Blackouts in Cuba, a True Curse
HAVANA TIMES – My aunt tells me, laughing—though what she’s talking about is no laughing matter—that she ran into a friend and they wanted to chat. But neither of them could focus on the conversation. One of them had electricity at home and had to make the most of it, while the other was about to lose it. My aunt says they kept interrupting each other every two minutes, saying they had to leave because the power was about to go out—or because it had just come back and there were things they needed to do immediately. There was no postponing.
This dreadful schedule in our homes goes like this: from 6:00 a.m. to 12:00 p.m., we have electricity. From 12:00 p.m. to 6:00 p.m., it’s gone. Then it comes back from 6:00 p.m. to midnight. And here’s where the worst begins: one night you sleep poorly, and the next you don’t sleep at all—at least in my experience. It’s hard on everyone, though maybe not so much for those who take drugs, drink, pop pills… or who can fall asleep and have mosquito nets. I don’t know.
A neighbor and I were talking about how we both wake up at three in the morning, because that’s when the power either goes out or comes back. Most likely, you’ll wake when it’s taken away—or you’ll lie there waiting for it to return, starting three hours earlier when it was cut. You might get a little sleep, if you don’t lie awake. Getting real rest? That’s a different story, and not something you can count on.
This has been going on for months now, months that feel like centuries. There’s also the constant tension that bedtime might come and the fan won’t work (hardly anyone has AC), because the power hasn’t returned. Even a 20-minute blackout feels terrifying. It might mean a broken transformer on the street, or some failure in some distant place they explain but you don’t understand—and it always leads to distress.
Powerless in the face of so much disorder, people often end up feeling defeated. Once we went more than 72 hours without electricity across the whole country. You had to summon patience and composure. It’s best not to think about what that experience must be like with small children, newborns, the sick, bedridden people, and so many others whose stories we’ll never hear.
Of course, there are always worse cases! For instance, places like Camagüey, where there’s no blackout schedule at all. Everything turns into chaos when it comes to doing anything at home—or outside. Something as simple as cooking becomes a challenge. Let’s not forget that gas hasn’t been, and still isn’t, an option for the entire population. Many more people cook with electric burners, and when there’s no power, they have to switch to charcoal or firewood—if they live somewhere that even allows for that. Otherwise, it goes from difficult to tragic.
There are days when you wake up feeling like you’ve been beaten. Or like you’re sick and coming down with a virus. Your muscles feel weak, you feel unwell, and there’s no obvious remedy. The strongest carry on with the tasks they couldn’t finish the day before. Others—like me—simply can’t.
A friend was kind enough to tell me about a plant that could help me sleep better, even amid this ordeal. The government shows no sign of having any solution. My friend warned me the plant is hallucinogenic, so I shouldn’t use too many of its leaves. But even the dried stalk can help. He says it’s a blessing in situations like this. I’m going to go look for it. If it works, I’ll share it with everyone in the house and with a few friends.
Still, we believe we can’t go on like this for much longer. We feel a flicker of hope whenever we hear news of protests here, there, and everywhere. Because those protests mean many things at once. We trust that pressure is necessary for a government so used to blind obedience from the men and women it rules over.
And this is no small matter for a people who have endured so many disasters in every aspect of life, and for so long.