One Day in Havana!

This morning I wonder what Boris was thinking when he awoke to hear that Fidel Castro will stepping down as the President of Cuba.

Boris and I met in Cuba several years ago. I was there on business, and was there legally. I'm not using his real name, and I'm not going to go into details as to what my business was there, or what Boris did. Suffice to say, I was there legally, under license of the US Treasury Department, and Boris worked in a related industry.

You might be able to guess that Boris is a younger man. Boris as a name is not exactly Latin. His parents obviously felt some affinity to the Soviet Union, the mother country that propped Cuba up until the mother imploded, leaving only a lost child.

Boris talked freely about Cuba, and in front of others, and strangers. I wonder if I would have been so brave.

One day he took me to a small government run store, where those who had no access to the fledgling free enterprise that was grudgingly allowed, brought their vouchers for rice and beans and staples. The shelves were bare.

The way Boris explained it was that if the rice or beans were out, too bad. You came back the next day hoping it was. Or the next day after that.

I asked Boris once why he talked so openly about Castro and the failure of the Revolution. He shrugged, said he didn't care. Was not going to hide his frustration. Boris had started as a teacher, but had gotten into the tourism, and it payed nearly one hundred times per month what a teacher made. Or a doctor, for that matter. One day the Committee for the Defense of the Revolution came to him. These are the Communist Party (Oh, yes, there still is a Communist Party) snitches and apparatchiks who get special favors for making life miserable for their neighbors. There is a CDR house on just about every street.

The CDR lackeys wanted to know why Boris hadn't joined the Communist Party. He was 30 years old, after all.

His answer? He was too busy showing the French, English, German and legal and illegal United States' visitors around.

He was too busy being a capitalist to be a communist, I asked.

Boris told me about life in Cuba. You couldn't own a home. The state --Fidel -- provided it to you. It was awarded on a lottery basis. It sometimes took years. And when you got your housing it wasn't free and it wasn't convenient. If the house opened up on the north side of Havana, and you lived south, too bad. Don't be ungrateful. Mostly you couldn't own a car. The left over Soviet Trabants were little black bread boxes on wheels. Nothing like the US cars from the 1940s and 1950s that were still powering up and down the Malacone, Havana Bay in the background. These old dinosaurs passed right below a sign on that famous drive telling the Yankee Imperialists to stay home, and that the People were victorious.

Boris told me about the three successes of the Revolution: education, health care and sports.

He told me the three failures of the Revolution: breakfast, lunch and dinner.

I wonder if Boris is thinking that Fidel's replacement, Raoul, will be the new boss same as the old boss.

I'd email Boris, but it's tricky. He is one of the few with access to the internet, but who reads what?

Always questions in Cuba.

But the music of Cuba is magic and so are the people.

They can fix anything, including 50 and 60 year old American cars.

They can fix Castro's mess too.

Eventually. Hopefully. Soon.

Cuba Libre!