Hunting Down a Trumpian Cuban Mambí!
For whatever it takes, Trump!
Twenty years ago, it was all about mud and factory in Hialeah, and the Fonomemecos(1) were busy promoting Metro Piece of Sh*t.
Those were the early days of the now extensively researched FHS ( fuck the homo sapiens) era. One of those days, I met the Mambí(2), as they used to call him. Cheo, a family friend whom I was visiting in the eastern part of the City that Progresses , as Hialeah was also known back then, introduced us.
The Mambí was a typical Cuban with a dangerous but rather boring miliciano(3) background that he tried to hide without much success and, of course, he was revolutionari-ly boastful to the extreme and an annoying loudmouth.
For as long as I stayed at Cheo's that day, the Mambí didn't shut his mouth for a second; he couldn't stop complaining about how he was exploited in Cuba, his patriotic private war against communism, and his even more patriotic efforts in Hialeah organizing a campaign to topple Fidel... from the grave.
Cheo, looking somewhat embarrassed, tried to cut him off, but the Mambí wouldn't put away the machete to pick his nose. The guy had no brakes.
Guerrilla past of the Mambí.
Just as I was about to ask the Mambi when the invasion to liberate Cuba was happening, my host, Cheo, jumped from the couch and asked me to go with him to pick up his daughter from school.
On the way to the schoolyard, my friend cursed once or twice in plain Cuban and opened up to me. The Mambí, who had been his friend for a long time and lived in a shack across the street, was another chiva (4), a fire-eating communist who was now all over Hialeah playing to kick Fidel's dead ass.
Today, I know the Mambí was a pesky Trumpian brown-noser in the making.
Cheo's godly confession didn't surprise me at all. I, actually, changed the subject and started talking about something else while patiently cruising Miami traffic.
An hour later, we were back at Cheo's house.
There was the Mambí, leaning against the fence, waiting for the next victim. However, that victim wouldn't be me, because I just got out of Cheo's car and, using my best Cuban dialect, said goodbye and got the hell out of there.
That would end my trip to Hialeah that day and, as a matter of fact, my short stay in South Florida; a couple of days later, I would run away, hoping never to come back.
Twenty years later: life takes its turns and that never never happened.
Here I am, back in carnival-like Miami, where I discovered upon arrival that Cubans today like Trump more than the glorious croquettes from the Versailles restaurant (5).
The Mambí of yore, if he's still alive, is probably lurking in some corner of Hialeah fulfilling his loyalist dreams, with his head held high, wearing his red cap with the magical MAGA stamped on it, and, almost certainly, he's painted his shack in orange and has adorned it with colorful Trump's photoshopped sexy images.
I'm afraid that just entering the Mambí's shack is like having arrived at a cardboard Trump Tower. The toilet bowl was painted orange, and orange wigs of ten for a dollar from the Ño Que Barato(6) store around the corner were scattered on the floor, the bed, and even in the kitchen. Even his dog must be called something like Trumpybaby or Trumpy! Poor thing!
My old Mambí probably doesn't even celebrate New Year's anymore; what he surely cares about are the elections, and praying, including some brujeria(7), for Trump to win and get rid of communism in Cuba and Miami.
Election day is like his personal Christmas; he throws a party in the shack with the condition that everyone who attends has to wear an orange wig and a red cap that loudly shouts Make America Great Again.
At the party, and while the guests eat Trump pizza with a fork, the Mambí will surely impose the topics of conversation. They will discuss, for example, how to organize elections in Cuba with fourteen parties after Trump goes in with his Superman cape, topples Fidel, and the Cubans in exile elect Alex Otaola as president.
Fortunately, I'm convinced that none of that will happen. The Cuban Trump-patriots have their heads full of shit, and I don't think they're going to get very far.
- (1)Fonomemecos: Cuban comedy duo that was very famous in Cuba and in Miami.
- (2)Miliciano: Cuban militiaman.
- (3)Mambí: Cuban insurgent who fought against Spain.
- (4)Chiva: snitch, informant, rat.
- (5)Versailles: famous Cuban restaurant where Trump supporters get together.
- (6)Ño Que Barato: famous cheap Cuban store.
- (7)Brujeria: Cuban witchcraft.
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