Author: Rebeca Monzo

The Tagline, Putative Mother of Censorship / Rebeca Monzo

It all started very early, at the beginning of the seventies. Soon the Maximum figures of the triumph of the ’fifty-nine revolution, realized that they if they wanted to install themselves in power, firmly and indefinitely, they are going to have to take over the mass media of communication, in the then flat press, radio and television.

Soon the pressure started on the major newspapers in the country, still with their current owners. Then came the infamous “tagline,” a kind of explanatory note, that accompanied the news that the regime considered it ideologically dangerous, and it was imposed, supposedly, in the name of the workers of the daily in question (although no one ever consulted them). This was the apparently “innocent” but the germ of the iron censorship that would come next, and that continues to the present day.

That’s why the congresses of the UPEC (Union of Journalists of Cuba) are very striking, an organization created to replace the previous association of journalists and control and impose official criteria, where there are never inconsistencies, and the “suspicious unanimity” is which ensures all decisions taken in them. Always ignored in these meetings, are alternative journalism, civic and independent filmmakers whose creators are considered by the regime as “mercenaries of the empire.”

All this happens in a new universal context, where technology is almost uncontrollable by dictatorial regimes that still persist in controlling the mass media. That is why it is extremely sad and old-fashioned to talk about journalism in a country like Cuba, where Internet access is still very restricted and controlled by the government, as is the acquisition of foreign newspapers and magazines, and the possibility of listening to short wave radio without interference, to certain specific news programs about our country.

All this makes it increasingly difficult for the vast majority of the population, immersed in the tasks of survival, to know the reality in which we live. We hope some day soon to rescue our country and our culture, a free press, like that when Cuban had true masters in this important and beautiful craft.

15 July 2013

International Arbor Day / Rebeca Monzo

On the street where I live, a couple of months ago, the last tree that gave shade fell at the hands of a neighbor. It has been attacked on several occasions by this character. On one occasion, the girth of the trunk was split by a circle made around it, with the aim of keeping the sap from circulating and thus killing it. Horrified, I started phoning all entities responsible for the environment, for help. I called an office and was given the phone number of another, arguing that they did not address these issues and so on.

After communicating with a half-dozen different phone numbers, I found the company that took care of the green areas. They said they only thing they could do was to fine the aggressor 150 Cuban pesos (the equivalent of 6.00 dollars), but they could not save the tree. Outraged I tried my own methods to avoid its death. To do this, I took damp soil from around and very carefully made a kind of plaster around the trunk covering the wound with strips of canvas, like a bandage. Every day I went down to moisten the damaged area and pour plenty of water on the roots.

Some days passed and the tree began to recover and resumed its green leaves. I had saved it! But again the neighbor insistence reappeared to liquidate it. This time the deadly weapon it was oil poured on its roots, with the clear intention of drying it up.

Still, the tree survived, because the sap continued to circulate in the face of the trunk that was outside the scope of the predator. But, weakened as it was at the other extreme, it later fell on the perimeter fence, causing major damage to it and blocking the sidewalk as it leaned towards the pavement. The perpetrator of this disaster that sought out the Electricity Company, which was doing repair work in the vicinity, which came to cut it, because the tree also affected a cable that damaged his home.

This tree could have been saved with tension wires pulling it back into position, but this would have to have been in a civilized and thus organized country, where institutions exist that concern themselves with protecting trees, not in ours.

This, simply, was chopped with a machete and left in the same dangerous position. After several days, a brigade from the same company came, but this time equipped with an electric saw to cut it into pieces. As always, they only took away the large pieces of the trunk, leaving lots of branches and leaves scattered on the sidewalk, blocking the crosswalk: One tree less in a country where the sun beats on all of us equally. No one else can take shelter in its shade.

It is pitiful to watch how each day a growing number of trees are indiscriminately “killed” either by the residents or by companies not responsible for the care and maintenance of the green areas. The amazing thing about all this is that, even though the media in our country talks a lot about the environment and there are even television programs devoted to it and its conservation, there is actually no official place where one can go. We need to have the conditions and the power and resources necessary to enforce measures to protect flora and fauna.

The irony is that at this very moment, in session in the Palace of Conventions, Ninth Environment Symposium is being held. The protection and care taken for flora and fauna by the government and citizens should be indices that are taken into account by international organizations to measure the culture of a country.

11 July 2013

Loss of Ethical Values / Rebeca Monzo

“We have painfully perceived, for more than 20 years of the Special Period, the increasing deterioration of moral and civic values like honesty, decency, shame, decorum, honor and sensitivity to the problems of others.”

