It had been raining since the afternoon. Hardly anyone was out on the street. The wind blew, announcing its return with even greater force. Eyes knew no sleep, only understandable fears. In some houses, the only light came from a candle, either stored away or hastily purchased at a high price. There wasn't an armchair, a sofa, a bed, a chair, not even a cushion to offer peace and quiet. Melissa's dawn was approaching.
The early hours of October 29th will forever be etched in the memories of many residents of Granma, Santiago de Cuba, Guantánamo, and Holguín. Around 3:00 a.m., Melissa (a beautiful name, but one now borne by a monster of nature) reached the coast of Santiago without warning. The rain poured down torrentially, and the wind howled like thunder, tearing off roofs, uprooting trees, and destroying everything in its path. "It's devastating, it's not a movie, it's horror," wrote a colleague.
The minutes stretched into an eternity. That terrifying sound above each house forced us to hug each other tightly, completely defenseless. To hide behind our doors as if we wanted to save ourselves, to pray in countless corners, and to long for dawn, even though the destruction was immense in the yard, in the house across the street, at our son's school. The simple fact of being alive to tell the tale was enough, even though the anguish and pain made our legs tremble.
Melissa's night and early morning will remain etched in the memory of millions of Cubans. Even for those of us who shared that deadly blow from miles away, which, though predicted almost a week in advance, is always devastating and horrific. This time there was better communication, better preparation, and time to safeguard lives and resources. But even so, the cracks left by hurricanes cannot be healed. We Cubans know this all too well.
Dawn breaks, and this chronicle is not limited to describing what happened. It's about solidarity through journalism. It's about the strength that seeks to offer support amidst so much catastrophe. It's about the firm conviction that nothing will prevent us from remaining united to overcome this latest blow from nature. Nothing will be easy. We are alive! Melissa deeply moved us. She tested our hearts. And let it be clear: whatever happens from now on will be another expression of love. But love for life, for our Cuba.
Photo: The streets of Holguín are a raging river. Author: Juan Pablo Carrera (ACN)
Taken from Cubadebate
