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I have this kinda funny (as in funky, not ha-ha) tree growing right smack in the middle of my front yard in Miami. It’s admittedly not a particularly cuddly or friendly looking bit of botany, its trunk prickling all over as it is with conical thorns. But for me it’s all about the mystique, being as it is a ceiba (English names include “kapok,” “silk cotton,” and “silk floss”). This is a genus of tropical tree I’ve come across constantly on my travels through Latin America and the Caribbean – and so might you, if you’re staying at one of the Iberostar resorts in Mexico’s Yucatan, the Dominican Republic, Cuba, or Brazil (it’s the official tree of Puerto Rico and Guatemala, has a city in Honduras named after it, and found as far afield as Asia and Africa).  The one in my yard is still practically a sapling, still skinny and maybe 20 or so feet (6 meters) tall. But ceibas can grow to be giants, with heights of more than 200 feet (61 meters) and dramatically gnarled trunk bases nearly as wide as small houses.

Ceibas play a central role in the lore of Mexico’s and Central America’s Mayan cultures – in fact, they are depicted in Mayan mythology as the “world tree,” linking the underworld, the terrestrial world, and the heavens  (doesn’t get more central than that, right?), and you may come across representations of ceibas at Mayan archaeological sites and museums, especially in items like incense holders and burial urns.

But it wasn’t so much in Mexico that I first became aware of the cultural impact of the ceiba, but in Cuba, at a landmark called El Templete (pictured above). It’s a small neoclassical temple-type structure, built in 1828 on Havana’s oldest square, the Plaza de Armas, which I learned marks the site of where a ceiba once stood – a legendary tree under which the Catholic mass was celebrated to mark the founding of San Cristóbal de la Habana in 1519. That long-gone original tree is represented by a marble column, but another large one grows out in front, and it’s venerated particularly by the followers of the afro-Cuban religion santería (the ceiba is also held sacred in West Africa, where this religion has its roots). It’s the focus of an annual tradition on November 16, the date of the city’s founding, in which Cubans of all ages and beliefs make three circles around the tree and throw throw down coins before it while making three wishes.

Photo | Steven Colebourne

Wherever the ceiba grows, it seems, it has long cast a spell on the local peoples, providing them over the centuries not just with practical products like oils, stuffing for pillows and mattresses, and medicinal substances, but spiritual inspiration as well.  Next time you stay at an Iberostar resort in Mexico’s Yucatan, the Dominican Republic, Cuba, or Brazil you might see one!

What to do in Cuba, Santeria, Voodoo

In the Western Hemisphere, the religions brought over by African slaves have been part of the scene for centuries in Brazil, the Dominican Republic, Puerto Rico, Cuba, and most famously Haiti. But until not many years ago, it was largely condemned by the Roman Catholic church and dismissed as “ignorant” and “low-class” by all but the poor. But I’ve had the chance to observe various aspects of its Cuban form, both on the island and in South Florida, and whether one believes in it or not, it’s undeniably a moving, often beautiful tradition that has in many ways made Cuban music, art, letters and even larger society what they are today. If you visit the island,* chances are you’ll see some reference to santería, whether practitioners dressed in white (above, a lady commonly offering photo ops in Old Havana), shrines, a museum like the one in the nearby town of Guanabacoa, or a folkloric performance including santería dance or music. So I thought a quick introduction might be in order.

Known more properly as “Ifá,”La Regla Lucumí,” or “La Regla de Ocha,” santería (a Spanish word that could be translated as “saintism”) came over to Cuba starting in the 16th century mostly with Yoruba-speaking West Africans from what is now part of Benin, Senegal, and Nigeria. But because of Catholic condemnation they quickly learned to hide their devotion to the traditional gods by in effect grafting them onto Catholic saints (santos), so that when they appeared to be praying to St. Barbara they were really worshipping Changó, lord of fire, thunder, and lightning; similarly, St. Lazarus masked Babalú-Ayé (patron of the sick; remember the old Desi Arnaz/Ricky Ricardo song?); and  Our Lady of Mercies stood for Obatalá, the creator of humanity. That’s why the religion is referred to as “synchretistic,” meaning a blending of two different religions.

These parallel santos are referred to as orishas (a name adopted by a popular Europe-based Cuban rap group, by the way), and religious practices surrounding them include casting shells for divination; offerings of fruit, rum, and cigars; and bembé ceremonies in which dancing and drumming lead participants to supposedly become possessed and channel the orishas; ritual sacrifice can also be involved (usually of chickens, sometimes of larger animals like goats). Santería priests are called babalaos, and shops selling candles, charms, and other santería supplies are botánicas.

All the above is a vast simplification; like any religion, santería is quite complex. But you shouldn’t visit Cuba* without seeking to learn a bit about this fascinating aspect of its culture, whether it’s the Guanabacoa museum, the dancing and art on Havana’s Callejón de Hamel, or even the watered-down, glammed-up music and costumes in the extravagant Tropicana floor show.

Photo |  Michael Vincent Miller

*Citizens, residents, or anyone subject to the jurisdiction of the United States may only travel to Cuba on special licenses with U.S. government permission.