Chequera, one of the most beloved and clueless characters born from Cuban humor, has just solved a significant national mystery: what is a magnetic card used for in today’s Cuba? The answer, captured in 24 seconds that have already garnered over 90,000 views on Facebook, is as simple as it is devastating: to eat and play cards.
In the video, Chequera's niece catches him using the card as a utensil and incredulously asks what he is doing. The character's response is priceless: "What other use can I give this, girl?" Immediately after, with several cards laid out like a deck on a table, the character shouts, "Metropolitan three of a kind! [referring to the name of that capital city bank] I'm outta here, Farándula!" Curtain. Applause. Tears.
The clip, published by the page Chequera Vivir del cuento, garnered thousands of likes and dozens of comments in a short time, figures that reflect a sense of humor that needs no explanation because every Cuban carries it tattooed in their pocket —alongside the card that is useless—.
Chequera is the comedic alter ego of actor Mario Sardiñas in the humorous series "Vivir del cuento," perhaps the most popular program on Cubavisión from 2008 to 2024. His character—a frustrated musician, clumsy and a perpetual freeloader at the retired Pánfilo's house—always found a way to turn everyday disasters into comedy. This time, however, the disaster was caused by the Cuban banking system, and he just had to sit down to eat with it.
The joke works because reality supports it with a solidity that no ATM in Cuba possesses. Since the Central Bank's Resolution 111/2023 mandated forced banking, Cubans have been obliged to use electronic payments without anyone addressing the chronic shortage of cash. The result: more than 50% of ATMs are inoperative or permanently empty, less than 10% of private businesses in some provinces accept transfers, and there are establishments in Havana that charge illegal surcharges of up to 20% for card payments. A government journalist in Santiago de Cuba even admitted, with unusual honesty, that “the money on the card is worthless”.
In May, an anonymous Cuban captured the public sentiment with a phrase that went viral for its accuracy: “My card only serves as a keychain”. Chequera, true to his style, took it a step further: at least the keychain doesn't feed anyone, but the card, as a utensil, has some culinary potential, and as a deck of cards, it at least provides entertainment.
The comments on the video followed the same vein of bitter humor that characterizes Cubans when they talk about their banking system. No one asked if Chequera had a balance. Everyone knew the answer.
The background, of course, is far from funny. More than one million retirees receive pensions of just 4,000 pesos —less than seven dollars at the informal exchange rate— and have to wait in line for four to six hours —even for several consecutive days— to access that money, sometimes spending the night on sidewalks. The provincial government of Granma admitted it does not have the more than 400 million pesos necessary to pay its 111,000 retirees. In El Cotorro, people recently stood in line among puddles of sewage in front of a bank.
In the face of collapse, the regime announced a package of 176 measures in June, which includes, for the first time in decades, the authorization of private banks and private currency exchange houses. While those reforms are on their way—if they ever arrive—Chequera has already found the most honest use for a magnetic card in Cuba: eating or playing cards with it. At least that doesn’t fail.
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