From the 10th floor, where I live, the air always blows stronger. But this Wednesday it blew harder, the windows seemed to scream and the windows cried because of the winds of Rafael, the hurricane that kept the whole country in suspense, especially western Cuba, and ended up being what many of us knew it to be: a natural disaster in the places closest to its center and another devastating blow to trees, houses, roofs, to the very electricity that turned all of Cuba into a shadow after 2 o’clock in the afternoon on Wednesday.
But the first thing I remembered when the rain started, the gusts of wind and that terrifying sound for some children and adults who can’t stand the smell of danger, was Hurricane Kate, which I experienced in 1985 from a 5th floor apartment in Central Havana.
Then, as now, many reinforced their doors and windows, gathered food since the information phase was announced, and finally the whole family gathered in the living room or in the most sheltered room to try to alleviate together the hardest and most tense hours of a cyclone.
Today the company had the same family, but also the social networks, as long as the connection allowed it. And we could read who asked for information about where Rafael was going, others gave strength because the worst was over, and there was no lack of those who shared images, videos, news and hopes about the journey, although this did not keep the hurricane away from Artemisa, from the beach of Majana, where he decided to enter without asking permission, until leaving Bahia de Cabañas.
From 2:30 to 6:00 or 6:30 the winds were the masters of the minutes on the 10th floor where I live. It rained heavily, but the most terrifying thing was the wind, which did not embrace but destroyed, which did not enchant but mortally wounded the trees around me, which did not please anyone with its fierce music but destroyed what it takes so much work to collect, preserve and have in Cuba, marked by an economic crisis that Rafael was not interested in, nor was it his problem.
The hardest part happened in those four or five hours. Then came the darkest night because the electrical system had collapsed with a disconnection caused this time by the natural phenomenon itself. And at dawn we discovered more and more shocking and painful images. Roofs flying and whole families in a wooden house sheltered in the only place of masonry (the bathroom); a light tower in the Artemisa stadium that fell as if in a game of cards; roots of ancient trees that exploded as if a bomb had fallen next to them.
And everyone can put what they saw around them. I came down from the 10th floor on Thursday morning and could hardly walk through the streets of Cerro, Plaza de la Revolución and Centro Habana. The green of the leaves had taken over almost all the arteries, and the green of the military could also be seen in the background, starting to work on the reconstruction. It is impressive the loneliness and the awakening of each neighborhood, picking up the physical ravages that Rafael left us.
I thought back to Guantánamo a few days ago, when Oscar, Rafael’s cousin and brother, had pulled out almost the same fingernails, and only solidarity, hands joined and hearts beaten to help, was able to restore vitality and joy to those communities, as it will now be in Havana, Artemisa and Mayabeque, the most affected provinces.
I do not continue the chronicle because the winds of Rafael are in every skin of those who lived it and how they lived it. There will be days of sunshine, there will be days of light, there will be days of recovery, there will be days of speaking in the past tense about this November 6, 2024. For now, I have been able to write with the last charge of my cell phone, but not with the last charge of my optimism and good faith. The worst is over. Now let the poet come, let hope come.
