By Esther Zoza
HAVANA TIMES – I’m not sure if passing down kitchen utensils from generation to generation might seem surreal in other parts of the world, but in Cuba, it’s a form of heritage.
In my home, the pots, pans, and kettles belonged to the heroic women of my family. These were women who toughened their hands through hours of using scouring pads, sandpaper, and sharp knives. Hours of dedication spent scrubbing away layers of grease, convinced that their labor would be more gratifying for the family, and that they would save more kerosene, gas, or electricity.
They never imagined that 40 years later, my mother and I would be using the same pots, relics from a time when these magical kitchen items were produced with quality and were available in stores and hardware shops. Even less could they have imagined that we, like so many other Cubans, would need the skills of polishers.
Skills for which we pay between 100 to 200 pesos, depending on the level of grime.
One of the most respected and valued jobs among the people of Old Havana is that of a pot polisher. It’s a job that demands great concentration and skill. Being exposed to heat and fire just to meet basic needs tells us of the painful journey Cubans must endure to survive. It also speaks to the eternal inability of the State to stock markets with essential goods.
Convincing my mother to use the services of a polisher took her through an arduous process of introspection. It wasn’t easy for her to internalize that if there’s little food, how can they sell pots? In the end, reusing is the only option in the face of shortages.
Letting go of any trace of hope and entitlement. Giving the best of ourselves for the well-being and apparent comfort of the family, in a desperate attempt to live like human beings, and in doing so, contributing from our scarcity to the survival of others, this is just one of the many ways of living in today’s Cuba.
Read more from the diary of Ester Zoza aquí en Havana Times.
