Last weekend, my dear brother traveled to Ecuador on an invitation from his son (who decided to chase his dreams outside of Cuba). Early in the morning, the insistent ring of the telephone woke us up. . When I picked up the receiver, he greeted me and said…
Last Thursday, I went out to help a friend with her shopping. We went to Almacenes Ultra, one of Havana’s largest department stores. We thought we’d be able to find what we were looking for at Ultra, which has a wide variety of products in stock. Sold in Cuban Convertible Pesos, of course.
“My life has been a never-ending struggle, just like everybody else’s,” says the 30-year-old fellow who sells used eyeglasses across the street from my cousin’s. “I moved to Havana when I was 15 and had to sell deodorizer to make a living when things were really tough here.”
Looking up the meaning of the word “claustrophobia” in Google, I came across a web-site (www.claustrofobia.com) created by one of the most promising young writers in Cuba today: poet, storyteller, radio-play writer and current director of Santiago de Cuba’s Caseron publishing house Yunier Riquenes.
I was waiting at the busy intersection of Prado and Neptuno streets for a cab headed for Vedado, in the direction of the theatre. An old American car that was practically falling apart came to a stop beside me. “I’m going down Linea Street,” the driver said to me. I got in.
These days, it seems as though Cuban janitors can conceive of no better time to get to their duties than when you come into work or, worse, during the busiest working hours.Today was one of those days when my arrival at a certain government office coincided with the janitor’s unavoidable maintenance duties.
“Kids, do any of you know what Cuba’s National Dance Music is?” asks Chispita the Clown while he clowns around. “Raeggeton!” the children reply in unison, convinced this is the right answer, making us burst out laughing. “Mom’s always playing it and I like it a lot!” one of the kids says, smiling.
In her native English, she told me that, in Cuba, she had not yet seen a single big, yellow “M”. “No, we haven’t got any of those,” I replied, without really understanding what she had meant. My pride and my uncertainty were at a stand-off. I had to find out about that “yellow M” somehow, without appearing to be ignorant.
Finding a skillful tailor or seamstress in Havana is no easy task. In fact, the last time it took me nearly a year of asking around to be able to order a pair of dress pants, pants I had intended to wear on my birthday for the first time.
My mother has long suffered from high blood pressure, diabetes and glaucoma. Three years ago, she underwent surgery for a neoplasia of the colon. Thus, the physician had assigned her an official diet consisting of chicken, viands and milk, a dietary allotment which must be renewed every year as of the date the diet is prescribed.