Natalia López Moya – Page 5

Another Year, Another Shortage of Ration Books in Cuba

Sign in a Cuban store saying that they won’t be issuing new ration books. (Facebook/Jonatan López)

14ymedio, Natalia López Moya and Juan Diego Rodríguez, Havana, 29 December 2022 — “Customers please be aware that in January we will be using the same ration book as 2022. So please look after it!” Messages like this one, written hurriedly on a scrap of cardboard and stuck carelessly onto the shop door, have been appearing in numerous stores in Cuba over the past week.

These are the only sign of something that’s about to happen yet again: that they haven’t printed the new ration books that normally would get issued in December, for use from January onwards.

The ministry of Interior Commerce confirmed this on Thursday on its Facebook page. In the announcement, in which it also assures that “the distribution of already established family hampers for January is guaranteed”, they inform that “there are some changes to the usual timely distribution of ration books for 2023, because in six provinces, and, partially in another three, their production has not yet been completed”.

Because of this, the text continues, “food products corresponding to the January quota will temporarily be recorded in the 2022 book, for which a procedure has been sent out”.

This newspaper has established, by telephoning a number of grocery stores, that this is happening in Havana — in the Central, Cerro and Revolution Square districts. “There are problems in getting hold of next year’s books and people are going to have to continue to use this year’s”, they explain over the phone, “most likely beyond January or February – there’s no date yet”. continue reading

The only district that appears to be free of the problem is Luyanó, where, despite the scarcity, and all the general problems associated with buying from state shops, they have actually received the ration books.

Beyond the capital, there is a shortage reported in Sancti Spiritus. There, the stores are recording January orders in the old books.

The fact that there’s a lack of these things — things which have been a daily norm ever since rationing started in 1962 — isn’t new. It was exactly the same last year.

A statement from the Ministry of Internal Commerce later clarified that there were “delays in the importation of basic printing materials”, which delayed the “production and distribution” of the document, which is essential for obtaining basic subsidised foodstuffs. In other words: they’d run out of paper.

One would read from this announcement that until they re-establish the distribution of these documents in the western and central districts, that they’ll have to keep using the 2022 ones. And to avoid confusion, it would be appropriate to “cross out things that have already been bought” before adding to the new ones in the space available “on the January and February pages” of 2022. This December, Cubans are feeling a bit… deja vu.

Translated by Ricardo Recluso

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The Cheapest ‘Street Drink’ in Cuba Now Costs More than the Daily Minimum Wage

Though the price marked on the metal trolley was 25 pesos per freshly poured glass, a paper sign above it now announced that the product had gone up by five pesos. (14ymedio)

14ymedio, Natalia López Moya, Havana, 20 December 2022 – At first it quenches the thirst but later you’re left wanting another, and then another. Granizado [English: ’slush’] is the cheapest drink you can get whilst out and about on the streets in Cuba, but in times of inflation even this glass of ice, water and syrup has seen its price arrive at a level beyond the pockets of anyone who only earns the monthly minimum wage.

Known as raspado in other Latin American countries, Cuban granizado has been there for the common people through thick and thin. Consumed with peanuts, this sugared drink was a lifesaver during long hours of waiting for the bus at dawn before any breakfast, and even in the improvised social gatherings on the Malecón in Havana when you didn’t even have the price of a shot of rum.

But even this modest sip has become unrecognisable. In only a decade granizado has become more than ten times more expensive. If a glass of it cost 2 pesos in 2012 now it’s 30 — a price that’s alienated even its most loyal customers: pensioners, those with few resources and adolescents who can’t afford a can of fizzy drink. continue reading

On Tuesday morning, a cart selling granizado appeared opposite the steps of the entrance to Havana University. With its range of flavours including strawberry, cola and ice-cream, it was noticeable that no one approached it to cool themselves down in the December heat with a cold sugary drink. Though the price marked on the metal trolley was 25 pesos per freshly poured glass, a paper sign above it now announced that the product had gone up by five pesos.

On the benches nearby dozens of people formed a long queue (line) for the buses, which, increasingly spread out now, line up from Calle San Lázaro. In earlier times they would have hung around and had a granizado first, but most of them are elderly and their pension doesn’t provide them more than 2,000 pesos a month. It’s just too much to spend more than a day’s pension on a coloured squash drink that disappears in three mouthfuls.

