Fidel milk fed my baby

I once found myself in Uganda.
I went to the poverty-filled slums of the capital Kampala. I made the acquaintance of a most lovely little dark-eyed girl who was handing over the caps of two Coca Cola bottles at a shop bearing some resemblance to a corner grocery to purchase some cookıng oil. They were going to liven up the mashed banana her mum had cooked by adding oil to it.
I am not one to blubber. Even so, I was on the verge of tears.
Tsuka, who earns his living rowing around Lake Victoria in a ramshackle boat and, when the opportunity presents itself, as a tourist guide with his broken English, asked if I wanted to see the little girl’s home.
A chance in a million.
So it was that I became acquainted with the little girl’s mum in the house, that monument to poverty with its reed roof and walls made of mud-covered rushes. She had a little baby in her lap. In her words:
- There was no messing with the doctor Fidel sent. He told me to breast feed my baby myself for two months. I couldn’t do otherwise because it was as if he was Ugandan, as if he was somebody like me. He was black skinned but a doctor. Fidel sent him to us. Two months later I went to his little hospital every day and got milk sent by Fidel in a bottle with a breast-like top for my baby. Fidel milk fed my baby.
I asked the begging question:
- And who is Fidel?
The reply was pretty stark:
- Dunno. His home’s far away. Far away, but he sent us a doctor and sent us milk. Fidel milk fed my baby.
I am not one to blubber. I was on the verge of tears.
From joy, pain and pride.
Fidel, who for years unwaveringly endeavoured to set up socialism in an island nation that was embargoed by the USA and had been deprived of support from the now-collapsed Soviet Union, and that, even if it had shortcomings, was desperately poor and had undergone centuries of debilitating exploitation, had sent doctors (not just one) so that babies might grow up healthily in Uganda and bottles filled with milk to feed those babies.
My tears filled with pride (Yes, pride). This son of the tailor Sadık from Ödemiş who had endeavoured to tread the path of socialism since his early youth felt he deserved a bit of the credit for the Fidel milk that had fed that black-skinned baby with the coal black eyes. He swelled up with pride and glory.
***
I once found myself in Cuba.
From the window, I observed the dancing of young Cuban women who had made their abodes in houses that bore traces of the ‘splendour’ of the colonial period but were collapsing from disrepair, into whose rotting window frames they had rammed pieces of wood and who had become carried away by music pouring out of radios inside on at full volume.
I am not one to blubber. But I was on the verge of tears. Can dancing get that good and can things get this good?
I felt I deserved a bit of the credit for that dance talent and the good feeling. I swelled up with pride and glory.
Socialism had made small but sturdy strides forward. It had taken another faltering step. But, there were still a great many strides left before there would be a country that would embody the ideals of socialism.
So be it. No worries! It’s like the lame ant setting out on pilgrimage saying, “If I don’t make it or if I die on the way ...”
I saw crooked shopkeepers in pursuit of a fast buck trying to fob off cigars made for Fidel(!) on me; I also saw mixed-sex groups of Cuban youths who were too busy dancing to find time for work; I also saw the whores.
However, I did, too, come across Cuban men and women who were endeavouring, however falteringly and taking knocks in the process, to tread the founding path of socialism that Fidel had embarked on.
Now they will continue on that path without Fidel.
I have no idea if milk will still go to black-skinned Ugandan babies with black eyes and if Ugandan babies will be able to drink Fidel milk.
All I can do is call out to the reader.
Reader!
Force back your sorrow, stand up and raise your right fist. Salute and bid farewell to Fidel.
This is his right, earned for all eternity, and your duty.
Come on.