So reads one of the paragraphs of Raul Castro’s discourse before the Cuban parliament, published today, Tuesday, July 9 in the daily Rebel Youth.

I ask myself, why did he have to wait more than 20 years to put the brakes on a situation that was already noticeable and perceived to be worsening?

At this point the social indiscipline and human deterioration is almost uncontrollable. There are many factors that have influenced it and they were known by all. The fragmentation of the Cuban family, product of the political confrontations and political estrangement among their members, many times imposed by the regime itself, is perhaps the crux of all the subsequent social misfortune. The family was always considered and in fact is the fundamental social nucleus of a nation.

The misconduct of the marginalized, like screaming loudly in the middle of the street, the use of obscene words and the vulgarity of speech, have been present in our daily lives. Television, one of the most influential of the mass media, also has contributed to exposing all kinds of vulgarities and mediocrities, in terms of image and vocabulary.

Throwing trash in public roadways, as well as indulging physiological needs in streets and parks, is something now of daily routine and are acts that are carried out before the indolence and apathy of observers, maybe for fear of being verbally or physically assaulted by the actor himself if attention is called.  Walk in the morning through the old Asturian Center, now a museum, and you will be horrified to have to move away from the doorways by the strong odor of urine that these emanate.

With respect to the increased consumption of alcoholic beverages by the populace, their indiscriminate sale in almost all the state establishments from early hours is noteworthy, being that the only one responsible is the State itself.  It is a shame to see in any state business, very neglected and rundown, a little table dragged to the middle of the sidewalk for the sale of rum, so that the pedestrian does not have to bother entering the place in question to drink.

As far as the abuse of the school uniform, generally the teachers themselves have given the bad example, dressing inadequately to stand in front of a student body and make themselves respected teaching a class.  All of this of course has been a product of the bad training of many teachers, the prolonged shortage of clothes for sale, the low salaries and the transportation difficulties, which has brought about having to use a kind of clothing that does not impede climbing into a truck or hanging from the platform of a bus.

Nevertheless, barely hours after publishing the discourse in question, a friend of ours was an eyewitness to an event in the farmer’s market at 17th and K streets, in Vedado, when a young man came running and tripped and almost fell on an elderly woman, who sells plastic bags at the exit of said establishment.

She, feeling battered, uttered one of the most gross curses, “now so in fashion,” which begins with “P.”  Then out of nowhere came another man, also young, dressed in plainclothes, who immediately asked for the woman’s identity card, in order to impose a fine of 200 pesos, not for selling bags (which is considered a crime), but for the “curse.”

The woman began to cry living tears, explaining that she was retired and hypertensive, that she had no money, etc.  When the young man in plainclothes saw that those present began to encircle them, he told the vendor that “this time he was going to pardon the fine,” but instead he was going to “draw up” a warning.  This made the woman burst into tears again, before the astonished gaze of all those present, who daily often utter these curse words and others even stronger, before the indifference of everyone.

Translated by mlk

9 July 2013

The Battle for Tres Leches / Rebeca Monzo

Among the reasons for the government’s move to increase the number of licenses for self-employment is the need to provide employment opportunities in the private sector for the large number of workers who have lost their jobs due to the massive reduction in national labor force. As a result paladares, or private restaurants, have sprung up and with them a new trend heretofore unknown in our country’s food scene: the dulce de tres leches.*

For many years the lack of  information and reference sources in almost all sectors of the economy and society led Cubans into a type of “creative hibernation.” Often someone would copy something, the idea for which had come “from outside.” If it turned out well, everyone would then want to copy it too.

Gastronomy has not been completely immune from this phenomenon. These days every paladar has a dessert menu featuring “French pastry.” This in a country which for many years had seen this specialty slowly “dying out” due to the rise of private businesses and low productivity of state enterprises. Milk, butter, cheese, even sugar – essential ingredients for this type of cooking – have been rationed little by little almost to the point of extinction.

There are very few paladares – we could say almost none – that offer homemade baked goods. They seem to have been forgotten amid the guava, grapefruit and orange shells poached in syrup, the jams, custards, puddings… in other words the whole long list of sweet delicacies. Certainly, fruits and other ingredients for baking have also gone through long periods when they were in short supply, so these could well have served as alternatives.

One day a restaurant owner decided to offer a tall glass (the kind used for sundaes) filled with a small portion of sponge cake, a bit of condensed milk and a lot of meringue, and called it tres leches. Soon there were imitators. Some used sponge cake, also covered with meringue, but with the milk component barely noticeable. In more “creative” versions almonds and chocolate were added. Ultimately, everyone came up with his own version, but none came close to the original dessert from Nicaragua, which has become famous throughout all of Latin America.

