It’s still dark when the phone alarm goes off. In the other room, a child tosses and turns in the sheets, searching with their feet for the coolest side of the bed. The mother gets up, walks almost in the dark to the kitchen, and silently puts on the coffee maker.
While waiting for the first aroma, she mentally reviews what lies ahead: school snacks, the doctor’s appointment, overdue homework, and the story she promised to read before bed.
In the building, at that hour, mothers are easily recognizable by their energy. They’re the ones who come down the stairs with a light step. A shopping bag in one hand and the other free to answer a message, adjust a ribbon, or give a quick hug.
Mothering these days is also about learning to do a lot with a little, and feeling proud of that ability.
It’s about turning a simple lump of dough into a birthday cake. Transforming recycled fabric into a morning costume. Turning the balcony into a small garden where patience and hope for a better future grow alongside the plants.
At the pediatrician’s office, while waiting their turn, a mother takes a storybook out of her bag and begins to read aloud. Around her, other children approach, curious, and end up sitting on the floor, listening.
The nurse smiles from the doorway. Amidst any shortages, this scene demonstrates that the desire for children to grow up surrounded by beautiful stories, by words that make them dream, still persists.
Not every afternoon is easy, but many end in laughter. In the neighborhood park, some rather old swings become spaceships, pirate ships, castles. The mothers, sitting on a bench, chat while they supervise the games. They talk about the challenges, of course, but also about the progress.
Moreover they talk about the son who is no longer afraid of the dark, the girl who learned to share. Also the teenager who decided to stay and study here because he wants to change things from within. Every achievement is celebrated, and this habit of celebrating the small things fills their days with light.
Mothering in these times means educating for the future. It means teaching children to conserve water, not to litter, to respect their elders, to say “thank you” and “please” even when the world around them seems to be rushing by and impatient.
It means showing them that honesty is still a value, that solidarity never goes out of style. That sharing what little one has can make a big difference in another child’s life. Ultimately, it means planting in them the idea of a fairer and kinder country.
Being a mother in Cuba today means holding onto hope, even when the outlook is bleak. It means trusting that what is being sown—values, affection, resilience, a sense of belonging—will bear fruit tomorrow. Even if it’s not all visible right now.
It’s believing that every kiss on the forehead, every bedtime conversation, every hand that doesn’t let go of the child’s in the street, is building a more confident, more sensitive adult, better equipped to care for others.
By: Jorge Alejandro Fernández Pérez
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