Mis cajitas de tabaco, un recuerdo entrañable (Click Aquí)
Me sorprendo yo misma cuando veo que soy de las personas que guardan objetos y cosas sin pensar que son colecciones importantes y que guardan recuerdos.
Mi padre durante toda su vida fue tabaquero y nos contaba que desde que tenía 9 años de edad su propio padre lo enseñó a torcer tabacos. Gracias a ese oficio podían sostener a la familia ya que eran muchos hermanos.
Cuando tuvo edad para trabajar, lo hizo en pequeños negocios particulares y así se fue perfeccionando en el arte manual de hacer tabacos.
La experiencia adquirida lo llevó a trabajar en la fábrica “Villamil” de Artemisa y cuando terminaba la jornada laboral, también tenía una mesa en casa y continuaba haciendo tabacos para poder hacer un dinerito más y mantener a nuestra familia.
Me crié en medio de ese olor que despedían las capas de tabaco fresco que él traía y mantenía dentro de mantas de yute para que no perdieran su humedad.
Para llegar a convertirse en un buen puro las hojas transitaban por varios procesos de selección de capas. Había algunas hojas que se picoteaban para el relleno o picadura. Mi hermana y yo lo ayudábamos en algunos de esos procesos. En esa fábrica mi padre trabajó toda su vida y hasta enseñaba a los nuevos que iban llegando. Se dedicaba a torcer el tabaco seleccionado para exportar y según recuerdo, porque de eso hace ya muchos años, tenía asignada una de las mejores vitolas de la fábrica.
Vitola es el nombre que se le da al tamaño del puro dentro de un tipo de envase y también sus propias especificaciones, según la marca, el grueso del tabaco, el largo, la figura, su color y su sabor. Su habilidad y destreza lo llevó a ser uno de los mejores tabaqueros en el área de exportación.
Hacía tantos tabacos en la jornada laboral que en muchas ocasiones íbamos a ayudarlo a la fábrica para anillar y colocar en las cajitas, era muy divertido, pero nos sentíamos tan útiles y nos gustaba mucho poder ayudarlo.
Me gustaban mucho las cajitas y sus diseños, el olor de ellas fabricadas de cedro, esta madera apropiada para mantener el olor natural del tabaco, cajitas que se fabricaban de forma manual fundamentalmente.
Él nos traía algunas de esas cajitas que no eran aptas para exportar, y nos las regalaba. Sentíamos tanta alegría y placer porque también habíamos contribuido a su excelente trabajo.
Conservo algunas de esas cajitas que me traía y que yo utilizaba para guardar mis cositas, hoy están llenas de recuerdos y la más grande la utilizo para guardar mis hilos y agujas de coser.
Ya algunas se están haciendo viejas como yo, pero las seguiré cuidando con mucho amor.
Ellas de por sí son recuerdos para mí, pero en su interior guardan muchos muchos recuerdos de los que no es fácil desprenderse.
Todavía me parece estar viendo las manos finas de mi padre, torciendo sus tabacos, manos sedosas porque el torcer el tabaco se las mantenía muy suaves.
Mientras viva mantendré esas cajitas guardadas y cuidadas como muestra de que nunca olvidaré a mi padre y a lo que dedicó toda su vida para mantener a su familia.
El sentir hoy el olor a tabaco, es sentir también su presencia a mi lado, volver a vivir pasajes de mi infancia, y revivir el momento en que mi padre nos traía a mis hermanas y a mí esas cajitas que hoy son mi colección más preciada.
I am surprised myself when I see that I am one of those people who keep objects and things without thinking that they are important collections and that they keep memories.
My father was a tobacconist all his life and he used to tell us that since he was 9 years old, his own father taught him how to twist tobacco. Thanks to this skill they were able to support the family since there were many siblings.
When he was old enough to work, he worked in small private businesses and thus perfected the manual art of making cigars. The experience he acquired led him to work in the "Villamil" factory in Artemisa and when he finished his working day, he also had a table at home and continued making cigars to make a little more money and support our family.
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I grew up in the midst of that smell given off by the layers of fresh tobacco that he brought and kept inside jute sacks so that they would not lose their humidity.
To become a good cigar, the leaves went through several processes of layer selection. There were some leaves that were pecked for the filler or biting. My sister and I helped him in some of these processes. My father worked in that factory all his life and even taught the newcomers. He used to twist the tobacco selected for export and as I remember, because that was many years ago, he was assigned one of the best vitolas in the factory.
Vitola is the name given to the size of the cigar inside a type of package and also its own specifications, according to the brand, the thickness of the tobacco, the length, the shape, its colour and its flavour. His skill and dexterity led him to be one of the best cigar makers in the export area.
He made so many cigars during the workday that many times we would go to the factory to help him ring and put them in the boxes, it was a lot of fun, but we felt so useful and we really enjoyed helping him.
I liked very much the boxes and their designs, the smell of them made of cedar, this wood appropriate to keep the natural smell of tobacco, boxes that were made mainly by hand.
He would bring us some of those little boxes that were not suitable for export, and he would give them to us as gifts. We felt so much joy and pleasure because we had also contributed to his excellent work.
I still have some of those boxes that he used to bring me and that I used to keep my little things, today they are full of memories and the biggest one I use to keep my threads and sewing needles.
Some of them are getting old like me, but I will continue to take care of them with love.
They in themselves are memories for me, but inside they hold many many memories that are not easy to let go of.
I can still see my father's fine hands, twisting his cigars, silky hands because the twisting kept them very soft.
As long as I live I will keep those little boxes guarded and cared for as a token that I will never forget my father and what he dedicated his whole life to provide for his family.
To feel the smell of tobacco today is also to feel his presence by my side, to relive passages of my childhood, and to relive the moment when my father would bring my sisters and me those boxes that today are my most precious collection.
All images are my property, taken with my smartphone,
and I used DeepL to translate because Spanish is my native language.