This type of confection is expensive, sometimes costing more than an order of cannelloni or lasagna. For this reason it is, of course, not in great demand. I cannot understand why at this point restaurant owners have not been able to find solutions more in line with the range of possibilities and their customers’ budgets. This is the main weakness of almost all these successful businesses.

That is why I have allowed myself to make this brief analysis. For the benefit of those interested, I am also providing the original recipe for this contentious confection as well as the costs to produce it in this country.

Ingredients for one cake: 6 eggs, 2 cups sugar, 2 cups all-purpose flour, 3 teaspoons baking powder, 1/2 cup whole milk and 1 teaspoon vanilla.

Instructions: Reserve two tablespoons of sugar and set aside. Beat the egg yolks until light and lemon colored. Gradually add the remaining sugar and vanilla, and beat until incorporated. Add flour and baking powder and beat until incorporated. Gradually add milk, and beat until incorporated. In a separate bowl beat the egg whites until frothy. Add reserved sugar and continue beating until stiff peaks form. Gently fold egg whites into the egg yolk mixture. Turn batter into a prepared cake pan and bake in a pre-heated oven at 350 degrees for 45 minutes.

Assembly: To finish the tres leches, mix one and a half cans of the condensed milk with an equal amount of evaporated milk. Add one container of cream. Poke holes in the top of the cake with a skewer and pour the mixture on top. To make the meringue topping, beat six egg whites to form stiff peaks. In a saucepan add two cups of sugar and one cup of water. Bring to boil and heat to the soft-ball stage. Gradually pour the hot syrup into the egg whites, beating constantly. Beat the meringue until cool. Spread meringue over the cake. Cut and serve.

Prices for the main ingredients in Cuba, where the average monthly salary is 20.00 CUC,** are as follows:

A can of condensed milk, 1.20 CUC

A can of evaporated milk, 1.30 CUC

A small container of cream, 1.50 CUC

1 kilo of flour, 1.20 CUC

Eggs, 1.50 Cuban pesos (the so-called national currency) apiece.

Note: 1 CUC = US$0.85

*Translator’s note: Literally, a three-milk cake, so-called because it is made with three different milk products: whole milk or cream, evaporated milk and sweetened condensed milk.

**Cuba has two currencies in circulation: the Cuba peso, or moneda nacional, in which salaries are paid, and the CUC, a convertible currency pegged to the U.S. dollar. Increasingly, essential consumer goods can often only be purchased at government-run hard currency stores with CUCs. Most Cubans with access to hard currency obtain it through cash remittances from relatives overseas.

30 June 2013

Afraid of Change / Rebeca Monzo

In close circles of friends there has been a lot of conversation recently about the slow, almost imperceptible changes announced by the government. What is certainly clear is that soto voce, almost secretly, there is some perceived movement — a hint that “something is up” — out of view, as usual, of the public.

The government is experiencing a never-before-seen crisis. The Cuban economy is virtually non-existent. The country produces no wealth and the hope placed in the government of neighboring Venezuela is fading away along with Chavism, like a mirage in the middle of the desert just as one is about to die of thirst. Our only options lie in the north, not the south.

Are we ready for change? Not as I see it. As an uninformed and isolated people we have waited for solutions to come “from outside.” Many people, perhaps a majority, fear the unknown. On the other hand the daily struggle to survive leaves almost no opportunity for analytical thought.

During the last fifty-four years they have been scaring us with the threat of “the enemy in front.” It is an invention used by the government to paralyze private initiative. It is an attempt to make us complacent—into a people without expectations, always searching for food, blaming all our problems on the so-called blockade, which is itself is clearly on a path to extinction also.

Now that there is a subtle hint that “something is up” with the neighbor in front, instead of being happy, many are terrified and even believe that this is going to turn into a “move out of the way; I’m moving in”* situation. We should never have allowed ourselves be manipulated to such a great extent when in reality the United States has always been our natural market.

A neighbor, whom I consider to be a wonderful person, told me that what he really fears is “what will become of us, the opposition, when it happens.”

We will keep writing, I told him, pointing out what is wrong, come what may. Then our inventiveness and creativity will be given free reign. At the very least we will have equal opportunity. We will regain our freedom as individuals and with it our free will.

An architect, for whom I have great appreciation, shared with me her concerns about the changes. “Those of us who stayed behind and put up with everything are not even going to have a penny in our pockets, while those from over there are going to come in with money to invest,” she said.

