A Boy Asking for Money at the Entrance to an Ice Cream Parlor Is the New Face of Havana

“Give me something to buy a cone,” begs the barefoot, shirtless boy

A boy makes a living by selling pastries for 70 pesos apiece at different spots around the city / 14ymedio

14ymedio bigger14ymedio, Natalia Lopez Moya, Havana, 15 July 2024 — The boy with his face pressed to the glass appears to be about ten-years-old. Shirtless and barefoot, he looks attentively through the front door of Bueníssimo, a privately owned gourmet ice cream shop that opened late last year on La Rampa (23rd Street), in Havana’s Vedado district. The child’s eyes are focused on cups of chocolate, almond and vanilla ice cream that customers are savoring inside the air-conditioned shop. He briefly asks someone about to enter the store, “Can you spare something so I can buy a cone?”

As the island’s economic crisis worsens, the number of children asking for money, selling merchandise on the street or hanging around popular tourist attractions is growing. The sight of these waifs — most of them scrawny, barefoot and shabbily dressed, extending a hand as they beg for money or salivating beside a restaurant’s outdoor table — is increasingly common in Cuba. Not even the areas most heavily patrolled by police are immune to their presence.

One of the boys looking into the ice cream parlor from outside / 14ymedio

A couple walking with their daughter approach Bueníssimo. As soon as he sees them turn the corner, the barefoot boy and his friend, who is wearing a pair of skates, start getting into place. The family is well-dressed and smells nice, the scent of expensive perfume trailing behind them. The woman is carrying a handbag, possibly a knock-off, with the logo of a famous brand. The mother and daughter enter the shop, not even looking to their sides. The man, however, lingers behind them. He puts his hand into his pocket, pulls out a 200-peso note and gives it to the little boy, whose face lights up.

The next step in his plan is to get people to give him money at the front door / 14ymedio

A few seconds later, the shirtless boy enters and makes a purchase with the money he has been collecting all morning. He buys a strawberry ice cream cone with a bit of chocolate syrup on top. Each scoop costs 265 pesos.  Meanwhile, the boy with the skates, who is still outside, has not been so lucky. He looks up and down the broad avenue to see if he can spot anyone who might give him some money. Both will be back tomorrow. They will probably still be at the same door next week and will quickly warn each other whenever a man in uniform is approaching Bueníssimo. Only then will they be able to enjoy the exclusive flavors meant for those who can afford the most expensive ice cream parlor in Cuba.

While these two are on the lookout for financial help, another boy is selling round, guava-filled pastries for 70 pesos apiece at a corner on Obispo Street in the city’s historic center. A couple of tourists stop to buy one and look at the unlikely merchant in amazement. None of the many travel guides they have consulted warned them that they would be encountering minors asking for money or selling products on the streets of Cuba. None of the colorful photos of beaches, bars with live music and women dressed in traditional clothing include young faces that are old beyond their years.

Finally, the boy gets to enjoy his scoop of strawberry ice cream / 14ymedio

The pastry boy is hardly an exception, however. One can find children selling tamales, hawking ripe avocados or providing water to communities where it is delivered only about once a month. State media did not even acknowledge their existence until recently, when “Sierra Maestra,” a newspaper in Santiago de Cuba, published an article that touched, in passing, on cases of child labor on the island. The children and adolescents mentioned in the text were treated as exceptions to the rule “due to the complexity of the context.” No figures were provided, although it claimed that cases were few.

Each of these children probably has a back story — an impoverished family, a parent who has left the country, grandparents surviving on tiny pensions — like the “ninja” boys in the Loma del Angel neighborhood. Their presence has forced restaurants to hire security guards to patrol the area. Poverty has led others to ring a bell in the covered walkways of Central Havana while holding out a wicker basket into which passersby can drop coins or, in the best of cases, some bills. They are the most fragile link in the crisis and, like El Gatico and Rosita in the city of Holguín, their appearance in the streets and food service establishments exposes them to all kinds of dangers.

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