Havana has become a hostile and unsafe city, where it is increasingly difficult to sleep and bathe due to the lack of electricity and water.
14ymedio, Yoani Sánchez, Havana, June 17, 2026 / I collapse into bed, exhausted. A stroll through the Miramar neighborhood can be worse now than sprinting along the uneven sidewalks of Reina Street in Central Havana. The once glamorous western neighborhood of the Cuban capital is as full of garbage as any corner of Cerro or La Lisa. Mansions with gardens on one side and mountains of trash on the other. Embassies with their national flags flying behind their gates, the stench of filth seeping through the bars.
I walked to 3rd and 70th from my house in Nuevo Vedado. There are fewer electric tricycles because the long hours of blackouts prevent them from charging the batteries of what has become the most common way to get around Havana. The journey submerged me in an zone I gazed at with wonder when I first visited it in my childhood. From that era, I remember gardens with impeccably trimmed hedges, the tranquility of its side streets, and the cleanliness of the central promenade on Fifth Avenue — a far cry from my neighborhood in Cayo Hueso. But none of that remains now.
My walk this Tuesday was through an area of boarded-up, crumbling mansions, traffic lights out, old markets empty, and small businesses with refrigerators that weren’t cold due to the energy crisis. Life, what is life, I saw only outside a few consulates that receive dozens of visitors every day, desperate to leave this island. Returning to my building, I had the impression that a memory had been stolen from me, that memory of my first time walking down 3rd Street, visiting the National Aquarium, and passing through the tunnel under the Almendares River.
I go to bed early. It’s four in the morning on Wednesday, and I’m woken up by a strong smell of burning. I check the house, but the stench is coming from outside. A plume of smoke rises against the sky in front of our balcony, seeming to come from somewhere in the Cerro neighborhood. They’ve probably set fire to a garbage dump. My eyes are burning, so I grab a mask and put it on. There’s no electricity, so I use my rechargeable flashlight to get to the kitchen.
I make some instant coffee. The night has been long and the mosquitoes never give up. I’m more afraid of dengue fever than anything else. My self-esteem, like that of my neighbors, friends, and acquaintances, is at rock bottom. In the midst of speeches that extol national dignity, everyone I meet seems to have lost all their individual dignity or to have only shreds of self-respect left. Unwashed bodies, sleepless nights, and the smell of food on the plate, which seems to scream that it’s spoiled, are like corrosive acid poured on my self-respect.
The ten commandments of survival include not going out at night, remembering to apply insect repellent before going outside, and having as many bars and locks as possible to protect our homes.
Pride is also at odds with fear. Threats come from all sides. “Watch out for the mosquitoes,” a friend tells me, still unable to walk due to the aftereffects of chikungunya. “I don’t go out without this,” a neighbor tells me, showing me the machete he carries on his motorcycle to defend himself against the increasing number of robberies. “Don’t even think about going into that neighborhood alone,” a neighbor advises when I tell her I have to move south in a few days.
Fear has taken root in our lives. The ten commandments of survival include not going out at night, not forgetting to apply insect repellent before stepping outside, installing as many bars and locks as possible to protect our homes, and trying to calm our racing hearts when we repeatedly call someone and they don’t answer, all the while imagining some tragedy that is later explained away by the poor service of the telecommunications monopoly. We live in a constant state of anxiety, with news of fights, stabbings, murders, and robberies coming from all sides, rarely reported in the official press.
But the greatest fear is that nothing will change. The main terror is that this will drag on for weeks, months, and years, robbing us of what little dignity and peace we have left.
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Previous Havana Chronicles:
A Circus Facing Off Against Power, and a City Growing Increasingly Lonely
Chronicle of a Monday That Feels Like Wednesday
“We Used to Complain About the ‘CUC’, But Now We Miss It”
The Roar of Despair of a Cuban Woman Returning to Her Country After Many Years
The Tulipán Market Closed: “They’ve Given the Order To Go to the March for Raúl”
Along Carlos III Street and towards Ethiopia
Sleeping Is Also a Privilege in Havana
A Desperate Plea in the Middle of the Dark Havana Night: ‘Light!’
Under a Picture-Postcard Blue Sky, the Country is Crumbling
Fatigue Barely Allows One to Enjoy the ‘Lights On’ in Havana
Dollars, the Classic Card, and a Havana Without Tourists
A Journey Through the Lost Names of Havana
The Shipwreck of a Ship Called “Cuba”
Havana Seen From ‘The Control Tower’
In Havana, the Only Ones Who Move Are the Mosquitoes
Reina, the Stately Street Where Garbage is Sold
Searching for Light Through the Deserted Streets of Havana
The Death Throes of ‘Granma’, the Mouthpiece of a Regime Cornered by Crisis
The Anxiety of the Disconnected Cuban
One Mella, Three Mellas, Life in Cuba Is Measured in Thousands of Pesos
It Is Forbidden To Leave Home in Cuba Today Because It Is a “Counter-Revolutionary Day”
Vedado, the Heart of Havana’s Nightlife, Is Now Converted Into a Desert
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