“Look,” I told her, “we are the ones who are to blame for accepting everything without complaint. And when it comes to those who are going to come here with money, I do not mind at all; quite the opposite, I am glad. Besides, many of those who are coming to invest their capital are Cubans, or their descendants, from whom the government stripped everything away, and who recovered economically with their sacrifice, intelligence or good luck. That will be good for everyone.”

I believe that now is the time to smooth over political differences and be pragmatic. In many cases this will mean having to “pick ourselves up” and start over without bitterness. To forgive but not to forget, letting the appropriate authorities pass judgement on criminal cases perpetrated against human dignity, which must not go unpunished. Apart from that, we must try to contribute our own grain of sand in the rebuilding of our country and putting it on the path of development in the XXI century.

*Translator’s note: In the original Spanish this is, Quítate tú para ponerme yo, a Cuban expression and title of a popular song.

27 June 2013

Paradise for Cats / Rebeca Monzo

Mitsukusú

I’m not addicted to television, I’m not even an assiduous spectator of the small screen. Rather, I have a kind of monitor, to see the shows, almost all American of course, that I rent at a video stand. The only channel where I sometimes see interesting programs, “all canned” and “by chance made in USA,” is channel 33 which still, thank God, has not been ideologically contaminated.

Just a couple of days ago, in the morning, I was looking for a program that interests me but that I never see because of the schedule, at that time I’m just finishing breakfast, I lock myself in my workshop to listen to music and do some work until 11:00 in the morning, the time I go to the kitchen to “invent” our daily dish. By change I put on an old channel and fell in love with some beautiful cats who just then were being shown on the screen. The program grabbed me and I watched to the end, leaving me an immense desire to go tot Key West, or Cayo Hueso as we call it in Cuba.

Wampy

I’m a cat person, I confess, I love all animals, except cockroaches and black moths (tataguas), but I have a special weakness for domestic cats. In fact I have two and feed a third. Usually I succumb before their sweet gaze.

The program in question was about the life of these animals in this little paradise, where there is a ratio of four cats per person and not all of them necessarily live in houses: some are shared with humans in hotels and restaurants. All are well fed and receive veterinary care. Some are operated to control reproduction. But what caught my attention, as I am a reader and admirer of Hemingway, is the care and devotion they give to the descendants of his beloved cats,in what was one of his most important residences.

I was captivated by those with six toes, with the effort and dedication to maintain their race and especially with how healthy they look. I think that if I ever visit this beautiful key, where in addition is nicely marked the area closest to our country, “the famous 90 miles,” it will cost me a great deal of effort to resist the temptation to get myself one of these beautiful animals.

Hopefully some day the culture in our country will also contemplate the care of animals and plants, and be known not just for its concerts and ballets. Of course, to get there they would first have to restore all the individual rights and free will of its citizens, lost during these more than fifty years.

23 June 2013

Throwing Out the Sofa / Rebeca Monzo

Again, the education sector is marred by scandal: the theft and sale of the questions for the eleventh grade exams. Apparently all or most of the municipalities of Havana are involved in this crime.

It is not the first time this has happened, and the media haven’t reported it. As usual, the news comes through the students and their parents, close to us, almost always neighbors, who have been affected by these events.

There have been meetings between the teachers and the parents of the students involved in the various schools, and the approach of the teaching profession, in my view, is not the most correct, and far from effective: “Don’t give your children so they can’t buy the exams.” This reminds me of the famous story of the cuckolded husband who comes home and sees his wife snuggling on the sofa with her lover and, enraged, decides to throw out the sofa.

Once more, they want to suppress the effects without deeply analyzing  the causes. This has been happening in our schools for many years. It’s not news to anyone, but the State continues to pretend that does not happen, and continues to offer very favorable statistical figures to United Nations whose officials disseminate the information without taking the effort to verify it.

It is more or less the same policy used by public employees in our country: “The State pretends to pay me and I pretend to work.”

As long as the Ministry of Education does not decide to end this fraud once and for all and demand accountability at all levels, this situation will repeat itself and the quality and prestige of education in Cuba will continue to decrease.

According to popular comments, too widespread not to be true, even the University hasn’t escapes this scandal. It is said that they have been forced to send the entrance exams under guard by the TrasVal (“transfer of values”) Company, which until recently was used, as its name implies, to guard considerable sums of money and other things of value.

If we “throw out the sofa”* and don’t denounce these irregularities and crimes, we would be contributing with our silence even more to the “downward spiral” into the abyss, to something as important and precious as education and its prestige. We remember that mistakes in this sector are paid for over the long-term, when there is virtually no solution.

