Just like any small community everyone knows everybody’s business. Like who’s getting a divorce, and why. Bicycles have right-of-way, and there’s one phone for the entire community and anyone can answer it. Most parents take their kids to school each day, and toys are made by Dad. Around here all doors stay open day and night and absolutely nothing happens after 9:00 p.m. And there’s more time, to wash your ride, go fishing, mess around in boats, or just hang out and chat. Though there are no department stores in rural Cuba, you can buy practically anything just by keeping your ears open. They patrol the streets from dawn to dusk, selling everything from peanuts to fruit. Each with his own distinctive tune. But the best voice by far belongs to Marco. He sells wild cilantro, sweet chili peppers, and vanilla. It’s 12 cents a bunch though you have to bring your own bag or pouch. Marco walks seven hours a day and earns about six dollars. He’s a state-licensed seller which means he hands over most of his income to the government. But he can sell openly and doesn’t have to be afraid of fines. I’ve known him for less than 15 minutes, but he shares his hard-earned pesos every chance he gets. Marco is 58 At that point he’ll be eligible for small pension. About seven dollars a month. Not enough to live on. And yet he still believes in Castro’s system. But Marco’s true support isn’t the government. It’s his neighbors and friends. He gives them free chili peppers, and they treat him like family. They even see him off when he leaves. Maybe Cuban life isn’t as much about communism as it is about community. Shopping certainly took longer in Cuba, but I got to know my neighbors and made some friends. See you next time and if you enjoyed that video, please subscribe to Our Human Planet.