On our first day in Santiago de Cuba, we tried to sleep under the stars on a beach. Finally we found a house where they let us spend the night in their backyard while also advising us to return to the city.
Next day, we did not find where to stay. We asked the guard of the train station to let us sleep there. He offered us a place among the benches of the station, and there we stretched out.
Early in the morning, she woke us up and told us we could stay at her home. The house where she lived was propped up with logs, and had two rooms and three beds. She told us about his sick son in the hospital.
It was a place that our misfortune afforded us but where we found instead, without intending to, without waiting for it, the pure kindness of a family. We never got to hear anything else about them, but they walk around here, among these lines, in the heart and the memory, to the south of an island.