*Translator’s note: A common Cuban expression that comes from the following joke: A man comes home to find his wife and her lover having sex on the sofa. Enraged, he throws the sofa out the window.

21 June 2013

Neighborhood Decline / Rebeca Monzo

Photo: Peter Deel

Much has been written about the deterioration of Havana and other cities throughout the width and breadth of the country, and I can assure you that nothing has been exaggerated. One need only to take a quick stroll through any Havana neighborhood such as such as Víbora, Santo Suárez, Casino Deportivo, Fontanar, Altahabana, Nuevo Vedado, to name but a few — neighborhoods which had previously been occupied largely by working, middle and upper class families, by professionals and by radio and TV personalities — to witness the rampant decay.

Early in the morning, in the entryways of every residence, one used to be able to see bottles of milk, bread hanging from grillwork or placed on a windowsill, and newspapers. It was just part of the everyday scene. It never occurred to anyone to violate the privacy of those homes by taking one of those items, even though they were so close-at-hand.

Property owners, pressured by the impact and scourge of the drastic changes which occurred in 1959, decided to leave the country and, thus, had to abandon their homes. These houses, often completely furnished, were “handed over” to the “new occupants,” who had no prior relationship to the properties and had sacrificed nothing in their construction.

As a result the social make-up of the neighborhoods began to change and with it their physical characteristics. Therefore, it should come as no surprise that in any given area one has to put up with music from audio systems turned to full volume, vulgar shouting and language from people screaming “at the top of their lungs,” trespassing through gardens as well as men and boys brazenly leaning against walls or entering buildings to urinate in full view, even in the bright light of day. Then there are the candy wrappers, empty packaging, soft drink cans and other refuse which, because of the absence of trash cans at curbs, are thrown carelessly into the middle public thoroughfares.

And that is not the worst of it. There are things more terrible that wound the sensibilities and provide extremely unpleasant spectacles that can be observed or overheard by anyone, even children. These include animal sacrifices performed in public or within view or earshot of neighbors and intended as an “offering to the deities” in the hopes of “helping to solve a problem.” One of these was recently carried out in the patio of a house here in the middle of Nuevo Vedado for a neighbor who is under investigation for the crime of embezzling public resources. There are also the tiresome “drumming sessions” that sometimes last till dawn.

I certainly agree that everyone should be allowed to profess his or her religion as he or she sees fit; that is a basic human right. But I do not agree that the practice of rituals and ceremonies should be allowed to disrupt the tranquility and order of a neighborhood. And I categorically disagree with the indiscriminate slaughter and torture of animals for these or any other reasons. When it comes to the sacrifice of animals for human consumption, day by day the civilized world looks for ever better methods that might reduce their suffering to a minimum.

I watch with sadness as day by day this beautiful city continues to lose the beauty for it was previously famous, as it is made ugly by uncontrolled architectural alterations and social behaviors that are unrelated to the traditions, unique architecture and good customs of the past — those things that allowed for harmonious co-existence.

18 June 2013

The Embargo or the Never Ending Story / Rebeca Monzo

In recent days many of us have been having friendly conversations and discussions about the famous embargo. Some are in favor of lifting it, others for keeping it in place.

What seems to have been forgotten by everyone, or almost everyone, is the actual reason for its existence. Faulty memories and the many decades of its enforcement have sometimes caused us to forget why it was originally imposed by the U.S. government.

Very often we cite the embargo as the reason for all our troubles. I do not see it this way. The real cause of our problems lies with ourselves. It is always easier to blame one thing or another, even though we have had five decades to create mechanisms to counteract its effects, yet have not done so.

What most people do not realize, because the media never mentions it, is that at the time this measure was imposed as a response by the U.S. government to the interference in and appropriation of American businesses and properties on the island by the “revolutionary government” without any sort of compensation, just as it had done with the assets of thousands of Cubans.

Over the years the embargo has clearly been loosened, or “softened” as they like to say. Because of a strong hurricane that caused much damage in all of Cuba’s provinces, several years ago the United States lifted the restrictions on the export of food and medicine with the goal of helping the island’s population. But everyone knows that most of this food ended up for sale in hard currency stores. The same thing happened with medicine, which can only be obtained in certain pharmacies for hard currency, and not the currency in which the Cubans’ salaries and pensions are paid. Similarly, cultural exchanges have been reinstated which previously had been suspended due to the summary execution of three adolescents who tried to commandeer a ferry boat in Havana’s harbor a decade ago. This exchange remains ongoing.

