By Fabiana del Valle
HAVANA TIMES – The afternoon began to wane, and Nalva persisted at the foot of the ceiba tree. The long-awaited transport to take her home from school was a hope diluted in the steam of the asphalt. She occasionally glanced towards the horizon, trying to make out the silhouette of a car. Her stomach wouldn’t stop growling; the bread roll she had eaten at lunch was a distant memory.
Her reality mirrors that of many on the island; the certainty of returning home is not determined by schedules or established routes, but by the eventuality of what happens.
At times, she checked the time on her mobile phone, a device that had passed through several hands before reaching hers and “can’t take another lie.”
“Mom, I’ve been here almost three hours and nothing’s happening,” I heard her words cut off by the defective signal of the mobile.
“And what do you want me to do? Hold on a bit longer; something’s sure to happen soon.”
“Tell Titi to come get me on the motorcycle. Please, I’m going to faint!”
“Mimi, your uncle doesn’t have gasoline, I can’t do anything. Wait a bit longer…”
“Okay, I’m hanging up,” she hung up, and I was left with a tight chest from helplessness.
She wore a dirty uniform, marked by hours of study, physical activity, and the weather. She adjusted the strap of her backpack and made a decision to walk as far as necessary. Nalva trusted that along the way she might find some improvised means of transport, a horse-drawn cart, or a neighbor passin
