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A vibrant memory from my Cuban childhood:
the presence (clandestine, but known by all)
of the "game of 36 beasts," brought by the
Chinese coolies whom the island's industrialists
had imported in droves in the late nineteenth
century ("There is no race more adequate to our
current needs: hard working, intelligent, docile
and frugal by custom," wrote Señor Francisco
Diago in 1851). This game which reigned supreme
over all Asia combined a banal lottery based on
numbers with a poetic element based on dreams.
Each animal had its symbolic resonance. I still
remember some of those strings of words, like so
many little poems: "Luna, mujer, camisa, hule"
 "Majá, reloj, chaleco, cotorra" "Sapo, estrella,
lira, chimenea," or this one: "Obispo, rey, tigre,
 sarcófago." I was enchanted by these counting
rhythms: a precocious taste for animals (and
poetry) kept me from grasping the game's true
function: making the poorest lose what little they
earn. Out of all that, humanity earned itself a great
painter, born of a Chinese father and a Afro-Cuban
mother:Wifredo Lam.