In the realm of sports, trav­el is a con­stant com­pan­ion. As the press of­fi­cer for Trinidad and To­ba­go’s na­tion­al foot­ball team, I have had the priv­i­lege of jour­ney­ing to many places. How­ev­er, few des­ti­na­tions left as pro­found an im­pres­sion on me as our four-day stay in San­ti­a­go, Cu­ba. It wasn’t just the foot­ball, nor was it the rou­tine of man­ag­ing me­dia re­spon­si­bil­i­ties that made the ex­pe­ri­ence so hum­bling. It was the peo­ple, the cul­ture, the re­silience, and the con­trast be­tween ex­pec­ta­tions and re­al­i­ty.

A Step Back in Time: San­ti­a­go’s Cul­ture and At­mos­phere

This was my third vis­it to Cu­ba, but first to San­ti­a­go, which in par­tic­u­lar felt like step­ping in­to a time cap­sule. The ar­chi­tec­ture, a blend of Span­ish colo­nial and rev­o­lu­tion­ary-era struc­tures, told sto­ries of a na­tion proud of its her­itage but bound by decades of eco­nom­ic strug­gles. As we drove through the city, which has a pop­u­la­tion of 500,000, past its an­tique build­ings and rust­ing yet lov­ing­ly main­tained clas­sic cars, the vi­bran­cy of the cul­ture shone through. 

De­spite the vis­i­ble hard­ships, the mood of the peo­ple was strik­ing­ly up­beat. There was a sense of pride, warmth, and uni­ty that was pal­pa­ble in every in­ter­ac­tion. At train­ing, there were kids look­ing at our play­ers, some from small wood­en hous­es that had two lev­els over­look­ing the sta­di­um fence. In­ter­net and WiFi are a lux­u­ry. At the Mehia San­ti­a­go ho­tel dipped and cut to­tal­ly every two min­utes, and my­self and team doc­tor Akash Dhanai ven­tured to one of the lo­cal mo­bile out­lets in the heart of the city with our Cuban li­ai­son in hope of se­cur­ing SIMs. None were avail­able, but we got top-up cards that had to be recharged every hour and were on­ly ac­ces­si­ble in cer­tain zones in the city.

The hum­ble ac­com­mo­da­tions and strug­gle with food

Our ho­tel was far from the lux­u­ri­ous ac­com­mo­da­tions one might ex­pect when trav­el­ling with a na­tion­al foot­ball team. The rooms were ba­sic, with age­ing ameni­ties that re­flect­ed the eco­nom­ic con­straints of the coun­try. Yet, the staff greet­ed us with warm smiles and a lev­el of ser­vice that at times went be­yond their means. There was a gen­uine will­ing­ness to help, de­spite the lim­i­ta­tions they faced. It was a re­minder that hos­pi­tal­i­ty isn't about lux­u­ry but about heart.

The food, how­ev­er, was a dif­fer­ent sto­ry. While we were well aware of Cu­ba’s strug­gles with food sup­plies, the re­al­i­ty hit hard dur­ing our stay. Meals were sim­ple, of­ten repet­i­tive, and lacked the va­ri­ety we were ac­cus­tomed to back home or when trav­el­ling to oth­er parts of Con­ca­caf. 

There were mo­ments when items were scarce, and we found our­selves ap­pre­ci­at­ing every meal, no mat­ter how bland or repet­i­tive it might have seemed. We could not find a Co­ca-Co­la or Pep­si, and the air con­di­tion­ing func­tioned at less than half ca­pac­i­ty for the ma­jor­i­ty of the day at the ho­tel. It was a hum­bling re­minder of how easy it is to take every­day com­forts for grant­ed. De­spite this, there was no re­sent­ment or frus­tra­tion among the Cuban staff or the peo­ple we met. They had mas­tered the art of mak­ing do, turn­ing scarci­ty in­to re­silience and grat­i­tude.

The Un­break­able Spir­it of the Cuban Peo­ple

One of the most strik­ing as­pects of our vis­it was the in­domitable spir­it of the Cuban peo­ple. In every cor­ner of San­ti­a­go, from the ho­tel staff to the lo­cals we met at the sta­di­um, there was an un­mis­tak­able sense of pride in their iden­ti­ty. This was es­pe­cial­ly ev­i­dent when con­ver­sa­tions turned to foot­ball. De­spite the eco­nom­ic chal­lenges and the lim­it­ed re­sources avail­able to their teams, the Cubans we en­coun­tered were fierce­ly pas­sion­ate about the sport. 

