behalf. ‘Will they be able to swim back? Who can rescue them?’
I was alone when two young English-speakers joined me, introducing themselves with an attractive mix of shyness (the age gap?) and that unbumptious self-confidence which I was beginning to recognise as a common Cuban trait. Rene was white, Luis black, both were medical students in their final year. First came the standard questions – ‘Which is your country? You like Cuba? You stay how long? You have self-drive car? You like our beer? Now in this month Ireland is all snow?’ Then followed, ‘Your grand-daughters are beautiful! Where is your daughter’s husband? She is beautiful too, why does he let her away to Cuba?’
When it was my turn I asked, ‘Will you specialise? How will you choose your first job? Or does the government place you?’
Yes, as graduates they would go where they were told to go. Both had already volunteered to serve abroad in the Henry Reeves Brigade – but that was away in the future, to qualify they must have ten years experience.
‘So we’ll be thirty-three,’ said Rene, ‘and probably married and sensible.’
‘That means,’ said Luis, ‘we must find wives also wanting to join the Brigade.’
Rene laughed, slapped his friend on a powerful naked shoulder and said, ‘You’re lucky, you’ve found her already!’
Luis looked bashful, then glanced around and pointed to a lithe mulatta doing her ti’ chi exercises with three friends. ‘There she is, a paediatrician by next year, very much wanting to work in Africa. We’ll have two babies, then leave them with our parents. Where we go won’t be healthy for children.’
That slightly threw me: would Mum be as happy as Dad if separated from her young for so long? Well, maybe so – Cuba’s Revolution has bred people with unusual mind-sets.
Rene and Luis boasted about Cuba’s contribution to healthcare in remote deprived regions. WHO, they asserted, sends fewer doctors to such areas. (I checked on that: it’s true.) Their expressions hardened as they recalled Hurricane Katrina and the US authorities’ ignoring of Cuba’s offer to send emergency medical teams to New Orleans. ‘But we got thanking messages from a few victims,’ said Rene. ‘Thanking us for wanting to help them.’ ‘Mostly from black victims,’ added Luis. ‘They suffered worst, like always in the States.’
Rene said, ‘As we’re talking here having fun in the sun, hundreds of Cubans are freezing up in the Himalayas where that earthquake hit. The Muslim women are pleased, we’ve so many women doctors – their men won’t let other men go near them. We know Pakistan’s government works for the Yanquis but you can’t blame poor people far up in high mountains for that!’
I asked, ‘Why is this brigade named Henry Reeves?’
‘Because Fidel’s not anti-American,’ Rene swiftly replied. ‘He’s not hating ordinary people who must live under criminal governments.’
Luis was more explicit. ‘Henry Reeves came from the States in 1869 with other young Americans, to fight with us against Spain. He fought for seven years, got many times badly wounded, kept on fighting, died in a battle. You can see his name on a monument in Havana. Fidel wants us to remember Americans like him. And we do. Tourists from the States all say they feel welcome. They see we don’t think they’re bad because their government punishes the Revolution. We pity them. And we like the way they trust us, not listening to propaganda saying “communist Cubans hate Americans!” Like Rene said, Fidel tells us people are different from governments. That day those twin towers were hit, before sunset thousands of Cubans donated blood for New Yorkers.’
The young men offered to show us around the university next morning and suggested 10.00 a.m. But they broke our appointment. Elsewhere, Iwas to have a few similar experiences with young Cubans spontaneously eager to befriend the foreigner, then thinking better of
I was alone when two young English-speakers joined me, introducing themselves with an attractive mix of shyness (the age gap?) and that unbumptious self-confidence which I was beginning to recognise as a common Cuban trait. Rene was white, Luis black, both were medical students in their final year. First came the standard questions – ‘Which is your country? You like Cuba? You stay how long? You have self-drive car? You like our beer? Now in this month Ireland is all snow?’ Then followed, ‘Your grand-daughters are beautiful! Where is your daughter’s husband? She is beautiful too, why does he let her away to Cuba?’
When it was my turn I asked, ‘Will you specialise? How will you choose your first job? Or does the government place you?’
Yes, as graduates they would go where they were told to go. Both had already volunteered to serve abroad in the Henry Reeves Brigade – but that was away in the future, to qualify they must have ten years experience.
‘So we’ll be thirty-three,’ said Rene, ‘and probably married and sensible.’
‘That means,’ said Luis, ‘we must find wives also wanting to join the Brigade.’
Rene laughed, slapped his friend on a powerful naked shoulder and said, ‘You’re lucky, you’ve found her already!’
Luis looked bashful, then glanced around and pointed to a lithe mulatta doing her ti’ chi exercises with three friends. ‘There she is, a paediatrician by next year, very much wanting to work in Africa. We’ll have two babies, then leave them with our parents. Where we go won’t be healthy for children.’
That slightly threw me: would Mum be as happy as Dad if separated from her young for so long? Well, maybe so – Cuba’s Revolution has bred people with unusual mind-sets.
Rene and Luis boasted about Cuba’s contribution to healthcare in remote deprived regions. WHO, they asserted, sends fewer doctors to such areas. (I checked on that: it’s true.) Their expressions hardened as they recalled Hurricane Katrina and the US authorities’ ignoring of Cuba’s offer to send emergency medical teams to New Orleans. ‘But we got thanking messages from a few victims,’ said Rene. ‘Thanking us for wanting to help them.’ ‘Mostly from black victims,’ added Luis. ‘They suffered worst, like always in the States.’
Rene said, ‘As we’re talking here having fun in the sun, hundreds of Cubans are freezing up in the Himalayas where that earthquake hit. The Muslim women are pleased, we’ve so many women doctors – their men won’t let other men go near them. We know Pakistan’s government works for the Yanquis but you can’t blame poor people far up in high mountains for that!’
I asked, ‘Why is this brigade named Henry Reeves?’
‘Because Fidel’s not anti-American,’ Rene swiftly replied. ‘He’s not hating ordinary people who must live under criminal governments.’
Luis was more explicit. ‘Henry Reeves came from the States in 1869 with other young Americans, to fight with us against Spain. He fought for seven years, got many times badly wounded, kept on fighting, died in a battle. You can see his name on a monument in Havana. Fidel wants us to remember Americans like him. And we do. Tourists from the States all say they feel welcome. They see we don’t think they’re bad because their government punishes the Revolution. We pity them. And we like the way they trust us, not listening to propaganda saying “communist Cubans hate Americans!” Like Rene said, Fidel tells us people are different from governments. That day those twin towers were hit, before sunset thousands of Cubans donated blood for New Yorkers.’
The young men offered to show us around the university next morning and suggested 10.00 a.m. But they broke our appointment. Elsewhere, Iwas to have a few similar experiences with young Cubans spontaneously eager to befriend the foreigner, then thinking better of
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