During all these years the island’s government has given no indication that it might demonstrate a sincere willingness to have the embargo lifted. As we all know quite well that, on those occasions when a possible lifting is discernible, the Cuban government has responded with extreme actions such as the shooting down of aircraft operated by Brothers to the Rescue. Such actions make it clear that the “blockade,” as it referred to in official circles, is no more than a fig leaf to cover up its inefficient economic policies.

I am of the opinion that, in order to arrive at fair agreement, both parties have to come to the table with two “suitcases” — one to give and one to receive. Until that happens, this matter will go on interminably, like the old “story that never ends.”

15 June 2013

High Statistical Indices / Rebeca Monzo

Talking with some Colombian teachers were sightseeing in “my world,” they mentioned to me the magnificent statistical indices that we had in education and health. I, of course, I clarified that these figures were released by the government, unchallenged by any counterpart within the country, which allowed it to present them as unquestionable.

I explained to them, from my own experience when working in central agencies, how these figures were manipulated and made to respond to politics and not to reality. That despite having honest data issued by the various ministries, they were adjusted according to the guidelines from “above”, a euphemism by which they call the “high command” that is the maximum leader.

With regards to education, I informed them about some fairly common crimes  perpetrated by students and teachers from different schools, such as fraud, extortion, selling tests and even drug possession and distribution, as well someone related by blood. I explained that, as nothing is reported in the media, the sole owner of this being the State, it seems as if they never happened. Everything is handled with great secrecy, despite which, they reach the population via the students themselves, children of neighbors and friends.

I also offered them some related experiences, very stressful situations with respect to hospitals and health clinics, such as that of poisoning by a careless Fajardo hospital employee a few years ago, which led to the death of seven patients. Or our neighbor Carlos, who died on a table in the April 19 Polyclinic , waiting to be treated by a doctor or other health professional, to name a few examples.

I also explained about the long “wait lists” to have surgery, unless a doctor was a relative or close friend, who could deal with “moving your paperwork along.” All this, not to mention that most prescription drugs are unavailable or can be acquired only in hard currency at certain pharmacies or on the black market.

The sad thing about all these situations, which occur of course in some other countries, not just ours, is that here there is no life insurance, victims of medical errors are not compensated, and worst of all is that by failing to reflect these events in press or in reports issued by the health center, it appears that none of this happens. Therefore, our statistical indices for higher education and health are the best in the region.

12 June 2013

Coca-Cola Here / Rebeca Monzo

A few years ago, passing by with my friend in her car, I suddenly saw out the window, in the middle of some trash, something red that caught my attention.

“Stop! Stop!” I told her.

She, ignoring my “almost order,” pulled to the curb and stopped.

I quickly got out of the car and went to the place where the neighbors had inappropriately accumulated right on the parking strip a mountain of trash. Standing out from among the rubble I saw an old metal sign printed with the fire of Coca-Cola. I took it out of the trash and put it in the trunk of the car.

When we got home, I washed it off and saw that in one corner it said, “Made in Canada 1950.” With the notice displayed on both sides, I imagined it had belonged to one of the thousands of bodegas throughout the city, hung on the corner so it could be seen from both sides. Without hesitating, I put it on my terrace overlooking the street, in the same way, to be seen from inside and outside. So it has remained since.

A few days ago, the street door open to enter the building, some kids came up and knocked on my door: “Lady, we want to buy a soda. You have a sign that says Coca Cola here at 5 cents.”

Look, I said to them, first I don’t sell sodas, but in addition, if I did sell Coca-Cola and at 5 cents, you would have to ask me if I had been medically certified, because for sure I would be crazy.

9 June 2013

Yurisdislaidis’ Fifteenth Birthday / Rebeca Monzo


After a disastrous first marriage which bore no “fruits,” Isabel — a slim, young brunette — met a young laborer with whom she fell hopelessly in love. They decided to become a couple almost on the first date. From this “explosive union” a child was born, whom they named Yurisdislaidis because compound names and those with the letter Y were very fashionable at that time.

All her life Isabel had dreamed of having a daughter whom she could “dress up” and shower with affection. After giving birth, she firmly resolved to stash away part of the money she earned as an at-home manicurist in a clay jar that had belonged to her grandmother. She left it in the care of her mother, who did not trust banks. Every week Isabel fattened the jar, depositing part of her earnings in it.

Meanwhile, her selfless husband was using the old Oldsmobile he had inherited from his father as a taxi. He was taking his chances, doing it “on the side,” since he was never able to obtain a license. By redoubling his efforts, he drove more routes than his malnourished body could stand, all in the hopes of bringing home some extra money so that his wife would not have to work so hard or “touch her little savings account.”

