Diaries

Demons on a Bicycle

People around here, and around the world, might think that my occupation of writing has only served to vent my frustrations; and in good measure they’re right. Writing is my way of exorcizing demons, although those I show you in Havana Times are, or may seem, quite docile.

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The Other Pandemic (Part III)

At the beginning of this year, a construction brigade from the Ministry of Construction, along with the Housing Institute, decided to develop a piece of land behind my house. They intended to build new housing for people who have lived in shelters for some time.

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Iyabó: Path to Sanctification (I)

In my neighborhood, at certain times of the year, it’s common to see people dressed completely in white. This is because “Iyaboraje” sanctification rites in Cuba were unbanned after the economic crisis of the 1990s. People no longer conceal these; instead, they openly display the attributes of the religion and the “Santo” (saint, also called Orisha or God) who consecrates them.

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Restoring Havana

“It’s incomparable!” comments a 40-year-old blond woman with green eyes and glowingly white skin. Leaning against the Malecon wall, she’s impressed by the city’s architecture as she takes photos of the area’s buildings. Her husband -with the hands behind him, wearing shorts and a cap- slowly ventures closer to a group of men working on the Malecon.

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A Declaration of Principles (Once Again)

If someone wants to know my political position, I’m declaring it here once again, though I’ve written on this matter before. I am a staunch enemy of everything that impedes the freedom and spiritual development of human beings, and therefore I’m against any asymmetry in the access to power.

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Sorry, No Change!

A year since the elections, reality is something different. And in Cuba, other airs also blow. Unfortunately, the news that we Cubans have received about Obama is not encouraging. The Guantanamo naval base -with its torture center- still remains and another seven new US military bases installed in Colombia.

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Not Enough Light to See the Time

A few nights ago, with the capriciousness of dreams, I dreamt that everything was dark. In my dream I was in a park and couldn’t read even a line from the book that I was holding because the street lights never came on.

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Everything Seemed Premeditated

As I tried to get closer to the trova presentation, I heard a disturbance from what at first seemed to be a large conga line. But as I looked more closely, I could see that something unusual was taking place. A group of approximately of 60 middle-aged people had begun to encircle a group of three or four people, yelling “Get outta here, why don’t you get outta here” and “This street belongs to Fidel.”

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Havana’s Watching You

Havana’s urban landscape has been invaded by new residents: high-tech street surveillance cameras. These magic eyes are located on the four corners of key locations and intersections, at tunnel entrances and around bridges.

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