Osmel Almaguer’s Diary

Finally, after three hours, my wait bore fruit. The doors that had allowed so many people step through had opened for me. I was received by Conrado, an average looking man except for the clothes he wore. Instead of the usual doctors’ coat, he was dressed in a santería “iyabó.”

The worst case I’ve seen of the degradation of a medical practice is that of Dr. Conrado. Though Cuba is full of polyclinics you can normally only be seen by the one in your locality. This is stipulated by law.

A month ago today I had an accident in my backyard. As I was trying to repair the concrete perimeter wall by myself – foolishly – an over 200 kilo slab fell on my left leg. I was lucky, because if it hadn’t fallen diagonally I’d be writing this story without toes, and I’d have to sign this diary as Osmel the cripple.

In the end the same thing happens to most people as to me. Most of the vacation time is spent resolving problems that – were there not so much red tape – would be very simple to solve, instead of taking us an entire day, week, or two weeks.

It turned out that I was the one who bothered a very full-sized woman who, along with her daughter – also obese – was beside the door. When I passed by her, my backpack got tangled up with her purse, and she thought I was trying to steal it.

It’s a fact that batters here who hit 25 to 30 homeruns in a 90-game season (equivalent to 45 to 54 in the Big Leagues) do so against weak pitchers, with a strike zone that is much smaller then abroad, forcing pitchers to throw down the middle, perfect for homeruns.

Yesterday there were a lot of people on this Central Park corner – so many that that they had to form into three groups, all talking about the upcoming World Cup Baseball Tournament, set to take place in several European cities through September 27.

Not everybody is in the same economic situation in Cuba, though most households do not have access to all their staples; there are those who – within certain limits – at least have sufficient money to throw a more or less elaborate party.

There were other occasions in which the handouts were not so advantageous for my father. Those were times in which he found himself being taken in by families that were low-down, low-spirited, unfriendly and even abusive.

What I know about my paternal grandparents I owe to my father, who occasionally after dinner talks about his childhood. Most of what he mentions are references to his father, who would take my dad by the hand and bring him along on walks to neighboring towns during Grandpa Juan’s drinking binges.