HAVANA.- I have bitter memories of when, in 1988, as a reservist of the ConscriptionI had to undergo training to be sent to the war in Angola.
Those summoned, all from the Plaza de la Revolución municipality, were taken in trucks to Lomas del Taburete, in Candelaria, Pinar del Río, which—as we later learned—was the place where Che Guevara and the guerrilla that accompanied him to Bolivia trained.
As soon as we arrived, they made us sign a declaration of voluntariness to participate in the war. But the majority accepted for fear of reprisals. I, for example, feared that I would be expelled from my teaching position if I refused. If it were today, with my current thinking, I would never have accepted.
Our accommodation was in the middle of a forest, outdoors. We slept in hammocks hanging from the trees. We were there the entire time, including several nights in the rain.
They woke us up at dawn to take long walks through the mountains, without eating anything for two or three hours, until we returned to the camp for a meager breakfast. Then we would go out again, almost without rest, to go up and down hills with a heavy rifle on our shoulders (without bullets). When we returned in the afternoon, we received a meager meal. It was part of the training: getting used to being hungry.
Once, while we were resting under some palm trees, I saw several soldiers eating palm nuts from the ground as if they were pigs. And, since I was hungry, I did it too. Sometimes we devoured sour oranges plucked from the trees as we walked.
One of the exercises consisted of walking through the middle of a stream, with water up to the chest, on slippery slabs, holding the rifle above the head. On one occasion a companion tripped and sank, weapon and all; The water dragged him and he almost drowned if we didn’t help him in time.
Another practice was to jump over burning wood and branches. I fell once, due to my visual problems, but luckily I did not suffer serious damage.
One night we did live shooting and threw grenades at a target. We later learned that almost no one hit the target and that the trainers pierced the targets with bullets to pretend that it had been a successful exercise. I remember throwing the grenade so badly that I almost hurt a teammate.
One of the things that bothered us the most was that we were not allowed to bathe in the nearby stream. We had to get used to being dirty. They only let us bathe on the 17th, and we had to do it with our clothes on, except the shirt. Afterwards we spent days in wet uniforms and boots.
One very rainy night, a companion and I took refuge in a farmer’s house and slept there. At dawn he gave us coffee, and while we drank it, my partner told him that we were training to go to Angola. That was secret. When the leaders found out, the recruit was dishonorably expelled in front of the entire troop. They also questioned me about what he had said and scolded me, even though they knew I had not participated in the conversation.
One day they gathered us to inform us that the war was over and that it was no longer necessary to send more Cubans to Angola. They congratulated us for our “combative disposition” and sent letters of recognition to our workplaces.
I returned home skinny, dirty, full of mosquito and tick bites, and with scabies that I cured with Permethrin.
Today, after so many years, I think that, if I had gone to Angola, it is very likely that, due to the poor military training received, I would have been one more on the long list of deaths from a foreign war, where we Cubans had nothing to do.
