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Ruin and Rum: The Intimacy of a Country with No Way Out

By Marleidy Muñoz (El Toque)

HAVANA TIMES — Amid the barrage of names — Donald Trump, Marco Rubio, Miguel Diaz-Canel — the descendants of the Castros, the back-and-forth of humanitarian convoys, the lifeline of Claudia Sheinbaum, the Turkish tankers, Russian oil; amid the ration book, the darkness, the loneliness, the hunger, the hurricanes, the price of the dollar, the boredom, the illnesses, the filth, the lies on the nightly news, the fear, the repression… there are those in Cuba who have decided to drink until they can drink no more.

Drink to forget? To laugh? Out of dependency? For all of it at once?

I don’t know exactly what drives each one. I don’t know when something breaks.

I don’t know how Pepe, who used to be my neighbor in Pueblo Griffo, in Cienfuegos, ended up the other day — in the middle of a drunken rage — throwing two empty bottles from the balcony of his fourth-floor apartment and injuring two elderly women who were sitting below, trying to endure more than 22 hours without electricity.

Or why every afternoon Nicolas needs to dilute alcohol with water so he can fall asleep in his house in the Tulipán neighborhood.

Whether Cesar wanted to be sober the day his daughter was born. Or in the months afterward. Or whether, at some point, he was able to choose.

Pepe, Nicolas, and Cesar have other names. They live in Cuba. They are between 35 and 50 years old.

I learned about them recently, through different channels. And I have not stopped thinking........

© Havana Times