Islam in Cuba: Visiting the Mosques of Havana

Zirrar on Islam in Cuba and visiting the mosques of Havana

Havana is everything.

It was 2009 and Castro was still alive. The streets were soaked in the history of an era that refused to fade away. I entered the main boulevard of Obrapia, heading for the only mosque I had found during my research of the country- a small gold star marked on my Google Maps. Cuba, of course, has no GPS functionality (under the technology embargo from the US), so I had to find my destination the old fashioned way, map (albeit digital) in hand, street by street. It was actually a lot of fun. 

I had been fascinated by Cuba and its history of anti-colonialism for many years. Its heroes Fidel and Che had presented a view of another possible world, one that could elevate itself with minimal reliance on others. For Fidel and Che the principals of Socialism (not Communism) drove them to seek change for the people of this small island. I was not aware at the time, but these ideas, so deeply embedded within the fabric of this tiny island, had their roots in the nationalistic, anti-colonial movements of Africa, especially North Africa, thousands of miles away. 

Navigating my way through the small streets, passing the famous Hotel Ambos Mundos, once home to long-time tenant Ernest Hemingway, followed by one of his favourite bars, I finally reached the little gold star on the map. 

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At this time, Casa Del Arabe (The Arab House) was the only place of worship for Muslims in Havana, and as far as I knew, all of Cuba. I nodded gently to the security guard sitting near the large polished wooden doors of the building. She was an older woman dressed in a police uniform; with a smile, she let me enter.

Casa Del Arabe, was the home of a rich Arab merchant who lived in the city in the 1940’s. It was later used as a mosque for diplomats and visitors to the country but was not open for worship to Cuban Muslims. 

Following the communist revolution of 1959, prohibitions were placed on religion, and religious beliefs became a private matter for most Cubans. In the 1980’s, the state’s attitude relaxed somewhat, allowing Catholicism and Santeria (Afro-American religion of Caribbean origin that developed in the Spanish Empire among West African descendants), the primary religions of the island, to be practiced more freely.

In recent decades, the number of Cuban Muslims, has grown. There are approximately 10,000 Muslims in Cuba, and the vast majority are converts, thought to have come into contact with Islam through interaction with Pakistani students studying in the country. 

I spent some time in the courtyard of the Casa del Arabe, a beautiful building that would fit in anywhere in Morocco. It is not unusual to see Moorish influence in the architecture of former Spanish colonies, but Casa del Arabe differs in that it was designed to resemble a Moroccan riyadh. As I stood admiring the courtyard with its fountain, to my surprise a peacock wandered in. It was quite unaware of the delighted visitor taking its photos, as it stood there proudly and without fear. 

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I left the ground floor and walked up to the first and second floors; it became apparent that the casa had not been lived in for decades. Though it had been well maintained and kept extremely clean, the tired, empty air of a home without its owner was apparent. A wooden minbar stood with a single prayer mat placed next to it. I prayed my travel prayers alone, and explored the rest of the building. 

Before I left I met another man who I assumed was the caretaker. He informed me that the only congregational prayers held there were for Jummah and I should return if I wanted to meet the imam and members of the local Muslim community. As I was leaving Havana before Friday, I was unable to do so.

I spent the next two weeks travelling south by bus. In Cienfuegos, dubbed La Perla del Sur (Pearl of the South), I noticed more architecture of Moorish influence. The Palacio De Valle, designed by Italian architect Alfredo Colli and built between 1913-1917, has echoes of Cordova and Granada all over it. Across its horizontal columns, it had what looked to be Arabic calligraphy written by artists who had no understanding of the language but felt that the calligraphy belonged on its walls. 

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In the next few weeks, I drove through tobacco plantations and orchards of mango trees, up and down the Sierra Maestra mountains (where Che and Fidel launched their guerrilla warfare), until my last night in Cuba, which I spent in Havana. I was approached by a local Cuban man who gave me his number and told me to call him If I ever returned; he was an Arab in roots and had never met a Pakistani before. I was happy to shake hands and say salam. 

Almost a decade later, I returned to Cuba. The trip this time was a short one, as part of a longer journey through the Caribbean. Havana had changed noticeably in the number of foreign visitors I encountered. There were more European faces and one other significant change: the internet. On my first visit, Cuba only had very limited internet access; the way to connect back then was through an old (and probably virus ridden) desktop PC found in hotels lobbies. Now Cuba had introduced WiFi for both nationals and tourists, though it only worked if one stood inside or very close to a hotel. This resulted in amusing scenes where you would see groups of people sat on the street, leaning against hotel walls to get the strongest signal. Paying 4 Euros for 30 min sessions, once you left this area you would be back to being alone with your thoughts, with no smartphone to distract you. It felt refreshing, like going back to the 90’s (though, of course, not Cuba in the 90’s).

Even though years had elapsed I still knew the route to the mosque. The stone cobbled street, the heavy wooden doors and the lone peacock were still fresh in my mind. I walked through the crowds that surrounded street performers and a book fair in the Plaza de Armas, and entered Obispo street. I reached the familiar building, with the plaque reading ‘Case Del Arabe’, but this time there was no smiling guard sitting outside to let me in, and the polished doors were closed. This small house, that had left its mark on me- a tiny piece of paradise in Havana, was now apparently closed to the world. As I turned to leave, confused and disappointed, I was greeted by a sight that made everything clear. A new mosque. A huge new mosque. It was named Mezquita Abdallah and I had completely missed its presence. I found out later that the Turkish government had funded and constructed this House of Allah, after several unmet promises from the Cuban government that a dedicated mosque would be built. 

I walked into a large hall that had been spilt down the middle for men and women. The walls were adorned with large, black calligraphy; the floor was beautifully carpeted; green columns stood with small book shelves at their feet, and a beautifully decorated mihrab gave a focus to the space. 

There were copies of the Qur’an, in both Spanish and Arabic. It was not Jummah but there were people inside. I sat down and met two young men; one was Jordanian, a student, and the other was Bosnian, part of a group travelling through the islands of the Carribean.

I returned a few days later for Jummah prayer and found the mosque packed. The congregation was made up of Arabs, North Africans, Indians, Filipinos and, wonderfully, Cubans, who after all this time are finally allowed to enter a mosque and pray. 

Some worshippers had come from cities hours away just to attend the Jummah prayer, as well as to meet other Muslims and gather as a community. It was a beautiful sight, and such a contrast to my memories of praying alone in an empty house in Havana. This mosque, unlike the Casa, is open daily and sounds the adhaan for each prayer. We prayed Jummah, after which halal food was served- one of the only places in the city you can find it! I met a convert, Abdallah, who was, in his previous life, a dancer in a tourist resort. The festive atmosphere in Old Havana following Jummah lifted my spirits and reminded me that Islam exists in every corner of the world.

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So what actually happened to the Casa del Arabe? I found its doors open on that Jummah, and though it had not changed at all inside, I did find more of the doors to its empty rooms closed. And the peacock was no where to be seen. 

I left Cuba a few days later. It is only now that I have had a chance to reflect on my second trip, that I realise I never reached out to the mysterious Cuban Arab who gave me his number in Havana almost 10 years ago. But that just means I have a reason for another trip 🙂 

Further Reading 

The Muslims of Cuba

Islam Thrives in Communist Cuba

 

 

Read more from Zirrar: ‘The Saints, Sufis and Poets of Shiraz‘