Fabiana del Valle

Ever since my daughter started attending the Vocational boarding school, my money seems to have magical powers…

I’m living through a time that some find fascinating. The advance of AI is transforming our lives at breakneck speed, and that frightens me.

“Cuba stains,” wrote a well-known poet from Pinar del Río on his Facebook wall a few days ago. Yamila’s story is not an isolated case…

A visual declaration of fragility and hope, created on an island marked by material scarcity, diaspora, and the creativity of its people.

In the heart of my neighborhood is “La Nueva,” a bodega (ration store) whose name contrasts with its appearance.

I step out onto the street with an empty backpack and a list. The sun beats mercilessly on the broken streets, and I dodge the potholes…

You open your eyes and realize it’s not the sun that has woken you from your sleep. The persistent sound comes from the neighbor’s house…

I couldn’t stop the tears while walking with my daughter and taking pictures. The silence is heavy where sound once lived. (12 photos)

This story is common to most Cubans, except that some have saved themselves from “dancing with the worst of it.”

Behind us, the door we rigged up continued vibrating, as if to reaffirm that it wasn’t over yet; there was still the wait…