Versión en español aqui.
If you are someone involved in the purchase or donation of a weather radar for a “developing” country—a very sugar-coated and euphemistic way of not saying underdeveloped—allow me to “stick my spoon in” (a Cuban saying for expressing an opinion nobody asked me for): the decisive question is not how many radars and of what types can be bought to help that country’s meteorology, but what that country will be able to keep running when the warranty expires, the supplier stops responding, the spare part does not arrive on time, the manufacturer becomes unreachable, and the budget has shrunk to a fraction of what was planned.
I do not speak about this from abstract theory, nor from a manual, nor from a conference room. I speak from forty-five years of work with radars on an archipelago that has been operating them for more than fifty years under a fierce blockade, without direct access to manufacturers, without the right to returns, and without even the possibility of asking technical questions about the spare parts that must be bought through tortuous channels—and with the obligation to get it right on the first try because there is no money for a second purchase. Here we have not learned to buy spare parts: we have learned to take each module apart in order to redesign it and build it from other components, and to keep a well-established list of options—from A to Z—to rebuild the functionality of any radar module that breaks down.
If someone is going to advise an underdeveloped country—let us set euphemisms aside, since we all know that the gap between developed and non-developed countries does nothing but widen—on acquiring technology that will have to work in that country’s real conditions, not ideal ones, I suggest looking at the Cuban experience: that of a kind of world champion in sustainability under very adverse conditions. I am not boasting; it is just that some questions can only be answered from the scars of a survivor of many battles.
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