They made these sacrifices and many others perhaps not worth mentioning, including foregoing the eighty grams of daily bread allotted to each member of a nuclear family in the ration book, which they gave to the little girl. She got one for breakfast, another for her school snack — filled or topped with whatever they could get their hands on at any given moment — and another to accompany a café con leche which she had before going to bed. This is how Yurisdislaidis grew up, eventually becoming a lovely young lady.

There was still a year to go before the her fifteenth birthday, and the family had already put together a trousseau for the much anticipated celebration. They still had to find a suitable pair of shoes for the occasion, a make-up artist and a photographer.

It was then that Demesio, the father of Yuris — curiously, this is what he called the child, perhaps because it was too much effort even for them to call her by her full name — began working as a mechanic, fixing his neighbors’ broken cars. It was a skill he had learned the hard way over many years by fixing his own car after driving it through Havana’s pothole-filled streets and avenues. All this caused his health to deteriorate, making him look older than he really was.

Isabel’s eyes fill with tears as she describes the unforgettable day in which her beloved husband arrived home exhausted but joyful, “with a smile from ear to ear” and his face glowing with emotion. He was carrying a package in his arms which he laid at her feet as though it were an offering to a goddess. It was a brand-new pair of white shoes with high heels and two shiny buckles as the only ornamentation. A regular client, who was aware of his troubles, had provided them as a gift for his daughter. Now she only needed to find a modern photographer with good taste since she was already getting the make-up artist — a charming gay man, who was the brother of one of her clients — for free. Everything “was set!”

Finally, the long-awaited day arrived. The local Committee for the Defense of the Revolution and the neighbors on the block were all excited, watching the comings and goings of strangers entering and leaving Isabel’s house. It was a big event. From the early morning hours music blared at full volume, alternating with the voices those present, screaming to be heard. These were the friends who had come to clean and decorate the house. In the main room there was still the portrait of the former lady of the house, as always with flowers, who had the foresight to will the place to Isabel, her former employee, legally leaving it to her as an act of gratitude for having been her companion and caregiver after her entire family had decided to leave the country. She had stayed behind because she wanted to die in Cuba.

The first to arrive that day was Francisco, the make-up artist, followed by the lady who was providing the various outfits for the photo shoot. When the birthday girl was finally ready, the young photographer arrived. A stunning 1950s convertible belonging to one of her father’s friends was parked in front of the house, waiting to drive Yurisdislaidis to the Plaza de San Francisco in front of the Chamber of Commerce building. She was dressed in a distinctive costume like those from the Cuban soap opera, Las Huérfanas de la Obra Pía — with parasol and all the other 19th century accessories — to have her picture taken among the pigeons and recently restored historical buildings. Behind Yuris was an entire entourage, darting to the various locations chosen by the photographer. They were the make-up guy, the costume lady, the camera man with his tripod slung over his shoulder and her mother carrying baskets filled with artificial flowers, shoes on loan, wigs of one sort or another, and head ornaments for her beloved daughter.

After returning home, a few “more artistic” photos were taken. These showed her peeking from behind a shower curtain, exposing a bare thigh, pretending to fall down head first with her legs strategically placed above her, coming down the stairway, carrying a hat and suitcase as though she were on a trip, and so forth. These were to fill an album which she would later proudly show to relatives, friends and teachers at her school.

From what I was able to find out later from some neighbors, the party was “over the top.” Beer and rum flowed freely. There were fish croquettes, pastry hors d’oeuvres, cold macaroni salad and guayaba tartlettes, all provided by some friends. Afterwards, they served a big pink cake decorated with flowers and fifteen candles — the kind that  do not go out when you blow them — procured by someone who “had come from far away.” The extravaganza ended at dawn, when there was nothing left to eat or drink. To this day people in the neighborhood still talk about it.

Only a couple of years later I happened to run into Isabel, noticing how much older and thinner she looked that usual. When I asked about Yuris, she made an attempt to smile. “She’s fine,” said Isabel, “but she wants to quit school because she says she does not feel motivated. So I am still struggling, trying to fill up the clay jar again. My daughter has now gotten it into her head that she has to be made a saint!”*

*Translator’s note: Kari Ocha, or “to be made a saint,” is an initiation ritual of Santería, an Afro-Cuban religion, and can cost as much as $800 if you are Cuban, and significantly more if you are from overseas.