The sellers, however, justify the price increase. “No one sells me anything cheaply. I have to get up really early every morning and pay for the the ice at the price that it’s at on the day”. A bag of ice of between 6 and 7 pounds never goes below 80 pesos and “you have to add to that the cost of the syrup and the paper cups”. In order to get hold of the supply of most of these materials one needs to get onto the black market.

The granizado man continues with his list of complaints: “It’s increasingly more expensive for me to keep the cart in a secure place, and then there’s the fines that sometimes I get for selling on some corner where I shouldn’t be, or then some spiteful inspector wants to get money out of me… All this just adds up and adds up”. His story might sound logical enough and try to minimise the rise in prices but it doesn’t manage to change many of his customers’ decisions.

What was a drink to be grabbed in ordinary life for everyday need, to give you a swig and move you on for another half hour, has now been added to the list of things that can no longer be afforded, a bit like it all ended up with a beer, a soft drink or even a bottled water.

Translated by Ricardo Recluso

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‘I Can’t Serve You Because You’ve Been Reported Dead’

“I went to Oficoda [Office in charge of rationing in Cuba] and they told me that in their records my ration book registration was circled, with a number “1”, and it appeared that I was dead”. (14ymedio)

14ymedio, Natalia López Moya, Havana, 24 November 2022 – Ricardo, 77, rose that morning in good spirits, not imagining the awful surprise that awaited him in the grocery store where he went to buy his rations for November: “I can’t serve you because you’ve been reported dead”, the assistant replied after being given his ration book.

Three days and many formalities later, this habanero pensioner was finally able to prove that he was still alive.

The store assistant had explained that he needed to go to the Consumer’s Registry Office (Oficoda) with his ID card, his ration book and any evidence that proved that he hadn’t died. The scene was like it was lifted from the black comedy Death of a Bureaucrat (1966), but instead of happening on the cinema screen it was happening right there in Havana in 2022.

“I went to Oficoda and they repeated that in their records my ration book registration was circled, with a number “1”, and it appeared that I was dead”, Ricardo told 14ymedio. “It was a really absurd situation, because how are you supposed to prove to an official that you’re alive, if not just to walk up to her and talk, and ask questions”, he joked. “In the end I moved up closer to the woman and asked her: Miss, do I smell like I’m dead?”

Joking aside, correcting the error not only took Ricardo quite some time, and a ton of paperwork, but he also had to postpone getting his quota of rice, cereal and other produce. “While I was there in the Oficoda another three people arrived who were in the same situation. Two had been taken for having died and the other one for having emigrated”, he said. continue reading

The process of digitalisation of data at Oficoda started in 2018. Although at first the authorities presented this process as a means to speed up and improve the procedures offered to the population, the truth is that their real objective was to identify relatives of deceased or emigrated individuals who continued to buy food rations in their place.

The obligation to cancel the ration book of a deceased or emigrated person isn’t a particularly new or original one. Resolution 78, passed by the Ministry of Interior Commerce in 1991, imposes this rule on people who are in prison, in care homes, in long-term hospitalisation or resident abroad for more than three months, and they have between ten and sixty days to be taken off the ration book system.

However, the rule has hardly been applied for decades, and this has contributed to the existence of thousands and thousands of “ghost consumers”. In 2021 alone, in the province of Ciego de Ávila, 15,000 of the 437,000 registered total no longer even lived in the country, according to data from the Department of Identification, Immigration and Alien Status published in the official press. This phenomenon applies across the whole Island and has gotten worse in recent months, with the massive exodus of people from the country.

With Cuba’s economic crisis and its lack of currency for buying products abroad, Oficoda has tightened up its investigations into the existence of these ‘ghost consumers’. The digitisation of its register will certainly have helped in this process, but errors, and the reliance on unchecked information from store managers or other consumers, along with corruption itself, have all left a substantial and continuing potential for irregularity.

Ángela, a resident of Luyanó, Havana, told this newspaper: “They managed to duplicate my ration book. I went to sort something out at Oficoda and when they put in my family data they found there was a duplicate book”. Up until then somebody else had been buying bread and other regulated food products designated to Ángela and her family members, but no one had noticed it.

“I don’t have a photocopier in my house for making a copy of the ration book. So who did that?”, she complained. But the official just answered vaguely, “There must have been an error during the digitalisation process”. During the hour and a half that Ángela spent at the centre trying to sort out the problem, at least two others arrived with similar problems. They were all given the same excuse about probable errors in digitisation.

