by John Pilger
Information Clearing House News
www.johnpilger.com
3 August, 2011
On my first day in Cuba, in 1967, I waited in a bus queue that was really a conga line. Ahead of me were two large, funny females resplendent in frills of blinding yellow; one of them had an especially long bongo under her arm. When the bus arrived, painted in Cuba’s colors for its inaugural service, they announced that the gringo had not long arrived from London and was, therefore, personally responsible for this breach in the American blockade. It was an honor I could not refuse.