6 June 2013

That’s Socialism For You / Rebeca Monzo

This morning I went with my friend Magy to buy some bananas and ingredients for us to make a nice salad. We stopped at the EJT (Ejército Juvenil del Trabajo or Youth Labor Force) farmers’ market. We did not find anything worthwhile but we did overhear a conversation between two quite elderly men we recognized from our neighborhood.

One was saying to the other, who was dressed in military fatigues and boots in spite of being well into retirement age, how expensive and bad Cuban-made cleaning liquid was. The one in boots, raising his voice so those of us present could hear, replied, “No, it’s good. I just bought some here, and it came sealed and everything.”

“Listen, don’t be blind,” the other one said. “They dilute this stuff at the factory. And instead of the three pesos it used to cost when it was good and thick, it now costs twenty-five. Don’t you realize they are robbing you?”

“O.K.,” said the one in boots. “It’s true, but they only steal so they can give it to you.”

The other gentleman, who could not contain himself after such an utterly idiotic remark, said, “Look, my friend, I don’t want anyone stealing anything for me, much less the state. It’s like when they tell us they are giving us health care and education for free. It’s just one more excuse and a fable no one believes anymore.”

In the midst of this my friend came over, took me by the arm and said, “Enough of this. I have something more interesting to show you.”

She led me past shelves to a pushcart vendor, who was selling some very attractive avocados and enormous bunches of bananas. As we were shopping, we saw an elderly lady coming towards us. She was carrying a transparent nylon bag. Inside was a pair of pink slippers, which looked to be quite nice. She approached us shyly, offering them to us for only five CUC.* Suddenly the boy who had been waiting on us grabbed her package, turned to us and said, “I saw them first. And, besides, they are my girlfriend’s size. So, sorry, ladies, but the slippers are mine.”

We left, “our sides splitting” with laughter, but not before having to wait for the vendor to buy the slippers from the poor lady, who also wanted to buy some produce, before completing our transaction. “That’s socialism for you!” I told my friend.

*Translator’s note: Five CUC is slightly more than five dollars US at the official exchange rate.

4 June 2013

Living Together Is an Artform / Rebeca Monzo

I have lived in Nuevo Vedado since I moved here in 1971, the result of a fortuitous permuta or house swap.* My new apartment is on the top floor of what was a modern three-story structure in 1958, built by a family who intended to live in it. The building has only three very spacious apartments, one per floor.

Faced with the abrupt changes that had occurred in the country and the unequivocal signals of “what was to come,” the original owners decided way back in 1960 to leave it all behind and move to the United States. After being “abandoned,” the building was sealed. It was located in what came to be called a “frozen zone,” like so many others in the city. These apartments were given to people who, for one reason or another, had ties to the regime.

A tailor who sewed things for “high-ranking government officials” and his wife moved into the first floor. On the second floor there was a historian for the Communist Party Central Committee and his family. On the third floor, where I currently live, were two members of the Ministry of the Interior and their two ill-behaved children, thanks to whom this opportunity arose and from which, by sheer luck, I benefitted. I traded them a lovely little cottage with a patio and garden, exactly what they were looking for, where their children could run free. The couple took care of all the paperwork so that the swap would take effect as quickly as possible.

Over time those who occupied the premises prior to 1959 began dying off, leaving the property to their descendants. In general these are young people who, it would seem, have little interest in the appearance or cleanliness of the building, only in their apartments’ interiors. As a result we have had to put up with many inconveniences in order to maintain the garden and hallways, as well as to keep the stairways clean.

Becuse of a water leak in his apartment over a year ago, our first-floor neighbor broke through the wall that faces the entry to the building, leaving a gaping hole that went unpatched for many weeks. After talking to him on several occasions about this matter and seeing that he was not about to fix it, my husband decided to cover it up with a piece of cardboard mounted on a stretcher for support. With leftover paint he found in the garage, he quickly simulated an abstract painting in a size large enough to cover the unattractive hole. This avoided giving a bad impression upon entering the building.

Anyway, just as Fernando was leaving the building today, a man was driving by in his car and saw part of the painting through the half-open doorway. He pulled over to the curb and, addressing my husband, said he was a buyer of paintings and old books.

“I am interested in that ’irregular’ old painting from the 1950s in the entryway,” the man told him.

Stifling his laughter, Fernando said, “The painting is indeed irregular, but it is not old, much less from the 1950s.”

A bit embarrassed, the man in question drove off and my husband nearly “died of laughter” as he told me the story.

*Translator’s note: Until recently a homeowner in Cuba who wanted to move could not sell their houses and buy another. They could only trade their homes for one of equal value in an exchange called a permuta.

26 May 2013