I have a complicated history with my country of origin.

Long ago and in a tumultuous galaxy far, far away, I came to the United States on a flight to Fort Lauderdale from Cuba. I was just there for the ride with my two sisters. The heroes in this story were my parents, whose courage and unselfishness would give their children the precious gift of freedom.

I really didn’t identify with my Cuban heritage at the time, as I quickly assimilated into a place that was a strange new world to my parents. Not me. As a soon-to-be five-year-old, I quickly learned the language, spoke without an accent, and got good grades in school. As I grew older, I enjoyed the vibe of the Eagles and Led Zeppelin. “Cuban stuff,” not so much.

As I write this, my mind is still buzzing in a nostalgic way after seeing the “Buena Vista Social Club” musical at Dr. Phillips Performing Arts Center. The
bouncy salsa tunes — as well as the melodic ballads — are still playing in my internal playlist.

It’s taken a while for me to truly embrace Cuba. The people, the culture, the music and the hardships. All these years later, I cherish all of it proudly.

As I sat in cushy seats with my American partner, that complicated history surfaced again: Nobody is dancing the night away in Cuba these days. Cuba is in the throes of its worst economic and energy crisis in decades. There are deficits of food, medicine and clean water, all driven by the perfect storm of escalating U.S. sanctions, a fuel blockade, and the collapse of foreign oil shipments.

The premise of “Buena Vista Social Club” goes way beyond the music. It tells the story of those left behind, including gifted musicians who had become dinosaurs in Fidel Castro’s Under My Thumb rules of governance. After taking power, Castro (an atheist) closed Catholic churches. He also shut down nightclubs where these artists used to perform. Personal property? No Mas. It now belongs to the state.

I had made my own courageous stance of sorts when the Cuban gestapos came to my family’s expansive farm to take possession. I, as best I could
with a child’s vocabulary, told them to go pound sand. This was our home.

They didn’t listen. And so away I went to this wonderful country of opportunity.

For those left behind, including all those musicians, opportunity was no longer an option.

They stayed buried for decades, until multi-talented musical artist Ry Cooder came to Cuba in 1996, dug these people — most in their 80s — out from their musical graveyard, and gave them life again. Over a span of just seven days, they would record the iconic Buena Vista Social Club album that is the framework of the hit musical.

The musical also focuses on the Portuondo sisters, Haydée and Omara, acclaimed vocalists during the pre-Castro era. Haydée would defect to the United States in 1961 after a performance at the Fontainebleau Hotel in Miami Beach. Omara stayed behind and became one of those dinosaurs until Cooder came along and broke the silence of that beautiful voice.

Haydée lost contact with her family and never performed professionally again.

Sacrifice and pain have always been a part of the Cuban experience. As I wiped away a tear or two during the musical, that little boy finally gets it after all these years. I am a man from two countries.

Afterwards, we met with our good friend Luisa, who said she had “lost it” at one point because moments of the musical had rekindled her pain as a Cuban American.

“When the sisters were separating, one of them was holding a piece of luggage,” Luisa said. “It brought me back to walking away from my grandmother, cousins, aunts and neighbors as they were all gathered to give us a farewell. This moment brought me back 60 years in an instant, which shows to me the pain never goes away.”

So let the music play on. Sing and dance and vibe to all those glorious songs.

Just please forgive those of us who shed tears along the way. That music is the melancholy soundtrack of our lives.

George Diaz is a former writer and columnist with the Sentinel.