A Chronicle in Five Blocks

From the building where I live, in the Armando Mestre neighborhood of Matanzas city, to Oquendo’s place — an audio technician at Radio 26 — is a distance of five blocks, a space I traveled to bring him some work that needs to be broadcast.

I had to resort to his services because, precisely, the blackout and lack of connection did not allow me to use the Internet, along with the lack of mobility and other duties I had to fulfill.

I took some labyrinths I am not used to, traveled along paths that shorten the journey, and was able to observe a landscape not previously known, though familiar.

Upon exiting a small alley, to my right I saw an impromptu baseball field, where young children were playing with great enthusiasm and dedication. I thought: who will they want to be like when they grow up?

A street cry of «tamales» interrupted my baseball observation, and I focused on the vendor who was going by on his bicycle, shouting at the top of his lungs. I wondered how much a tamal could cost, because moments earlier a certain lady was showing another an ear of corn that had cost her 25 pesos.

I continued my course and suddenly came across an impromptu exercise class, where the participants were elderly women. There were several neighbors I recognized immediately, which comforted me greatly.

With patience, dedication, and respect, the instructor attended to them and provided the training. In the garden of a nearby building, I observed that prosperous sweet potato crop, which reminded me of something: «planting does not require much, but it does require dedication and interest.»

Meanwhile, a child skated in the sewage water that had accumulated on the street. He tore his pants, got covered in that mud, got a scratch, and cried — I think more out of fear of the scolding he would receive at home.

Immediately, without realizing it, a huge garbage dump where solid waste intertwined with sewage water, creating an excellent habitat for all kinds of disease vectors.

Practically erased from my mind were the encouraging images I had seen before. As if predestined to observe ugly and discouraging landscapes, then another garbage dump, where there were cardboard boxes that could have been collected as raw material for recycling.

In that garbage dump, there was an old mattress. I moved away from it, because it could have bedbugs — yes, bedbugs, insects that are currently present in various places. I did not want any to take me as a means of transportation and move into my house.

Oquendo was not there, and I decided to wait for him in front of the building. He soon arrived; he had been covering the Elite League baseball broadcast, and his first words were: «Matanzas won today, breaking the streak of 10 consecutive games without a win.»

I left without knowing whether to use the same route back home or take another, but in the end I opted for the same one. I ran into my friend Bárbaro Velazco, a prominent cultural promoter. His first words were to reproach me for not having participated in his neighborhood activities, and I promised to go to the next one.

After leaving Bárbaro, the lyrics of a song came to mind: «not everything is lost,» because in times when most people are seeking their daily sustenance, Bárbaro, selflessly, comes to give his heart to make the lives of the locals more bearable.

Thus I arrived home, and the routine of each evening began. This routine is enough for a longer chronicle.

Photo: Taken from the Internet