Cuban reality, or the saga of the a/c

I have now been in Havana for twenty-three days, so am really no more qualified to comment than I was in my previous blog about anything much at all, except to say that, so far, I really like Cuba. It's green and beautiful and ramshackle and sweaty and full of light and music and smiles. I would like to re-affirm my previous statement about Cubans being warm and welcoming, from the woman who now cleans my apartment, who is so lovely and was worried I wouldn't be happy with her efforts the first time (as if! she's amazing!), to the old man car-park attendant at the agro in Vedado who looks like Morgan Freeman and insisted on giving me a besito (little kiss) when I got out of the car, to the entire school support staff at the beginning-of-year party who pulled me onto the dance floor and insisted on showing me lots of salsa steps and making me dance with all the boys in maintenance. However, I would like to revise my previous statement about the heat being not-that-bad, because the week after writing that it turned stinking hot and extra humid and I sweated my way copiously through much of teacher induction week. (A side note: I am genuinely baffled by the vast number of tourists I have seen here, because August really is a disgusting month to visit an island that basically has perfect weather from November to May. Cheap plane tickets, perhaps?)

And thus to the subject of this blog: the realities of life in Cuba, as unveiled to me through the lengthy saga of the broken a/c in my building. When I arrived and moved into my lovely new apartment, the air-conditioning - which is integral to the building - was working but it was making a strange gurgling sound, that made it seem like there was a fountain in my bedroom with water constantly gushing forth. I mentioned this to the marvellous Dolmarys (Dolly), who runs the staff support services in school, who then phoned my apartment building to report it, given that as yet my Spanish does not stretch to descriptions of the weird noises my a/c was making. Two days later, the noise went away. Who says Cubans can't fix things fast? I thought to myself. More fool me: only a day later, the a/c started blowing out limited amounts of warm air. I mentioned this to Dolly, and requisitioned a fan for my bedroom, which had become a small sauna. On speaking to the receptionist in my building, it turned out the a/c system for one half of the building (my half) was broken, though this did not affect reception where the guys who sit there all day clearly couldn't care less that the rest of us were sweating. Three days after this, the heat really kicked in, and I chickened out, de-camping to the home of two other staff members who have working a/c, two beautiful retrievers, and a very comfy spare bed. That was over two weeks ago, and the a/c is still not working in my apartment building.

Antilles, my new friend

I would like, at this point, to say that I really really am trying not to be some pathetic ex-pat who can't handle a bit of heat and starts crying when the electricity goes out. I am keenly aware that many Cubans don't have a/c at home and I really don't mind it during the day, with all the windows open to catch any kind of breeze. It's just that, come night-fall, it really does get stinking, sweaty hot in there and unlike older Cuban homes there are no fans or high ceilings or vents to help air circulate. So I moved in with Berrin (Curriculum Coordinator) and Georgie (Head of Elementary), who have taken extremely good care of me and whose dogs come for cuddles in the morning. But that's not the point of this whole story. The point is this: they really weren't kidding when they said that it takes a long time for stuff to get done here, and after two weeks of experiencing this reality I can totally see why. Dolly and I called the building every day to nag and check on progress, and so here's the sequence of events:

- a/c stops working on Wednesday (day 1).

- on Thursday, I bring home a large fan from school and the man in reception looks at me, points at the fan then taps his head in what I'm hoping was a gesture indicating he was impressed by my smart move.

- in Friday's phone call (day 3), we're told there's a problem with getting the parts, and also the technicians can't come until Monday, plus Yanet the building manager is away for another week (subtext: none of us care or will do anything until she returns). My fan stops working.

- on Sunday I crack, after no sleep for two nights, and move in with Berrin and Georgie. The dogs are very pleased to see me (as demonstrated in the photo above).

- on Monday, we're told the technicians can't do anything until the parts arrive.

- on Tuesday, Berrin and I realise - when he's dropping me off to collect some stuff from my apartment - that not only have the parts actually arrived, they've been sitting outside the front entrance for quite a while. On inquiring at reception it turns out that yes, the parts had been there since last week (or longer, judging by the state of the boxes) but they're waiting for the truck to come to lift them up to the roof, as they are too big for the elevator. Allegedly that will happen soon. Dolly is skeptical.

- on Wednesday, we're still waiting for the truck as the driver has gone missing. Or something. A neighbour sticks a note of discontent under my door, with the number of someone higher up the food chain to whom we can make a complaint.

- on Thursday, we call that number. No one answers the phone.

- on Friday (day 10), it turned out that - amazing! - the truck came and the parts had finally been moved to the roof. But now the technicians are nowhere to be seen, so the repairs can't begin until Monday at the earliest. Dolly's eye-roll every time she gets a few sentences into each day's conversation/excuses is becoming more pronounced, as we encounter the culture of excuse-making that is prevalent in Cuba. No one still is answering the phone of the 'chefe' (i.e. boss) of the apartment.

- on Saturday, I spend the day in my apartment, as I miss my stuff. By this stage, there is no longer any air coming through the a/c vents. When I go up to the roof to use the pool, I see the spare parts sitting, rather forlornly, by the broken a/c unit which has one fan lazily swishing and the others completely motionless.

- on Monday, Yanet returns (hurrah!) but doesn't seem able to get the technicians in that day, mostly because it's pouring with rain. I posit the theory to Dolly that if the a/c had broken in reception, they'd be moving a damn sight faster to get the problem fixed.

- it continues to pour with rain on Tuesday (the back-side of Hurricane Hermine hitting the island), and the notion that it's not safe to mess with electrical wiring in the driving rain seems reasonable. Dolly and I write a strongly-worded letter of complaint to the company that runs the building. Berrin and Georgie start referring to me as their foster-child.

- on Wednesday the rain stops and the technicians finally show up. Someone mutters about them needing to 'bleed' the system, which should take two days, so by Friday we may be good to go. Dolly remains skeptical, and I'm starting to come round to her way of thinking.

- on Friday (day 17), it turns out that the technicians appear to have done something, but no one's really sure what and it certainly wasn't the system bleed, which means that there's no way it'll be working on the weekend. Of course.

- on Saturday (day 18) I attempt to have a conversation in person with Yanet, but cannot keep up with her rapid Spanish except to make out the word 'lunis' - Monday. I spend the afternoon at home and once again by 7 p.m. it has got pretty unbearable. I retreat to casa del BG.

It's now Sunday, day 19, and part of me is rather looking forward to  tomorrow's phone call with Dolly, not least because her facial expressions have become increasingly comical. The main point is though that this entire experience has been a lesson in the Cuban reality, in what day-to-day life is actually like. There's an awful lot of excuse-making and buck-passing, and often a sort of grudging acceptance that this is just how it is. A huge amount of energy goes into finding solutions, patching things up, working around the problem. There is a vast wealth of creative problem-solving skills among the people of Cuba, an incredible human resource. A popular saying here is Resolva mi problema - I fixed the problem. Another one is No es facil - it's not easy. When things break, it is incredibly hard to fix them; there seems to be increasing frustration with the mind-set and frequently-used-excuse that 'this is Cuba' and we can all just expect shitty service and waiting for weeks for repair jobs and relying on a chain of people to do things, so that if one link in the chain is missing everything else is held up for days. At the same time, things do work  eventually, and society functions in an incredibly collaborative way as people pitch in to help out in times of need, to lend something to someone or find something for someone else. It seems to me to be a measure of the resilience, creativity and good humour that you can find among people here. And so I wait for my a/c to be fixed, and try to convince myself that I'm not a pathetic ex-pat wimp, and learn a little more about this place I now call home.

Next time on Abrunskillabroad: what not to do at the agro-mercado.