wonderment with our blonde hair and fair skin. ‘ Que linda, Que linda, ’ the men would mumble as we walked past.
My mother seemed baffled. ‘How do they know my name?’ she asked Maria, our tour guide.
‘Oh no, they don’t know your name. They’re saying that you’re beautiful,’ she answered, laughing heartily. Maria stayed with us the whole time, telling us all about Cuba and its roots, about the arrival of African slaves, about Fidel Castro and communism. I would be fascinated now, but then I really had no interest in what she was saying. I hadn’t come to Cuba for a guided tour or even for a detox. I had been made to come, lured there by the promise of a job which I knew now didn’t exist. But while I was here, the main attraction was the sun. I couldn’t wait to find a beach and burn myself to a crisp.
So, I found it odd when we started driving away from the city. Then I saw a sign, which read, EL QUINQUE . ‘I hope we’re not going to another centre,’ I said to my mother, immediately thinking that the sign meant ‘clinic’.
‘What do you mean? I told you already that we were,’ she answered, looking at me as if I were mad.
‘No, you didn’t. You said that we were staying at a hotel. I can’t believe you’re doing this. I’m not going to another treatment centre,’ I screamed, realising what was going on and becoming more hysterical by the minute.
‘Let’s just see what it’s like, ok?’ my mother implored.
‘No, I don’t care what you say, I’m not going.’
‘Ok, if you don’t like it, you don’t have to stay.’ She took me by the hand and led me in through the gates.
‘I’m not staying,’ I repeated, as we passed a security guard who had a gun attached to his waist. Then we were greeted by the receptionist. ‘ Hola, como esta? ’ he said, smiling.
‘Fuck off,’ I said under my breath and turned my back to him. Then I was distracted by a commotion just feet away from where I stood. Two men emerged from one of the houses, wheeling a stretcher in front of them. I couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw the black plastic body-bag.
‘Oh my God,’ I heard my ma say behind me, before she covered my eyes with her hands.
‘I am really sorry that you had to see that,’ said the receptionist, leading us away from the scene.
‘What’s happened?’ Laurence asked him.
‘Well, you see, El Quinque has three phases: for the first two phases, patients cannot leave the grounds without supervision. But after therapeutic evaluation, adaptation and sociological tests, when the individual is ready we allow social interaction without supervision. That man was a friend of one of our patients. He brought the patient out and they brought drugs back in with them. Unfortunately, the friend overdosed.’
I could tell by the worried look on my mother’s face that she wasn’t going to let me stay here. ‘Right, is there someone that I can speak to? Rachael is only fifteen and I’m not happy with this at all.’
‘Ma, I’m not staying here. No way,’ I interrupted, seeing my chance to escape.
The receptionist looked concerned. ‘Of course. Come this way with me, please.’ ‘Rachael, just wait here for a minute, ok?’ my mother pleaded.
I gave them a dirty look and they walked away. The scorching sun was splitting through the tropical palm-trees, but I couldn’t get the image of the body-bag out of my head. They can do what they want, there’s no way in a million years I’m staying here. I can’t believe they’re even thinking about it after that happening. I was lost in thought.
‘Hey, little woman,’ I heard someone say beside me, as a tall man approached me. ‘What you doing here? Are you coming to stay with us?’ I could recognise the Jamaican accent a mile away.
‘Emm, no,’ I answered. ‘My mother wants me to stay, but I don’t want to.’
‘Tell me about it. It’s not all that bad, you know. I’m Lenny,’ he said coolly, offering his hand for me
My mother seemed baffled. ‘How do they know my name?’ she asked Maria, our tour guide.
‘Oh no, they don’t know your name. They’re saying that you’re beautiful,’ she answered, laughing heartily. Maria stayed with us the whole time, telling us all about Cuba and its roots, about the arrival of African slaves, about Fidel Castro and communism. I would be fascinated now, but then I really had no interest in what she was saying. I hadn’t come to Cuba for a guided tour or even for a detox. I had been made to come, lured there by the promise of a job which I knew now didn’t exist. But while I was here, the main attraction was the sun. I couldn’t wait to find a beach and burn myself to a crisp.
So, I found it odd when we started driving away from the city. Then I saw a sign, which read, EL QUINQUE . ‘I hope we’re not going to another centre,’ I said to my mother, immediately thinking that the sign meant ‘clinic’.
‘What do you mean? I told you already that we were,’ she answered, looking at me as if I were mad.
‘No, you didn’t. You said that we were staying at a hotel. I can’t believe you’re doing this. I’m not going to another treatment centre,’ I screamed, realising what was going on and becoming more hysterical by the minute.
‘Let’s just see what it’s like, ok?’ my mother implored.
‘No, I don’t care what you say, I’m not going.’
‘Ok, if you don’t like it, you don’t have to stay.’ She took me by the hand and led me in through the gates.
‘I’m not staying,’ I repeated, as we passed a security guard who had a gun attached to his waist. Then we were greeted by the receptionist. ‘ Hola, como esta? ’ he said, smiling.
‘Fuck off,’ I said under my breath and turned my back to him. Then I was distracted by a commotion just feet away from where I stood. Two men emerged from one of the houses, wheeling a stretcher in front of them. I couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw the black plastic body-bag.
‘Oh my God,’ I heard my ma say behind me, before she covered my eyes with her hands.
‘I am really sorry that you had to see that,’ said the receptionist, leading us away from the scene.
‘What’s happened?’ Laurence asked him.
‘Well, you see, El Quinque has three phases: for the first two phases, patients cannot leave the grounds without supervision. But after therapeutic evaluation, adaptation and sociological tests, when the individual is ready we allow social interaction without supervision. That man was a friend of one of our patients. He brought the patient out and they brought drugs back in with them. Unfortunately, the friend overdosed.’
I could tell by the worried look on my mother’s face that she wasn’t going to let me stay here. ‘Right, is there someone that I can speak to? Rachael is only fifteen and I’m not happy with this at all.’
‘Ma, I’m not staying here. No way,’ I interrupted, seeing my chance to escape.
The receptionist looked concerned. ‘Of course. Come this way with me, please.’ ‘Rachael, just wait here for a minute, ok?’ my mother pleaded.
I gave them a dirty look and they walked away. The scorching sun was splitting through the tropical palm-trees, but I couldn’t get the image of the body-bag out of my head. They can do what they want, there’s no way in a million years I’m staying here. I can’t believe they’re even thinking about it after that happening. I was lost in thought.
‘Hey, little woman,’ I heard someone say beside me, as a tall man approached me. ‘What you doing here? Are you coming to stay with us?’ I could recognise the Jamaican accent a mile away.
‘Emm, no,’ I answered. ‘My mother wants me to stay, but I don’t want to.’
‘Tell me about it. It’s not all that bad, you know. I’m Lenny,’ he said coolly, offering his hand for me
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