I’ve never seen a place like this. From the air, it seemed a little like the sprawling Midwestern fields I’ve seen so many times. If it wasn’t for the ocean, sand, palm trees, and lack of many massive highways, I might of thought I was going home.
Even though the customs officer welcomed me to her country, I had a hard time believing I was really here. After leaving the airport we passed dilapidated buildings complimented by billboards sporting nationalistic or socialist propaganda, and along side old cars pumping out plumes of black smoke. In the US when a truck coughs out its diesel refuse the odor can be overpowerfully sickening, but here in Habana the mix of ocean air and cloudy pollutants is refreshing and serves as a constant reminder that I really am not in my own country any more. Continue reading Desde La Habana: Day 1→
bluestockings is an intersectional, anti-oppressive publication that commits to centering voices of people from marginalized and historically resilient communities, across multiple axes of oppressed identity.