Breaking out of Quarantine

I broke out of quarantine on day two with the help of my buddy, Sarah, and my Cuban friend, Yeilette. They went with my bags and I strolled out the front door a minute later with my eyes set forward. The male nurse caught me, I noticed from the corner of my field of vision, but the heat and the line of kids waiting for their daily dose of malaria drugs kept him from making half a gesture keep me there.
That same day I moved into my new place in central Havana. Said Buddy’s boyfriend’s Aunt lives in Havana, and she knew someone whose daughter’s boyfriend knew that Tony was renting 2 of the 3 bedrooms in his apartment. We moved all of our stuff from the beach town of Baracoa to the bustling city streets in a bright red ’52 Plymouth.
So here we are within 2 miles of everything, in the smack dab middle of the city. The apartment is rustic…layers of dingy paint on concrete. The whole building is concrete…exterior walls, floors, countertops, interior walls and all. You have to turn the water on from the back porch to wash dishes or take a shower. All faucets in the house then pour at once. The lights take at least 10 seconds to flicker on. The gas stove is hot wired at the base of each burner so that when you touch the naked wire running from out the side of the nearest socket to it, it sparks and you get your cook fire. We share the land-line phone with the neighbor next door. If it rings and then seconds later rings again, it is for our side of the concrete wall. If you answer it and they ask for any of the 7 people next door, you say, “Please repeat the call.” On the outside, the street is busy. People walking, city buses, tractors, flat-bed trailers, loud motorcycles with side cars all going by. There is an urban garden plot next door. I can see basil from my bedroom window. If you walk around the backside of the complex and down a block there is a little farmer’s market tucked between the baroque façades of two old buildings, where you can get fresh green beans, avocados, guavas, platanos, yucca root, squash, dried beans, limes, tiny bananas, mangos, tomato paste, garlic paste, guava paste, and a peanut sugar paste that reminds me of a Reece’s PB cup.
I think I’ve found a stable place to be, but nothing in Cuba is a sure bet. Another friend of mine isn’t so lucky. She paid to have her room held during the summer vacation months and came back expecting to have it waiting for her. Instead, my 25 y/o beautiful Persian friend is sharing her room with a 14 y/o boy, son of relatives of the owner of the place… “They will be gone soon,” his dream come true.
School starts the 19th of September. I will be in an open aired, white washed hospital ward with French style windows and colonial columns studding a wrap around porch, treating “patients with fever of unknown origin”, but mostly it’s hemorrhagic dengue. With that, I start my clinical based education. The self-financed kids start this year, too. Cuba has decided to open up their medical training program to capitalism. Based on recent publications, it looks as though Cuba values my education at @ $96,000USD (not including the room and board, and $4 stipend I get every month!). Thanks for the scholarship, Fidel!