It isn’t just a routine problem to have your ration book duplicated or to be removed from the system because you’re presumed dead — it becomes a real headache for victims. This document, which has been used by every Cuban since as long ago as 1962, has actually gained in significance in the area of state commerce in recent years. Instead of disappearing, as optimists had predicted, these days it has become indispensable for obtaining products which until recently were on sale more freely.

“Being presumed dead not only stops me from buying the regulated amounts of rice or coffee, but also from getting a packet of chicken or even a bit of washing powder”, says Ricardo. Ever since that fateful morning, every time he wakes up he looks closely at himself in the mirror, touches his chest, breathes in and tells himself, with some relief: “I’m alive. And I hope Oficoda knows it too!”.

Translated by Ricardo Recluso

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Cristal, the National Beer that Became Unattainable for Cubans

The terrain lost by national beer has been filled by foreign brands that don’t maintain stability either. (14ymedio)

14ymedio, Natalia López Moya, Havana, 13 November 2022 — At another time, Havana’s Malecón would have been filled with lines around the kiosks that this weekend sell drinks and different dishes as part of the 503rd anniversary of the founding of the town of San Cristóbal de La Habana. Now, however, most customers pass by the counters, read the prices and leave without buying. The prices that are the most frightening are those for beer: 250 pesos for a can of Cristal, the brand that once accompanied so many family parties and that filled Cubans with pride.

“Now it’s easier to find a Corona, a Heineken or any other imported beer than a Cristal. When you find it, calm yourself, because it’s the most expensive,” according to one of the curious people on Saturday who approached a small makeshift bar under a blue canvas with a metal platform, a few meters from the National Hotel. “No one can explain why a product that is made in this country is more expensive than another brought from Holland or Mexico,” added the man, who finally left empty-handed.

Known as “Cuba’s favorite,” Cristal has been disappearing in recent years from the shelves of shops and restaurant tables. Its national production, in the hands of the joint venture Cervecería Bucanero S.A, isn’t doing well due to the lack of liquidity, the instability in the arrival of raw materials and the devaluation of the Cuban peso that, increasingly, pushes Cuban beers to exclusive sale in markets in freely convertible currency or to online commerce portals.

The terrain lost by local drinks has been filled by an infinity of foreign brands that don’t maintain stability either. “You come one day and there is a good German lager, and the next day it’s no longer there and instead there’s a Chinese beer,” complained another customer who finally chose to drink a national production malt, also at 250 pesos per can. “When has there been a popular celebration in which people aren’t standing around the drinking kiosks? It’s just that they get scared as soon as they see these prices,” he remarked. continue reading

Inflation and the economic crisis have been combined so that the capital commemorates its birthday with dull parties that raise little enthusiasm among the Havanans. The city of fast-paced nightlife and bars that never seemed to close has been filled with phrases like “Do you remember?” Or “Before we had…” Cristal beer, which refreshed so many throats and fueled the revelry, has also been added to the long list of nostalgia. The drinkers, who once exalted its flavor, have changed the epithet that accompanied it. It has gone from being “Cuba’s favorite” to become “Cuba’s loss.”

Translated by Regina Anavy

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In ‘Power-Cut Cuba’ Electric Vehicles Are Charged Up From Balconies

Illegal cables are helping to charge up the electric vehicles that little by little are starting to appear on the streets of Cuba. (14ymedio)

14ymedio, Natalia López Moya, Havana, 11 November 2022 – Long extensions, or ’electrical clotheslines’, are as common for Cubans as are power cuts. With many metres of cable which run from one block to another it’s possible to get around the lack of power, or even to light up a whole quarter illegally, without being metered. And now the cables are helping to charge up the electric vehicles which are, little by little, beginning to appear on the streets of Cuba.

Motorcycles, tricycles and quad bikes form part of this fleet that needs no fossil fuels to get it moving, but it needs to be connected to the electricity supply, a service which is becoming more and more unstable because of the poor technical state of the Island’s power stations. “I payed nearly 7,000 dollars for this tricycle and though I really like it, sometimes it’s a real headache trying to get it charged”, says Liam, a young Hababero who earns a living as a food delivery driver.

