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Monday, September 2, 2013

THE CUBAN QUESTION: LITTLE HAVANA RENDEZ VOUS



THE CUBAN QUESTION

A FAREWELL TIME



Versailles, the Cuban oppositon rendezvous...
FIDEL CASTRO

Yoani Sanchez, the blogger..
.change is about
to come



.


RAUL CASTRO




Whatever your side, the main fact to remember is that the Cuban Question seems to be a matter of time.
Time to come, time to go.

Without doubt, the  Cold War memories are still burning with its  main clash on the Bay of Pigs by April 1961. Politicians and ordinary Cubans continue to argue about this remote conflict; many are still ready for action, but from both of sides of the Wind Passage, warriors are aging. Over the years, some of them had give up, but when they come to tell their own stories, anger and ire  are on the rise.  The Castro’s saga had left a country divided for many years to come.

The Venezuelan experience with Chavez defining himself as a Castro heir didn’t ease the things. Instead Castro, Chavez and Iran belong to the so-called evil axis, another way to label this troika as terrorists. It has been a concern for the US when fanatics and Muslims extremists venture in his back yard.  But, Chavez and Castro endeavor remain the way it used to be: a Cold War legacy that  few had  maybe foreseen.

Now, what we have to pay attention to, evolve around what Cuba would look like, once the Castro’s experience is over. Whether we want it or not, time is the last frontier in everything on earth. Even Raul Castro, who is now in charge, seems to understand that time has come to do politics differently. Once he mentioned Versailles, the Cuban rendezvous for high and middle class Cubans eager to wipe out the Castroists from their tumultuous island... in the mean time, Washington doesn’t close his ears to the need of change next door.

50 years later, in Havana, the famous ladies dressed in white went to the streets as matrons  to protest against their loved ones in jail. This sign of time is very eloquent about the change so many Cubans strive for. In Little Havana, Miami,  their counterparts wearing necklaces and earrings  continue to curse Castro and his henchmen that have stolen their youth. Now while turning the 70s, they have mixed feelings about what they expect from a Castro-free Cuba.
Their life in exile parallels that of Russian aristocratic life whose members made a living as taxi drivers, singers and restaurant waiters in the Paris  of the 20s, after the Bolshevik revolution, with the only difference that Cubans in Miami restarted a new life the outcome of which is more  than you can  expect after they left Cuba.

Among the unavoidable gap generation, Cubans in Miami are impatient  to show off with their successful life and their shaping of the Little Havana, springing  full of life at lunch time. Cubans from the Castro’s nomenklatura have to choose their word to express a kind of auto satisfaction about the triumphs of the Revolution. In Miami, instead, Cuban success is booming at every corner. What makes Cuban dissidents, bloggers such as Yoani Sanchez …and ordinary people dream so much when Key West lights are blinking at night.

Cuban tomorrows already are under way.


frantz bataille,

Down Town Miami,
September 5, 2013





MEMORIES: THE BASKET CHILD





 THE BASKET CHILD



                In the Haitian  countryside, whatever their age, people keep dying without         knowing why, especially children.

                       



Most of   the time, given the strength of the African traditions, death is usually attributed to malevolent people or the revenge of some angry spirit. So, people keep dying despite progress and the extent of science which is supposed to have bettered their conditions.

This morning, however, as I had left this hospital settled in Pt-a-Piment, far away in the South the  coasts of which bathe at the sea level, I also  left some patients, among them a woman , a poor one, along with her severely ill child. I was fed up at having seen so much suffering and so much passing. Roaming a while into the mountains nearby would bring some relief.

But, I was  a little bit afraid. A child very sick was supposed to keep me from wondering in the mountains smelling good by this April afternoon. I grew more and more anxious because children die even in the most glamorous mornings. An experienced country doctor, Dr Shubert Lamothe, a well known  and respected one, used to try his best to help our patients.  Sometimes so much care , so much effort paid off; but other times, medicine remained fruitless.  There are always some boundaries that medicine cannot cut across. “Alas”, Dr Lamothe used to whisper.

So, before heading to the mountains surrounding the village  where you can see a marvelous horizon  from, I resumed  the same ritual along with Dr Lamothe. As usual that consists of setting up IV and cold bathing when patients were feverish. The child was crying in a very feeble tone. His eyes were looking at the ceiling while showing a kind of deathlike glow. The skin’s had little strength and kept the wrinkle. Signs of impending death.

“Let us make our duty” Dr Lamothe said to me. I really value this quiet and wise man in his mid forties whose reputation went away in the mountains. Peasants, urban people, every one in this remote Southern town trusted Dr Lamothe, my very gentle senior. He was respected all around.
What do you think? I asked him. He shrugged off while smiling and added” Take it easy” we did all we’re supposed to do. The baby still cried, but his eyes didn’t show its deadly glow any longer. Later, I headed to the mountains. It was 3.PM.

The sun was setting. A light breeze  blew by this afternoon. From the heights  of a hill, I watched a landscape set up with the huge blue sea, engulfing deeply the coasts. Here and there smoke rose from poor thatched cottage. What a stillness! What a peace! at this time life got as usual some standstill.The rural and dust-loaded  panorama displayed some natural grandeur. Even the roads grew empty. Cows seem to greet this peaceful moment.
However, I could no longer enjoy the uniqueness of this time. I was thinking of the baby whose eyes  showed so much death shadow. Human beings, doctors especially are powerless in front of death; it is the most incongruous visitor nobody can wave. What a beautiful dusk! How much wonderful life is on earth! the sun was about to be swallowed by the waves. But, I still thinking of our baby. I hurried back to the hospital.
I walked all down the mountain at a run, leaving behind the magical landscape and its glamorous sunset. Never would I see again this mix of water and light. On my way back, I met peasants coming from the public market. How is the baby doing? I asked myself.
Was he doing well? I kept thinking of him while rushing to the town.
Suddenly , a woman ran into me. It was the woman  that I had left in the hospital, along with  the baby. It was her mother In this coming twilight the woman urged to back home before darkness. I noticed she was nearing empty handed. My heart missed a beat, and started beating up. Where was the baby/ What had happened?

-Where is baby ? I prompted to ask when  we were close.
-Here’s, pointing at a hand- crafted  basket she  wore above the head.
-Lower the basket, I ordered.
Then, what I saw will be unforgettable. Never before did I see such a picture. The child laid aside foods and clothes was well alive, sucking his thumb. He was smiling, full of life. He was like a candle in the ongoing night. Smiling with happiness and peace.
Our baby was safe.e was lH