When I first arrived in Cuba, back in 1998, the plastic bag was King. It was as if bags of any other kind simply didn´t exist. If you wanted to feel part of being here you walked round with one – una jabita – in your hand, and almost certainly had two or three extras tucked in your back pocket. And it’s still pretty much the case today. Why? Because you never know. You may be out walking and find the loose rice, beans or potatoes that are missing in your barrio, but no jabita. No importa, you are prepared.
So it’s always a bit of a trauma when they go AWOL (no hay) or when they are in short supply. Last week, and this, have been full of those moments in question.
Here´s a reassuring sight for you, then; clear evidence that I (inspired by 11 million Cubans) take the time to save, wash and hang out mis jabitas on my rooftop line instead of binning them with the rubbish.
Save the Great White from extinction, I say!