The Streets

We arrived this afternoon in Matanzas, eighty kilometers east of Havana.
The city once rivaled Havana itself as a centre of culture and learning, but virtually ignored since the revolution, it's now a crumbling shadow of its former self.
The trash piles seem a little bigger here, the bus queues even longer (if possible) and the place carries with it a sad air of dilapidation and neglect.

As we wandered the maze-like streets we were drawn to the sound of music, eventually stumbling upon the crowd above. The performers were dressed head to toe in white, some even carrying white umbrellas, I'd noticed similarly attired folks scattered throughout the city.

They are Cabildos, members of a Masonic-esque brotherhood, a religion born from Spanish colonial times. African slaves of similar ethnic backgrounds would form such groups, brotherly societies in times of need, and a way of keeping alive traditions that were cruelly torn away.

The music they brought with them became Rumba, a now integral part of Cuban music and culture, and despite various trials and tribulations over the centuries, many offshoots of these brotherhoods are still active religions in Cuba today.