Photo Feature by Idania Cardenas
HAVANA TIMES – On its streets, daily life flows to the rhythm of its people, who, despite economic difficulties and social challenges, maintain a resilience and contagious joy. In Cuba, nothing is thrown away; everything is repaired. That’s why, when you walk through its streets, you can find someone repairing a mattress right there on the sidewalk. People greet you, ask you to take their photo, strike up conversations, and often share their life stories with you.
A friend told me the other day:
“Every day in Cuba is 24 hours of full-on survival, stress, and meticulous planning—minute by minute, peso by peso, step by step. Not a single second goes unoccupied, even while sleeping. All of it is just to try and strike a delicate balance between surviving and maintaining a bit of sanity and mental health, because you need it.
You open the fridge—at least the power was on, so nothing spoiled. You check daily what’s left, what’s gone bad, and calculate how much it will cost to restock. The list isn’t long: chicken, sausages, and ground meat. If you’re lucky, you have all three; sometimes, you don’t. Sometimes the trio fails, and the US chicken—somehow still arriving despite the embargo—doesn’t make it to the ports, leaving you with the other two, or just one. That happens too.
‘Dad, are we sleeping with or without electricity tonight?’
Mom: ‘According to the doctoral theses your father has conducted—factoring in the number of people whose power has already been cut off today, the hours, the existing generation deficit, the full moon, and the guy who fell into the well—I have no idea. Here, you might sleep with power for three consecutive nights, only to go a week without it afterward, all under the same supposed daily deficit.’
Dad, that’s rough.
‘Uh-huh.’
And all you can say is “uh-huh” and let them vent, because even you aren’t fully aware of how much endurance a child in Cuba can have—drenched in sweat all night, only to wake up happy the next day and go to school or daycare with a joy that makes you wonder where the heck they get it from.
The phone rings.
Hurry, it’s the gas cylinder truck, and the whole neighborhood is out there. And so you go, after spending the entire morning and part of the afternoon in line, dealing with fights, human pettiness, listening to everyday stories as people vent about how bad things are—and you laugh.
Laughter is the only reason Cubans are still alive is their ability to dream, to keep hope alive, despite the many obstacles. You get home, turn on your phone, and start sharing memes. Everyone else is in the same boat as you, or worse, and you think, let’s share and brighten someone else’s day a little.
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