Cubans accept, adapt to their iron-hard lives
By Frank Barnako
HAVANA, Cuba — It's as if this city has been preserved in amber.
Little appears to have changed in Cuba's capital since Fidel Castro took
power in January 1959. The city's gorgeous but decaying
Spanish-influenced colonial architecture casts shade on the streets of
Old Havana.
General Motors dinosaurs of the '40s and '50s roam the plazas in search
of visitors to taxi to the Hotel Nacional de Cuba, from which the Mafia
ran the city in the old days.
Whether parked in front of high-end hotels or up on blocks on the side
streets of Old Havana, the hundreds of midcentury Chevys, Buicks and
Plymouths can't help but jolt American visitors of a certain age into
memoryland.
It's not that the climate of Cuba is so mild that the cars don't rust
out, because they do. But, since Fidel's victory, Cubans have been
forbidden to buy new cars. So the streets are full of pre-'60s iron —
some of them looking showroom-new, some of them flaking and rattling.
But all of them valuable because they are already here.
There has been change.
Cubans' standard of living has deteriorated, thanks to the communist
government and the U.S. trade embargo, and the disappearance of the
Soviet Union's economic aid. Hundreds of thousands of Cubans live in
substandard free housing. They line up to receive government rations of
chicken, rice and even sugar.
The postal service is slow, expensive and unreliable. Home telephones
are all but nonexistent. Internet access is severely restricted and
mostly reserved for the government and the tourist hotels. On the
street, even a casual conversation can prompt a Cuban's criticism of
Fidel and the government. This is Cuba today. See photos of daily life
in Cuba.
The monthly rations are distributed in small, neighborhood shops. People
line up 10 or 15 deep for their allocations of beans, eggs, a chicken,
coffee and rice. Well-worn blackboards propped in the corners of the
store guide families' "shopping'' and menu planning. Even toilet paper
appears to be in short supply, evidenced by the well-dressed woman
walking down a street tightly holding on to a roll.
In January, government ration books stopped covering "personal
cleanliness products," the Associated Press reported. The price of a bar
of soap rose from 8 cents U.S. to 56 cents; toothpaste went from 20
cents to 88 cents, according to media reports. These are not small
increases in a country where government employees are paid $8 to $20 a
month.
Accept and adapt
In typical fashion, however, Cubans accept and adapt. Elias Conde, a
father of two who works in a cafeteria, told the Associated Press,
"We're used to them taking things away. Tomorrow it'll be something else."
You might ask how Cubans can live with this. The easy answer is, they
have no choice. They are resigned. With a median age of 38 years
according to the CIA, a great deal of the country has known things only
the way they are. It's always been this way.
Which brings us to Almando and Carlio, father and son, working on their
car. Actually, it's Carlio's car. He's a taxi driver, but because the
1950 Chevy is out of order, he's out of business. Read a story about
entrepreneurs in Cuba.
His father, Almando, however, is a mechanic. A year younger than La
Revolución, he has only known Castro's government. In fact, he works for
it, managing the automotive-repair shop where he is helping his son fix
the taxi.
He uses gasoline to wash and clean an engine block. "Made in Russia," he
says with a smile. It will take him about a week to get the car back on
the road, he said. Much of the time reviving the vehicle will be spent
hand-making parts. There are no AutoZone stores. Almando's best tools
are imagination, ingenuity and inventiveness.
Carlio drives his cab six days a week, 7 a.m. to 10 p.m. His English is
very good. He graduated from college and trained to be a lawyer. But
opportunity, like food and freedom in Cuba, is in short supply. So he
drives the cab. After expenses, he lives "a little better" than his
government-employee father. He indicates how much better by a small gap
between his thumb and forefinger.
A warm welcome
The Cuban people are welcoming. "Where you from?" is their first
question. "How you like Cuba?" is the second. They realize life is
harder for them than for the 1.2 million Cuban-Americans as close as 90
miles away. They are also fiercely proud of Cuba's culture of art,
dance, architecture, athletics (boxing and baseball) and music.
There is debate and curiosity about what will happen after Fidel Castro
— called El Gato' by Blanco, a gymnasium attendant — dies. "Things
should change: there is a lack of opportunity," he told a reporter on
the street while sipping coffee from a plastic cup.
"But I don't think they will."
Frank Barnako is the former vice president of radio for MarketWatch.
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