Photo Feature by Nester Nuñez
HAVANA TIMES – Yeya doesn’t have the strength to pour the water all at once into the tank she’s placed in the kitchen, next to the sink. A rusty tank a neighbor gave her. She lifts the first bucket from the floor to the stool, breathes deeply; from the stool, then yes. While the water falls, she closes her eyes. It’s as if she hears a downpour. For those seconds, she forgets the pain. From the sound she guesses the tank has reached halfway. She checks if it’s true: exactly that. Four more trips to go. Let’s see if she can manage before the water truck runs dry.
I write about her and suddenly it’s me who aches all over. And “all” isn’t just the body. I ache from my breath to my conscience. Even so, I am calm. Is being calm a betrayal of collective pain? Have I left desperation only to fall into resignation? How can one live serenely without becoming indifferent to external injustice? Why do you think so much, Yeya? Do what you have to do and that’s it.
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