It’s impossible to go back in time. Unless of course, you’re traveling to Cuba. Then, it somehow seems feasible. The scenery definitely helps: the running motors of classic American cars from the 1950’s blend in well with the rhythm of the street. The melody, tragedy, hope and despair are all swerving in the air. They’re mixed in the background, only visible to those who are actively looking for them. I was looking – and I immediately found them. I visited Cuba almost 15 years ago. I’m told things are basically the same. Time has passed, things have changed, but Cuba has not.
A new era could follow through. By lifting key sanctions, former president Barack Obama has opened a new chapter that may lead to new beginnings. A new start for Cubans who are separated by so much more than the ocean around the island. With the recent death of Fidel Castro, the world is watching. It’s Cuba’s move.
Back in 2002, I was excited to visit Cuba for all the unpopular reasons. I wasn’t going for the beaches, cigars or even the music scene. Instead, I wanted to see how people lived under a Communist regime. What did Cubans think about Fidel Castro? What was an average day like? For 2.5 weeks I chose to live with families to find out.
The first family I stayed with included a husband, wife and teenage daughter. The biggest room in the Havana house was the one they rented out to tourists. The government allowed families to have a side business, like a bed and breakfast or a restaurant, as long as they agreed to pay taxes.
“What a beautiful home you have,” I said, as I walked in. “It’s not my house,” said the housewife. “It’s Fidel’s.” Her statement gave life to a common belief: Whatever belongings I have, ultimately belong to the Communist regime. Just as quickly as it was given to me, it can be taken away.
The home had wires hanging through parts of the open ceiling, clinging from one random corner to the next. It had cracking, rusty paint, but it also had character. I could tell the home had once belonged to a wealthy family. It was a home that had probably been seized during the Revolution before being divided into separate units. It housed about six families. It had one phone line, one main entrance and ultimately it all fell under one ruler.
I had recently graduated from College and I didn’t know much about politics or diplomacy. I knew the Cuban government despised the U.S for the embargo and the country’s capitalistic ways. I also knew this tension made it look down on anything American.
The first contradiction came when it was time to pay for my lodging. Foreigners had to pay in U.S dollars. No exceptions. This struck me as odd, but I quickly noticed it was the norm. Cuba uses U.S dollars? Doesn’t Cuba detest the U.S? The answer was “yes” and “yes.”
Tourists were to pay in U.S dollars, not in Cuban currency.  That rang true in restaurants, museums, stores, beaches (some of them have fees) and everything in between. There was a set price for locals. Another price for tourists. This was not a scheme. It was simply the way the system worked. There wasn’t enough money to survive on an average Cuban salary, so families and businesses looked elsewhere to subsidize their cost of living. The government’s stipend wasn’t enough.
The second contradiction came when I invited the teenage girl to a restaurant.
My friends and I were renting out a room in her house, so the least I could do was invite her to a nice dinner. “I can’t,” she said. “I’m Cuban.” My friends and I looked at one another, confused. We didn’t understand where the conversation was going, so we quickly asked? “Yes, you’re Cuban, so what?” I wasn’t prepared for her answer: “Cubans aren’t allowed to go to the restaurants where tourists go. Those restaurants have all kinds of food, including meat.” She kept on explaining her predicament quite naturally, without frustration or any hint of injustice. “The locals don’t have that. Our food ration doesn’t include that luxury, so we’re barred from seeing it.”
It wasn’t an official rule, but it seems like all Cubans knew about it. Even if someone else is paying, Cubans are not allowed inside some restaurants. They’re not supposed to see what foreigners are offered and locals are denied.
We convinced her to come with us. Sure enough, a waiter kept on staring at her, as if saying “You know better than to be here.” She stood her ground by avoiding eye contact. We played along as if we were oblivious to the unwritten rule.
On our way to the beach, my friend and I took a taxi. The car was blue, clean and spacious. “You’re car is in great shape.” I said. The driver’s response was all too familiar: “It’s not my car. It’s Fidel’s.”
When I asked my host family what they thought about Communism, their response was also a contradiction. They felt limited by the regime. All their needs-housing, food, education, healthy care, were met for, but they couldn’t dream and go beyond that. Their hopes had limits. So did their aspirations. Their life was confined to the island and they could do nothing else but live under the framework Castro had designed for them decades earlier. When I asked them how they felt about Fidel Castro, the housewife told me “I’ve seen him twice in my life.  When you see him, you can’t help but be in awe of what he has achieved. Despite everything, he has our respect.”
When power was passed on to Fidel’s brother Raul, nothing fundamentally changed. The real test will be when Raul Castro passes away. Who will lead the country and most importantly how?
It’s my hope that down the line, when I hopefully visit the island again, I can compliment someone on their house, car, business, livestock or clothing and hear a simple “Thank you. It’s mine… It belongs to me.”