Demons and Heroes after Ian

Ian, with its accent in the I, is a name of Hebrew, Greek, Scottish origin... and with biblical meanings that point to a merciful God. For Cubans and millions of people in Florida it will forever be a sad memory, the devil himself clawing at their homes and their lives.

For the people of Pinar del Río, where the hurricane wreak havoc for hours with all its force, that of nature resentful for the abuse and negligence, it was a sneak attack, a devastating blow against this land of good people; a bombardment of the elements against the survival of these men and women, the humblest beings in the world, who from their humility once again show their endurance and confidence.

Days turn into weeks and it will take even longer until tens of thousands of people in the regions most affected by Ian see electricity again, soap operas on TV, and water flowing from the taps. The houses will be born again out of thin air, roofs over the heads and the mattresses dried in the sun... And again the television, if it survived the wet nightmare of the hurricane. Let’s hope!

Asking them for patience would be like offending them. They don’t need patience, they need their will once again, and they are grateful without begging for any supportive help, even the simplicity of a warm hug. That is why their eyes sparkle and they stop looking at the sky, but rather at the road, when they see the first trucks that fill their loneliness drive in: ten workers with tools, some newspapers from last week, a couple of dolls and two balls that children traded for their swords and for their bats of splintered wood, for their toys mortally wounded because of the bad weather. The looks of the children and the rebirth of their smiles are worth any sacrifice.

Where once was a tobacco house, the sustenance, the small profit, the hope, there remained a pile of sticks covered by mud. It will be necessary to lift one by one, search below the plants that survived and decide on the best variant: the logs to rebuild homes, living comes first. Sowing once again and take care of the historical sustenance of these lands of the best tobacco in the world. It won’t be the first time the Phoenix will soar once and again in this devastated geography.

We will have to sow and produce food again, the sweet potato, the yucca, the hen and the swine to see if it fattens before yearend. And pray (why not?): Not more hurricanes, at least in the remainder of 2022. And trust in the Revolution, which is not a stepmother, goddess, or Yemayá, but a loving mother who never leaves its children alone and share with them every last crumble, or that kiss on the forehead at night and in the morning.

Help is already incoming in droves from other parts of the country, specialists from all branches, the heroes of electricity, telephony, and aqueducts. Trucks, bulldozers, roof tiles, fuel and food from reserves, love by the thousands.

The artists come to raise spirits and return the smiles, a Capella, just with a guitar, by the light of a lantern, whatever. And between melodies and poems, between puppets and sculptures, they dance and paint joy, they wield the shovel and the brooms. They unite their friendly arms to lift the fallen tree together.

The young people at the head, inexhaustible energy, jokes, discussions and drums, machetes and hoes, a kiss of love in a long dance. And with them the oldest, the veterans of a thousand battles, encouraged by their children and grandchildren, once again grasp hope.

Che leads - the same day they wanted to kill him - the communist ghost of volunteer work, that wonder that unites noble souls to do collective good, in exchange for a little sweat and love on fertile lands.

It’s there where a faithful president and follower of Che carries on his shoulders the quixotic people who follow him, to fight against the thicket entangled by the forces of nature and fate, by the hatred of enemies. It’s when Céspedes rises from the grave, conjures up betrayal with a cry, and completes with Maceo, and his freed slaves the dream of succeeding in the invasion to the West.

It's time to dry the tears, sisters and brothers from Pinar del Río, it's time to rebuild yourselves. Let's go out together with the first light of day. It's about living facing the sun.

Translated by Amilkal Labañino / CubaSí Translation Staff