Pedro Pablo Morejon

One night in July 1994, my friend Tomasito and I were talking. We were both 19 years old at the time and doing our compulsory military service.

I grew up in a rural neighborhood, where people used to be healthier and neighbors were like family. We kids wandered about, without any worries.

I still remember him. So clearly that it’s like he’s standing right in front of me, short, slim, but with an incredible energy and personality.

We aren’t the only ones suffering this scourge. Dengue fever affects many Latin American countries and there are even cases in the south of the US. However, I can only tell you what, in my humble opinion, is the main cause of this disease in our country: The awful hygiene and sanitary conditions we have.

Minas de Matahambre is the name of a town in the north of Pinar del Rio. Its name comes from the early 20th century when large copper reserves were discovered in area. This represented an important source of employment for many locals.

Yamila is a jinetera, as we say here in Cuba for a woman who prostitutes herself to foreigners. She is 27 years old and absolutely stunning. What we Cubans call “a knockout”. She was born in ‘92, right bang in the Special Period.

Ever since I was five and began school, I’ve been told what is right and what is wrong. They wanted to teach me how to become like Che, who I only knew what I was told about him. I was made to repeat hollow slogans and mottos. They decided what I had to learn, what I didn’t have to learn. What I should and shouldn’t believe.

For those who don’t know, these conferences take place once a year: a number of writers from the children’s, poetry and fiction for adults genres compete.

I live in a town in the province of Pinar del Rio with just over 6,000 inhabitants, where shortages are proverbial. Its little markets or vegetable stands are rarely ever stocked. It’s one of those “lifeless” towns, as people say.

Every afternoon, when I finish work, I head to the train station. There, alongside hundreds of passengers, a dirty, uncomfortable, slow train, which never leaves on schedule by the way because when it isn’t being checked over, it’s waiting for the engineer, or the engine has a problem, etc.