In a staggering display of what happens when you build a vertical society without a functioning National Grid, Cuba has plunged its high-rise dwellers into a dark, Stygian nightmare. The power cuts, as reliable as a politician's promise, have trapped the populace in concrete filing cabinets hundreds of feet in the air. Enter the UK aid agencies, bedecked in hi-vis and clutching thermoses of weak tea, ready to perform a rescue mission that reeks of colonial nostalgia and misplaced optimism.
Let us paint a picture for you, dear reader. Imagine you are in Havana, perhaps sipping a rum and coke that has gone warm, when the lights flicker and die. The lift, that metal coffin on cables, stops mid-ascent. The emergency generator, that mythical beast, fails to roar into life. You are now a prisoner in a tower block, a citizen of a vertical penitentiary. The only escape is a 20-storey descent down a pitch-black stairwell, a journey that would test the nerves of a mountain goat.
But fear not, for the UK has arrived. Our aid agencies, those stalwarts of compassion, have sent a delegation to assess the situation. They will, I am assured, be bringing portable fans, boxes of PG Tips, and a pamphlet on how to make a wind-up radio. They will stand in the embassy garden, sipping gin and tonics, and discuss the 'unforeseen infrastructure challenges' faced by the island nation.
Meanwhile, back in the blacked-out blocks, the residents are forming buckets brigades to bring water up 15 floors. They are using their mobile phones as torches, their batteries draining like sand through an hourglass. They are learning to live without the tyrannical glow of the television, the hum of the refrigerator, the comforting buzz of a plugged-in life. In some ways, it is a liberation. A return to a simpler time, before electricity made us soft.
But let's not romanticise this. The blackouts are a symptom of a rot that runs deep. The Cuban government, like a landlord who forgot to pay the electricity bill, has presided over a crumbling grid. The infrastructure is held together with chewing gum and hope. And now, the UK aid agencies are here, with their clipboards and their good intentions, to offer a sticking plaster on a gaping wound.
The irony is thick enough to spread on toast. The UK, a nation that cannot keep its own trains running on time, is sending expertise to fix Cuba's power failures. It is the blind leading the blind through a darkened corridor. One can only hope they bring enough candles to light the way.
So, as the sun sets on another day of blackouts, let us raise a glass to the indomitable human spirit. To the Cuban residents who are learning to live without. To the UK aid agencies who are learning to help, albeit ineptly. And to the politicians, both here and there, who will surely take credit for whatever happens next. The lights may be out, but the satire, as always, burns bright.
