“Pá, tu tu tún, pá,
tu tu tún, pá,
tu tu tún, pá.”
It was a Friday night out with friends. We were walking through Old San Juan and I kept hearing this sound over and over.
“Pá, tu tu tún, pá,
tu tu tún, pá,
tu tu tún, pá.”
I suddenly stopped to listen. It is the sound of a yubá!, I said out loud to myself. The rhythm possessed my body, and my legs began walking involuntarily toward the direction of the sound. Without question, my friends just followed me.
“Pá, tu tu tún, pá,
tu tu tún, pá,
tu tu tún, pá.”
We were walking through the cobblestone streets made of various shades of gray. The buildings surrounding us were made of the typical Spanish architecture that distinguished Old San Juan. Buildings and houses of different sizes and of colors bordered the streets like a box of crayons. We walked around intently until we found the source of the sound. There it was, on a stage in Plaza del Tótem. A group was playing bomba. All of its members were dressed casually in light colors, mainly white and beige. They sounded pretty authentic.
As my friends and I drew closer to the stage, I noticed there was a long, dark-green cotton skirt lying on one of the corners, suggesting that either someone had danced earlier or someone was about to. I smiled to myself. “Does that mean you are going to dance?” one of my friends asked. She knew I could not resist dancing. “Yes,” I replied as I began to move my body to the rhythm the group was playing. How could I say no to that? I felt as happy as a kid in a candy store. Little by little, without bothering anyone, we moved closer to the stage, giving us a better view of the show. I left my friends at the front while I sauntered over to the stairs at the back of the stage. I was met by two security guards who I asked if I could join the group and dance. The security guards kindly looked for the manager to get his permission. He said yes.
“Here’s a skirt you can use,” the manager said. I was thrilled. I quickly put on the green skirt and waited for a new song to start. I could tell the skirt was a good five yards of fabric. That meant that I would have more freedom to make my movements. I could get really creative in a skirt like this. My hands instinctively reached down and grabbed the edge of the skirt. I was ready to start.
One of the women on stage grabbed the microphone and started to sing a capella.
“Yo estoy buscando un árbol que me dé sombra,
ay, porque el que tengo calor a mí me da.”
Then los rebuleadores began to play their barriles strongly. Oh! I know this song!, I thought to myself. It was one of the very first songs I danced in a batey. Without thinking, my body moved to the rhythm of the song. I could feel my breathing start to change. After the first two stanzas were done, I approached el primo and challenged him. Feeling powerful and confident, I started the unspoken conversation.
El primo was a 40-something man with long, tied-up dreads and a sleeveless white shirt that blatantly showed his muscular arms. I moved closer to him while dancing the basic steps of a yubá. I politely greeted him, in the traditional manner of the dance, by looking at him and lowering my head in reverence. I then gave him a flirty smile to let him know I was about to start. He smiled back. I didn’t know if he was good at repicando, so I began simple.
“Pá, tu tu tún, pá,
tu tu tún, pá,
tu tu tún, pá.”
The rhythm of the yubá was all I could hear in my head. This was my moment. This was my story to tell. My body was consumed with the music, and the movements just started to come out spontaneously. I began by teasing him lightly at first. I let my feet tell him the basic rhythm. Then I teased him more by adding the movement of my hips. He answered my tease by matching my rhythm. That was my cue. I continued to incorporate the rest of my body into the dance, one part at a time. I shimmied my shoulders and my chest, adding my arms, then my legs.
He knew I was just getting started. He was watching every part of my body now, clueless about my next move. I enjoyed playing with him, and he knew it. He couldn’t help but laugh. The tease had escalated and our conversation had evolved. Without thinking, only feeling, I began combining all the parts of my body. They moved cohesively together, pulsating, swaying, working rhythmically to tell my story. The next thing I knew, my skirt became alive as my hips guided it from side to side while my hand held its hem and my arm swirled it in the air.
Follow this Primo!
Ángela M. Capeles Segarra is a communications graduate student at Penn State Harrisburg and the editor-in-chief of the student newspaper, The Capital Times.
