“El último, por favor?” On the pavements of Havana, under the arcades of colonial buildings, in front of offices and ice cream parlours, dozens of Cubans wait their turn to top up their phones, pay a bill or enjoy an ice cream. People joining in loudly ask “who’s last?” and, as soon as they have identified that person, they settle down somewhere to wait.

I visited Cuba for the first time in July 2016. A few months earlier, US President Obama had landed on the island on an official visit, promising the imminent end of the embargo; a few months later, Fidel would die. There was a sense of anticipation in the air… fear? Hope?

A year later, I land in Havana again. Cellophane-wrapped packages bounce on the ground from the luggage carousel like huge balloons – clothes that someone has bought abroad to resell at home; everyone gets by as best they can. I traverse the streets of an island that has now lost its Líder Máximo. Meanwhile, Trump has cancelled Obama’s agreements; the embargo remains in place, threatening tourism and the economy.

In the shade of the palm trees, nothing really seems to change. The wait continues. And Cubans continue to wait. “El último?“