and Words
Ojalá que llueva café en el campo
Que caiga un aguacero de yuca y té
Del cielo una jarina de queso blanco
Y al sur una montaña de berro y miel, todo el mundo
Oh, oh, oh-oh-oh, ojalá que llueva café
Ojalá que llueva café en el campo
Peinar un alto cerro de trigo y mapuey
Bajar por la colina de arroz graneado
Y continuar el arado con tu querer
Oh, oh, oh-oh-oh
Lyric excerpts from Musixmatch.
As I closed the 1980’s, I spent it neck deep in engineering school. To maximize my education dollar, I packed my semester as close to eighteen as I possibly could. The University of Miami charged one flat rate for full-time student tuition, that ranged from twelve to eighteen credits. I came to a conclusion when I arrived as a freshman. They charged the same whether you take four classes or six, so I might as well take six.
Packing my semester this way had its own set of consequences. Even as my local friends joked that Miami was ranked the number two party school, it was far from my experience. I never attended a frat party, or any party actually on campus. Only once did I step into a fraternity house, and that was to meet one of my classmates to work on a project. Having endured bullying in middle and high school, I developed a figurative allergy for conformity, and even popularity.
I’d like to say that carrying a loaded semester like this was considerably tougher than the numbers indicate. If you could imagine that juggling four balls, isn’t simply 33% harder than juggling three balls. However, since the vast majority of my semesters were packed like this, I didn’t know how ‘normal’ felt.
Naturally, I made friends when I started as a freshman; I still keep in touch with many of them. About half of us actually finished our degree at the University of Miami, also known as “The U”. I’d be easy to conclude that they weren’t that smart; this was not true. I picked my major from the moment I stepped on campus, making only minor adjustments by the time I graduated. While you certainly could (and many did) change majors whimsically, each instance would cost you tens of thousands of dollars. The aforementioned number two party school designation didn’t help. The few who survived were dedicated, focused, and even a little lucky.
As we each settled into our respective majors, we developed newer friends and classmates in our studies. This is when I met Lino. He is of Chinese descent but came to the states to study from Panama. As such he was multi-lingual and multi-cultural. Here in the states, speaking strictly one language is the norm; speaking two languages is rare. Meeting someone who is not only also trilingual, but one who spoke the same languages, is like seeing a purple unicorn. Having grown up straddled among three communities, I found someone who truly understood what it was like.
I won’t tell you that we spent our time talking deep cultural issues; we were still young, in our early twenties. Honestly, we didn’t know what much of it meant. However, we shared a certain ‘knowing’ about how we navigated our world. We understood what our communities meant by ‘family’, all those cultural impressions in which we grew up. The Asian propensity to stoically excel lived in us. Similarly, the Latino ardor in which we conduct our lives passionately, that lived in us too. I spoke with Lino in both Spanish and English.
On a particular day, as we sat in his dorm room, he introduced me to new music in Spanish, in the form of Juan Luis Guerra. I almost never listened to this class of music (typically called merengue or bachata), but on this particular day I did. This particular song, “Ojalá Que Llueva Café”, stuck with me. Even today, decades later, it endures fondly in my mind.
I flash back to my early childhood in Puerto Rico; my family stayed mostly in the San Juan area. While we absolutely drove out into the beaches during siestas, we also knew there was much more to the small island which we barely knew. The coastal areas in which we dwelled were towns, much like what you’d expect from suburbia. If we wandered into the Old San Juan, we may walk over the brick streets and look upon the Spanish architecture. In the distance, you may see glimpses of ‘El Morro’ the castle in San Juan.
However, the center of the island was different. It was rural and mountainous. The roads to navigate them snaked around the side of the mountains, daring you to defy them. I don’t remember if we ever had any close calls with the edge of those roads. Those towns were merely names on the map that spiked in greens and browns, as I envisioned tiny towns and homes, little more than shacks set against the backdrop of a tropical rainforest.
Those hills teased us, as they sat a mere drive away, with promises of experiences, cultures, and food we had yet to explore. Though they might as well been on the stars in the night sky as my parents worked endlessly running our restaurant and had no spare time. They remain, to this day, a mental image that I had often seen only in pictures, though I could almost feel the heat and humidity as a transitive extension of the Florida tropics.
As verses of this song refers to ‘el campo’ which best translates to the ruralness. It takes me back to those moments in Puerto Rico and the Spanish that still rings familiar in my ears, though it continues to gently fade.
Years after graduation, with the accessibility of the internet, we all get connected online. For a short time, I used an instant messaging application called ICQ. I reconnected with Lino on this platform. During one of those chat sessions where he invited me to his wedding, in Colón, Panama. I happily agreed. For months we coordinated strictly through ICQ about the logistics of my trip to Panama.
As I got off that plane, I see his familiar face and finally met his betrothed; we greet each other with a smile and embrace. I gather my things, and we drove to his hometown. Panama is best known for its canal that allows ships to navigate between the Atlantic and Pacific. Well, for that and for Mariano Rivera. The drive from the Pacific coast to Atlantic coast of Panama takes less than one hour. Along that road, I look upon the landscape of this foreign land, though still reminiscent of the verses from that song.
While they were incredibly busy finalizing the arrangements for their wedding, they make the time to take me to the Gatun Locks in Colón. It remains moving gesture that I remember to this day. That as well as our enduring friendship.
The title of this song literally translates to, “Hopefully it’ll rain coffee.” While I speak Spanish, the literal translation puzzles me as you might imagine. Try as I might, I can’t visualize the brown, bitter droplets falling from the sky. Moreover, I don’t understand why we would want to endure such a mess. I imagine that its roots are either poetic or idiomatic, though its meaning still eludes me.
Though ultimately, it doesn’t matter. This song is a gentle reminder of a snapshot in time and enduring friendship.