Dawn breaks and Yésica puts on the most comfortable clothes and shoes. Together with her two children, she tries to be one of the first to buy plantain donkey ( sponge, in the east of the country) and cassava at the agricultural fair that they hold every Saturday in the Micro 9 neighborhood, in the José Martí District, of Santiago de Cuba. The woman is anxiously waiting for the truck to arrive with the products so “not to have such a bad time this week,” but her plan is one thing and the result could be another.
“People run ready to be dragged by the truck, if they don’t die of hunger they will die crushed,” Yésica complains. To reach the vehicle, still in motion, and position yourself among the first customers, “you have to be a ninja,” he acknowledges, although in his case, as in that of so many others who come to the fair, “the survival instinct does not believe in danger”.
Organized by the city authorities, the fair is not a peaceful place and many times the Police intervene, as happened this Saturday. The relative low price of food, cheaper than in private squares, causes an unstoppable flood of people. Both a pound of burro plantain and cassava cost 15 pesos, in contrast to the 80 that private companies ask for. Both products have become the salvation of many homes in the area.
Meals are essential to occupy the space that the scarce five pounds of rice that are distributed in the supply book cannot fill. That amount of cereal is barely enough for a few days and Yésica assures that she cannot always buy the product for 200 pesos per pound, which is the current price of cereal in the informal market.
“I come to the fair with my children and we buy cassava and fongos at 15 pesos. That helps us stretch the little bit of rice they give us,” explains Yésica. “And we even have that for breakfast. If there is no bread, I fry cassava for the boys in the morning, because sometimes I can’t buy bread. “At least I need six loaves of bread a day and that costs 150 pesos.”
Physical skills, youth and some mischief are essential to fill the bag. Last Saturday, this Santiago woman’s 16-year-old son got caught in the moving vehicle and “took a place nearby, like number 15.” Behind the truck you can see every Saturday a line that quickens its pace or runs, there are also people with crutches, mothers carrying small children and the elderly.
“That day, although my son managed to be among the first, I arrived here at home almost at 12 noon and they do this fair very close,” adds Yésica, referring to others that take place in various parts of the city but for “How bad the transportation is, it’s not worth even bothering to try to see what they sell there,” explains the woman.
That same day, Evaristo, another resident of the District, tells 14 intervene that “they even gave tickets for the slaughter and they sold only six pounds of cassava and 10 of sponge per person so that everyone could take a little, because otherwise, the first ones hoard everything and then you see them reselling the pound for 60 pesos.
But, beyond having more agile legs or younger children, hunger is hitting everyone, says Evaristo. For her part, another 68-year-old resident summarizes the harsh daily life in Santiago de Cuba: “Today I was telling my niece who lives in Spain, people are walking on the streets like crazy with transportation, without money, but above all , without eating. They faint even on the buses. At my grandson’s school, children faint every day because they don’t have breakfast nor can they bring a snack.”
“The boy told me that at his best friend’s house there is a law: ‘He who has lunch does not eat [cena]‘and he leaves the main course for the night and eats anything for lunch,” she adds.
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