They cheered with the same fer­vour as any na­tion, un­bowed by the hard­ships sur­round­ing them. When they scored the two goals, the sta­di­um erupt­ed with a roar that echoed through San­ti­a­go, their voic­es chant­i­ng 'Cu­ba' with the fer­vour of rev­o­lu­tion­ar­ies hail­ing Cas­tro—pas­sion­ate, uni­fied, and un­stop­pable.

This spir­it ex­tend­ed be­yond the foot­ball field. Walk­ing through the streets of San­ti­a­go, I was struck by the cre­ative ways peo­ple nav­i­gat­ed their dai­ly lives. Street ven­dors sold home­made goods and au­then­tic Cuban cig­ars, mu­si­cians filled one of the ho­tel restau­rants with tra­di­tion­al Cuban rhythms, and artists dis­played their work with a de­fi­ant sense of pride. The night fol­low­ing the match, I had to trot to the Las Amer­i­c­as ho­tel 5 min­utes away to ac­cess wifi to up­load and dis­trib­ute dig­i­tal me­dia con­tent. Strange­ly, that ho­tel had the best work­ing wifi around. 

The pre­vi­ous night, the ho­tel re­cep­tion­ist was ex­treme­ly co­op­er­a­tive. Fri­day night, though the ho­tel was with­out elec­tric­i­ty since 11 a.m. The mood of the Cuban peo­ple in the ho­tel lob­by was one of calm re­silience. As they sat in the dim­ly lit space, talk­ing and drink­ing with­out a flick­er of frus­tra­tion, it was as if the ab­sence of light was mere­ly an af­ter­thought. Their con­ver­sa­tions flowed smooth­ly, laugh­ter punc­tu­at­ing the air, com­plete­ly un­both­ered by the pow­er out­age. It was a tes­ta­ment to their ac­cus­tomed en­durance, a qui­et ac­cep­tance of life’s chal­lenges that had long be­come part of their dai­ly rhythm, han­dled with grace and un­wa­ver­ing com­po­sure.

Lessons in Hu­mil­i­ty and Grat­i­tude

For me, this trip to San­ti­a­go was an ed­u­ca­tion in hu­mil­i­ty. As a press of­fi­cer, my job of­ten in­volves pro­ject­ing a sense of pro­fes­sion­al­ism and con­trol in every sit­u­a­tion. But in Cu­ba, I learnt that some­times things won’t go ac­cord­ing to plan, and that’s okay. The Cuban peo­ple taught me that grace in the face of ad­ver­si­ty is more im­por­tant than per­fec­tion. Their un­shake­able pos­i­tiv­i­ty in the face of chal­lenges was in­spir­ing.

I re­turned home with a re­newed sense of grat­i­tude. While we in Trinidad of­ten take things like food va­ri­ety, com­fort­able ho­tels, and mod­ern con­ve­niences for grant­ed, the peo­ple of San­ti­a­go showed me that true wealth lies in com­mu­ni­ty, cul­ture, and an un­break­able spir­it. Of course we al­ways want to main­tain and im­prove stan­dards and qual­i­ty lev­els. Cu­ba re­mind­ed me that even in scarci­ty there is beau­ty, and in strug­gle there is strength.

This was more than just a pro­fes­sion­al ex­pe­ri­ence—it was a per­son­al awak­en­ing. I was hum­bled by the re­silience of the Cuban peo­ple, their pride in their cul­ture, and their abil­i­ty to find joy in the sim­plest of things. The ex­pe­ri­ence re­in­forced the idea that while re­sources may be lim­it­ed, the hu­man spir­it knows no bounds. San­ti­a­go’s peo­ple, their cul­ture, and their un­wa­ver­ing mood left a last­ing mark, re­mind­ing me of the val­ues of grat­i­tude and hu­mil­i­ty.

To­mor­row though, the bat­tle re­turns to the field, and we as a na­tion will go for noth­ing less than three points with no hard feel­ings felt.

Ed­i­tor's Note

Shaun Fuentes is the head of TTFA Me­dia. He was a FI­FA Me­dia Of­fi­cer at the 2010 FI­FA World Cup in South Africa and 2013 FI­FA U-20 World Cup in Turkey. He has trav­eled to 88 coun­tries dur­ing his jour­ney in sport. The views ex­pressed are sole­ly his and not a rep­re­sen­ta­tion of any or­gan­i­sa­tion. shaunfuentes@ya­hoo.com