Esther Zoza's Diary Archives

Streets of Centro Habana: A Territory Besieged by Oblivion

Yesterday, I ran into my former philosophy teacher in Centro Habana. Her face showed signs of deep distress.

Cuba has become a giant trash heap. The time when the containers were emptied has been lost in the failure to act of officials.

When my mother told me that the hour of charcoal had arrived, I didn’t feel the shiver of excitement that used to herald celebrations…

Today, there is no correlation between wages and prices. So, how could anyone expect a different outcome for sugar supplies?

Coming across ruins in Old Havana is commonplace. But if the building in question bears graffiti with the phrase “you need to be happy”…

Most Cubans find it impossible to understand why rod or line fishing requires authorization, especially in today’s Cuba…

The deterioration of movie theaters in Cuba is a shared sorrow. In Havana, my city, the sadness overtakes you when you least expect it…

One of the most valued jobs among the people of Old Havana is that of a pot polisher. It’s a job that demands great concentration and skill.

I grew up in an atmosphere where it was natural to be available to relatives, friends, and neighbors for whatever was needed.

My grandmother’s birthday is approaching, perhaps her last, and my mother is pulling out her savings. My grandmother asks for a cake.