forms may conform to such shifts, but is this necessarily true
of those deep meanings? In Perico and Agramonte, new understandings,
new meanings, new ideas, new practices, new embodiments had no choice
but to emerge. Yet, change and continuity are dimensions of the same
phenomenon; in order to move forward, one must change and remain the
same.45 In Perico and Agramonte, this is evident. Social memory reveres
the stories of the elders and cherishes the Arará African roots even as
new generations continue to change.

(Fig. 1)
Susan Matthews
“Catalina Frekete”
Ink, watercolor, metal leaf on paper
17’ X 22” 2010
Reprinted by permission
The Social Memory of Arará in Cuba 105

(Fig. 2)
Susan Matthews
“Hilda la Obbinisa Omo Eleggua”
Acrylic on unstretched canvas
48” X 72” 2008
Reprinted by permission

(Fig. 3)
Susan Matthews
Ma Florentina’s Dress
Ink, watercolor, metal leaf on
paper
17’ X 22” 2010
Reprinted by permission
106 Jill Flanders Crosby

(fig. 4)
Susan Matthews
“Ramona Story””
Ink, watercolor, metal leaf on
paper
12’ X 14” 2010
Reprinted by permission

Notes

*
All Spanish translations in this article are by Melba Nuñez Isalbe, with Spanish
translation assistance by Enrique Quintero. Thank you to Brian Jeffery and Susan
Matthews for their comments and corrections on the initial draft of this essay. The
illustrations by Susan Matthews accompanying this article are part of her body of art
work that will comprise the contemporary collaborative art installation opening in
December 2010. These illustrations depict content from elder oral history interviews
and their ancestor’s lives.
1
Arará is the name given to the Ewe and Fon people who arrived in Cuba, as late
as the 1860s, from Allada in the former Dahomey (modern country of Bénin), all hin-
terlands of the Bight of Benin (variously known by Europeans as the “Slave Coast”),
as enslaved Africans to work at sugar refineries and mills in Matanzas province: Ales-
sandra Basso (1995); Yvonne Daniel (2005).
2
In Cuba, religious forms of the enslaved people met Catholicism under the weight
of slavery. Three forms that emerged as a result are Santería, Arará and Palo Monte.
In general, Santería is influenced from the Yoruba peoples, Arará is influenced by the
Ewe-Fon peoples, and Palo Monte is influenced by the Congo-Angolan peoples. Orishas
(or deities) across these three religions share similar attributes but have different names.
Mercedes is the Catholic representation for the Santería Obatalá. In Perico, Oddu Aremu,
The Social Memory of Arará in Cuba 107

an Arará deity is equated with Mercedes and thus Obatalá. For more information, see
Yvonne Daniel (1995, 2005); Robert Farris Thompson (1991).
3
Interview (20 Dec. 2007).
4
Interview (18 Dec. 2008).
5
Interview (17 Dec. 2005).
6
Interview (11 April 2008).
7
There are many Zuluetas in Perico primarily because enslaved Africans in this
area received the same last name as their owners. Don Julián de Zulueta y Amondo
was the refinery owner who imported many West African peoples to work at España.
Generally, it is believed that the Ewe and Fon peoples who arrived in the Matanzas
province came from Alladah. It is argued that from the word Alladah the name Arará
was created: Basso (1995).
8
My research has been ongoing since 1996 and has included trips to Togo and
Bénin to investigate the Ewe across a broader geographical area and to inquire about
the Fon traditions.
9
My research team consists of Melba Nuñez Isalbe and Roberto Pedroso García
of Havana who assist me with additional Cuban research and with interviews, transla-
tions, and transcriptions, and Susan Matthews, a visual artist and percussionist from
Oakland, California.
10
See Ruth M. Van Dyke (2009).
11
For other histories and a more detailed explanation of the Ewe/Fon connections
to the Arará, see Jill Flanders Crosby (2010).
12
Mattijs van de Port (2004) argues for an investigation of authenticity that keeps the
moments of its realization as primary information. Rarely, says van de Port do we read
types of stories that claim “truth” surrounding the construction of authenticity. These sto-
ries comprise what van de Port calls a “felt authentic grounding.” Authenticity, he says,
rests in the meaning that participants and practitioners find for themselves which results
in this “felt authentic grounding.” For van de Port, a constructivist approach should not
reject the possibility of authenticity, for “most people do not seem to experience their
life worlds as fake” (10). “Instead an investigation of authenticity should seek to keep
the quest for ‘a felt authentic grounding’ – and indeed, the moments of its realization!
– center stage” (20). Van de Port goes further to offer that “felt authentic groundings”
are expressed through “registers,” specific modes of communication that bring “certain
experiential fields into resonance” thus establishing the presence of authenticity. For
example, in van de Port’s research of Candomblé in Bahia, Brazil, authenticity in the
various Bahian neighborhood temples is established when orixas arrive. The arrival of
the orixas through possession indicates the presence of the ineffable (a register), that
which cannot be explained. To meet the ineffable for onlookers and participants in
ceremony thus “verifies” a true “authentic” experience.
13
Flanders Crosby (2010: 67).
14
Interview (21 Jan. 2006).
15
Generally in Cuba cabildos function as mutual-aid societies and as centers of
religious activities.
16
Interview (16 Dec. 2006).
17
Fodunes, the material representations of the deities, can take various forms such
as stones, shells, sacred bowls and wood carvings.
108 Jill Flanders Crosby

