Living in Today’s Cuba
HAVANA TIMES – Life in Cuba has become very hard, with no hope for change for the better.
I have two friends, both over 80 years old. I visit them often and run a few errands for them because all their relatives live outside Cuba. As soon as I arrive at their home, they always find a way to make some tea with herbs from their yard—this time it was basil. We all know that what Cubans like to offer is coffee, but they can’t always do that, even though they receive a bit of help from abroad.
We sit down to drink tea, and the first thing they both tell me is that they’d rather be dead than go on living this life of extreme scarcity and need. They’re tired of the prices that go up every day and of the blackouts that grow harsher all the time. For them, it’s a kind of torture—they can’t bear it anymore. They tell me that when the power goes out at night, it feels like being in a tomb.
They thought their old age would be peaceful, that their needs would be taken care of. Now, with no hope of improvement, their pensions aren’t enough even to buy a bag of powdered milk. They’re both very modest in their tastes, and they both studied accounting and worked all their lives. One of my friends had planned her old age with her husband—they wanted to buy a little goat and take it out to graze, to enjoy its milk, because her husband was from the countryside and had always wanted to work the land. He planted fruit trees, medicinal herbs, and flowers in their yard because my friend loves them.
But when they moved to Havana, there was no time. What they did have was a shared plan for their retirement. They thought that with their simple pensions they’d have enough for what they needed.
None of it came true, because her husband went to visit some aunts in the United States—and stayed there. He never returned to Cuba, thinking that from there he’d be able to help them more. But that didn’t happen.
All my friend’s plans went away with her husband. She was deeply depressed but managed to recover because she’s a strong person. A few years later, her daughter left the country with her grandchildren—an even harder blow. Now, at 86, she tells me every time I visit that she doesn’t want to live anymore, that she’s tired of fighting and just wants to die.
Then there are my friends who smoke. We all know cigarettes are bad for your health, and many of them have seriously thought about quitting. But what’s happening right now in the land of tobacco is unbelievable but true: a pack of cigarettes has reached an outrageous price—500 to 600 Cuban pesos, unaffordable for someone living off a salary.
I ran into one smoking friend on the street with heart palpitations because he hadn’t been able to smoke all day. I invited him to my house and gave him one of the rationed cigarettes and a cup of coffee, since he hadn’t had any and had a headache from lack of caffeine. I gave him a few cigarettes as a gift, and he told me he doesn’t want to quit—he feels forced but not willing.
That’s how things are here. Since they don’t sell gas for cooking, many people walk along the coast where the river carries lots of driftwood—mangrove branches and pieces of old furniture that end up there. I have a friend who collects the wood to cook with firewood; all his pots are black with soot. He’s so tired of living like that—he says he’s living like the native people and can’t take it anymore. He’s retired too and once dreamed of a peaceful old age—another one who says he’d rather die than see his family go through so much misery and hunger.
These are some of the lives we’re living in my Cuba.