streets

I am concerned that not enough emphasis is being given in the national media to warn of the dangers of these high temperatures.

It worries me that there isn’t a place in the whole city where you can get a free glass of water.

I am concerned that there are hardly any active sources left in Havana.

I worry that having a fan on for a few hours each day is a luxury that many families cannot afford.

I am concerned that sun creams are only sold in hard currency.

I am concerned that a bottle of bottled water is often more expensive than a beer

I am concerned that there are hundreds of thousands of Cubans who have not received water through their pipes for weeks.

I am concerned that a bottle of bottled water is often more expensive than a beer.

I am concerned about all those bedridden people who, with these temperatures, do not have access to a disposable diaper, wet towels, or an air conditioning mechanism.

I am concerned that having an iced drink on the street will become too much for the pocket.

I am concerned that in hospitals families have to bring a fan to cool the patient.

I am concerned that those who work from dawn to dusk are not issued hats, long-sleeved shirts and other supplies to protect themselves from the sun.

It worries me that we believe that we are used to the heat, that the tropics run through our veins, and we do not see the dangers of the high temperatures that we are experiencing.

I am concerned about so many felled trees in the Cuban capital, so many squares without a shadow.

It worries me that we believe that we are used to the heat, that the tropics run through our veins, and we do not see the dangers of the high temperatures that we are experiencing.

I am concerned that so many people may be dying as a result of the excesses of the weather and we do not know it.

I am concerned that while the heatwave makes daily life in Cuba more difficult, some gentlemen in guayaberas without a drop of sweat dedicate themselves to spreading slogans from their air-conditioned rooms, calling for “creative resistance” with a mojito in hand, and demanding that we give up every last drop of our effort from their pools with umbrellas.

It worries me.

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