Many city-dwelling Cubans love to poke fun at Guajiros for their simple ways, but the truth is, I wish more Cubans were like them. In fact, I open this book with Guajiros like this man because they represent much of what I believe is best: they are proud of their Cuban heritage and are more family-focused, optimistic, and resourceful.

In Guajiros, I also see my paternal grandfather, Miguelito from Charcas, Cienfuegos, who helped raise me as a Guajiro exile living in Hialeah. Three things about my abuelo perfectly capture how Guajiro he was.

First, he raised roosters, chickens, and other farm animals in his backyard until the day the City of Hialeah outlawed them and fined him. Second, he refused to learn to drive. And third, despite not driving, it was my father, uncle, aunts, or cousins’ daily responsibility to ensure abuelo always had a ride to tend to his animals on the farmland he rented.

Even when abuelo had a mini-farm at home, he insisted on renting a farmland for his larger group of animals. For abuelo, being a Guajiro was not just a way of life—it was THE way of life.