Osmel Almaguer’s Diary

They say that only to participate in an Olympic Games is in itself tremendous of glory for any athlete. Winning a medal, then, must be something like sitting at the table with Olympian gods. However, for Cuban athletes there’s an equivalent privilege that few have ever experienced: the right to the “Olympic Dining Room.”

The bus stop in front of the Capitolio Building. Six o’clock in the late afternoon. A mob of people rush the door of a bus bound for Alamar. I think for a second. The day’s been bad and I don’t want to make it worse by ending up squished trying to get a ride home.

For a long time there has been talk of unifying the two currencies. I don’t think this will happen soon. To be honest—though it may seem like a radical thought—I do not think this will ever be done.

Before my father gave me his version of the story, for me the 1970 sugarcane harvest was a simple incident that gave people something to laugh at. “I haven’t been to a fiesta since the ‘70 harvest,” you could hear any Cuban say with a smile.

No one is a saint here. While we condemn our players who emigrate, banning them, they’re received on the other side as “victims,” and those who accept these “poor fugitives” are seen as “saviors.”

Today Eduardo has spent almost 20 years cutting people’s hair. The money he earns, around 100 CUCs per month (about $110 USD), is enough to take care of himself and to maintain his sick parents.

Teresita sells peanuts at the bus stop. She and her only grandson depend on her earnings to survive. She’s formally retired but her Social Security check amounts to nothing.

Given the way baseball is now played in the World Cup, our country’s National Baseball Commission seriously trained a team for the first time in a long time. This has raised hopes among our people, who remain dependent on that “circus” to maintain their illusions.

At the House of Poetry, I was listening to verses being recited by a Cuban author of some standing when suddenly I noticed a young woman sitting next to me. A “who-knows-what” diverted my attention from the reading long enough for us to exchange looks.

Nonetheless, this “father of the Cuban cartoons” doesn’t have a monopoly in terms of quality. A new generation is emerging who are somehow heirs of that flower pollinated by Padron with his creations. .