18
Interview (22 Jan. 2006).
19
See note 2, infra.
20
Interview (17 Dec. 2007).
21
Interview (17 Dec. 2007).
22
Interview (11 April 2008).
23
San Lázaro is known as Sakpata amongst the Anlo-Ewe in Ghana and Togo: Basso
(1995); personal conversation G. E. K. Amenumey (9 June 2006); personal conversa-
tion, G. K. Nukunya (25 May 2006).
24
In Perico, San Lázaro is the collectively known name; however the various Arará
San Lázaros in Perico have their own names. According to Kikito Iglesias, there are
seventeen San Lázaros in Perico (personal conversation, 20 Dec. 2007). Babalú Áyé is
the Santería name for San Lázaro.
25
Interview (20 Dec. 2007).
26
Interview (21 Jan. 2006), emphasis mine.
27
Interview (31 Dec. 2007).
28
Interview (31 Dec. 2007).
29
(personal conversation, 11 April 2008).
30
Interview (11 April 2008).
31
Flanders Crosby (2010).
32
In fact, in Perico, Arará fodunes and deities are commonly referred to by the
equivalent Santería names. We asked many elders about this including Hilda. Accord-
ing to Hilda, the Santería names are easier to remember and use. According to Marcos
Hernández Borrego, an important religious practitioner in Perico, as all things religious
are related, therefore Santería and Arará names often stand in for each other. I assume
that Catalina’s fodún is called Frekete or Afrekete for two reasons. In Havana, the Arará
name for Yemaya is Afrekete. Catalina’s name Frekete could be a nickname after her
Arará fodún.
33
Interview (21 Dec. 2007).
34
Interview (21 Dec. 2007).
35
Reinaldo Robinson, personal conversation (11 April 2008).
36
In Palo Monte, the deities are known as muertos (the dead). They are generally
considered very strong deities.
37
María Vence Guerra’s Santería name is Oya.
38
Interview (18 Dec. 2007).
39
Interview (21 Jan. 2006).
40
Interview (1 Jan. 2006).
41
Interview (21 Dec. 2007).
42
Interview (18 Dec. 2005).
43
Van Dyke (2009: 220).
44
The performance-presentation will be the result of a cross generational, cross
cultural, collaboration between contemporary artists and traditional practitioners from
Anchorage, San Francisco, Havana, Perico, Agramonte and Dzodze. Our inquiry con-
tinues to evolve as we formulate questions about our process. Where does our “first
world” spirituality intersect with the traditions our collaborators preserve, practice and
transform? How do we as contemporary artists interface with art forms that are con-
nected to religious practice? As a team of American artists and Cubans from Havana, we
The Social Memory of Arará in Cuba 109

question when the line may become blurred between our observation and our genuine
participation in ritual events we are attending. How do we influence one another by
expanding awareness of the historical threads that connect us? How do ancient themes
continue to inform contemporary art and ideas? The installation entitled “Secrets under
the Skin” will open in Havana, Cuba in December 2010.
45
as so eloquently stated by Stephen W. Silliman (2009: 226).

Published Works Cited

Alonso Andreu, Guillermo. 1997. The Arara in Cuba. Trans. by Carmen González. La
Habana, Cuba: Editorial José Martí. Orig. publ. as Los ararás en Cuba (1992).
Basso, Alessandra. 1995. Las Celebraciones ararás in Perico y Jovellanos. Unpublished
M.A. thesis. CNSEA, La Habana, Cuba.
Daniel, Yvonne. 1995. Rumba: dance and social change in contemporary Cuba. Bloom-
ington: Indiana University Press.
_______. 2005. Dancing Wisdom: Embodied Knowledge in Haitian Vodou, Cuban Yo-
ruba, and Bahian Candomblé. Urbana: University of Illinois Press.
Flanders Crosby, Jill. 2010. Secrets Under the Skin; They Brought the Essence of Africa.
In Making Caribbean Dance: Continuity and Creativity in Island Cultures. Ed.
Susanna Sloat. Gainsville: University Press of Florida, pp.67-82.
Silliman, Stephen W. 2009. Change and Continuity, Practice and Memory: Native
American Persistence in Colonial New England. American Antiquity 74, 2, pp.211-
230.
Thompson, Robert Farris. 1991. Dancing between two worlds: Kongo-Angola culture
and the Americas. New York: The Caribbean Cultural Center.
van de Port, Mattijs. 2004. Registers of incontestability: The Quest for Authenticity in
Academia and Beyond. Etnofoor 17, 1/2, pp.7-22.
Van Dyke, Ruth M. 2009. Chaco Reloaded: Discursive Social memory on the Post-
Chacoan Landscape. Journal of Social Archaeology 9, 2, pp.220-248.

Interviews Cited

Georgina Margarita Fernández Campos: 11 April 2008, Agramonte, Cuba.

Guyito Zulueta: 20 Dec. 2007, Tinguaro, Cuba.
Hilda Zulueta: 18 Dec. 2005; 21 Jan. 2006; 20 Dec. 2007; 21 Dec. 2007, Perico Cuba.
Kikito Iglesias: 20 Dec. 2007, Perico Cuba.
Lázara Graciela: 11 April 2008, Agramonte, Cuba.
Macusa Zulueta Dueñas: 18 Dec. 2007, Perico Cuba.
Mario José: 31 Dec. 2007, Agramonte, Cuba.
Midialis Angarica Galarraga: 22 Jan. 2006, Perico, Cuba.
Onelia Fernández and Israel Baró: 31 Dec. 2007, Agramonte, Cuba.
Ramona Casanova Elizalde: 21 Dec. 2007, Perico, Cuba.
Reinaldo Robinson: 17 Dec. 2005; 1 Jan. 2006; 21 Jan. 2006; 17 Dec. 2007; 11 April
2008, Perico Cuba.
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