By Fabiana del Valle
HAVANA TIMES – You open your eyes and realize that it’s not the sun that has woken you from your sleep. The persistent sound comes from the neighbor’s house and invades your room. “The saint has mounted her again,” (to attract blessings in Santeria) you think as you rub your eyes and look at the mobile screen, 5:10 am, today it started earlier.
Last night was a nightmare: the blackout, the mosquitoes buzzing like planes in your ear, and the sticky heat that clung to your skin like a second layer. You couldn’t sleep well, and now this.
The banging against the wall that divides the two houses doesn’t stop. “Thump, thump, thump,” the rhythm sinks into your head. The clinking of bead necklaces, a dry thud of something hitting the ground, the neighbor’s voice rises, singing in a language you don’t understand, resonating with an annoying intensity.
This isn’t the first time she’s done this; it’s practically a constant in all your awakenings, but today, you feel more irritable. The fatigue weighs on you as if you spent the night holding the Island in your arms.
Your husband stirs in bed. “Again?” he murmurs, half asleep. His voice is rough, filled with the same frustration you’re feeling. You nod with a sigh and listen. Now, there are quick, syncopated claps, the sound of something falling to the floor. Each noise irritates you more.
The ritual seems endless. The minutes drag on, and you wonder how much more you can stand. After what seems like an eternity, the silence arrives, abrupt, as if the neighborhood is holding its breath. Then, you hear the door slam. The neighbor has left, leaving behind the echo of her ceremony.
You get out of bed, the floor is cool beneath your bare feet. You head to the kitchen, determined to make coffee, something that will at least return a hint of normality. You turn on the electric stove, and just when the water starts to heat up, the power goes out. “Another blackout.” You stand there, staring at the coffee maker with a mix of anger and resignation. The morning coffee will have to wait.
The silence is now oppressive, and from the bedroom, your husband breaks it as he verbally unloads on all the communists. You sit at the kitchen table with your eyes closed and take a deep breath. This is Cuba, here, patience is a virtue we have to practice.
The heat is beginning to seep back in, and all you can think about is what you would give for a night of sleep without annoying neighbors or blackouts. You also wonder, because your tired brain wants to joke at that hour, if the neighbor’s saints could revive your coffee maker, or if they can help you with daily stress more effectively than a cup of coffee.
Maybe there’s a ritual that could help them get rid of the rulers, the dictators, the corrupt, and save the suffering people. You smile despite everything.
“Well, I’m not asking for much, I’d settle for a little caffeine and to be freed from this endless anguish.”
Read more from the diary of Fabiana del Valle here.