“I live on a high storey, so I can’t just pick up the bike, fold it in half, put it in the lift and connect it to the electric socket in the flat. The battery itself is too heavy for carrying from one place to another”, says the delivery man. “I’ve managed to get a neighbour to pass me a cable from their [lower] balcony and I pay them a monthly amount for the service”, he says. Scenes of electric cables like this stretching from balconies down to shiny new vehicles parked on the street are becoming more and more common.

Although the authorities announced months ago that they were working on the installation of solar powered outlets in locations that would ensure the charging of these vehicles with 100% renewable energy, the process has been slow and they have hardly even been able to install a few power points, for state companies. “I’ll have to be able, one way or another, to charge up the tricycle at home, but even that is a box of surprises because you don’t know when there’s going to be a power cut”, complained Lisandra, a resident in the city of Ciego de Ávila. continue reading

“What we do is, if we don’t have electricity in our quarter we try to get it by connecting to another”, she adds. “For that, we have to go everywhere with an extra extension cable, just in case”. The old ’electric clothesline’ which has saved so many Cubans from long hours of darkness, that is, from the punishment of Unión Eléctrica, is now helping them to get around: “Pass me the cable over the balcony so I can charge up the car”, is already a not-unfamiliar thing to hear on the Island of the power cuts.

Translated by Ricardo Recluso

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Inspectors Fine Garage Sale Vendors in Havana

If the building’s residents complain, the chances of getting a visit from an inspector or the police increase astronomically. (14ymedio)

14ymedio, Natalia Lopez Moya, Havana, 5 November 2022 — A sign that, only a few days ago, was advertising a garage sale on 26th Street in Havana had suddenly disappeared, leaving customers to wonder if the owner had either skipped town or had nothing to sell. The truth is the sale was cancelled out of caution after officials announced that they would be keeping a closer eye on this type of retail activity, making sure only “authorized items” were being sold.

“I can’t risk getting fined so I didn’t open this weekend,” says Tahimí, a 38-year-old Havana resident who got on the garage sale bandwagon as soon as it was legalized in 2021. “Some of what I sell are second-hand clothes and shoes but my biggest sellers are housewares and other imported goods,” she says.

Cuban officials have begun cracking down on illegal commercial activities. This has not only put coleros — professional line-sitters — resellers and hoarders under greater scrutiny but also threatens others involved in the retail trade. At a recent meeting of senior officials in Havana, there were calls for greater oversight of garage sales, the sites at which they take place and the types of items being sold there.

The announcement caught the attention of anyone who had ever set up shop in a stairway, at a building entrance or in a parking garage. These makeshift stores might sell anything from clothing and wallets to light bulbs, fast-acting glue and cigarettes. “I guess we’ll only be selling used goods or things we happen to have at home,” laments Tahimí.

She recalls that, in late 2013, the government banned the sale of imported goods in private stores, which were being supplied by “mules” returning from trips to countries such as Mexico, Panama and Russia. But last year’s protests forced the government to quickly adopt a set of measures intended to quell popular discontent. Legalizing garage sales was one such measure.

Though the new rules did not require a garage sale operator to have a business license or to register as a self-employed worker, he or she still had to get a permit from the Municipal Administration Council, at a cost of 50 pesos. A few weeks later the regulation was “updated” and the permit requirement was eliminated. “No one told us what we could or couldn’t sell but recently I’ve met several neighbors who were fined for displaying food and coffee.” continue reading

Others choose not to give in to fear. “Nobody has told me that I can’t sell these things,” says a vendor who operates on Tulipán street in the Cerro neighborhood. On a small table he displays several types of sunglasses, USB sticks and a couple of universal remote controls, all new and in their original packaging.

“No one told us what we could or couldn’t sell but recently I’ve met several neighbors who were fined for displaying food and coffee.” (14ymedio)

He points out, however, that longtime street vendors on Galiano and Monte streets, people “who have been doing this their whole lives,” are receiving the same fines as those who operate garage sales. It is difficult to distinguish between them because the merchandise they are selling increasingly corresponds to items in short supply at state-owned stores, forcing consumers to turn to the informal market for all manner of everyday items.

Residents in Luyanó alert vendors when they see “a red and white minivan approaching.” It ferries inspectors to the neighborhood to conduct checks on garage sales and private vendors. Garage sales are now only allowed to operate on weekends and may only carry second-hand goods and one or two duplicates of new items vendors might have at home.

Witnesses report that infractions are subject to fines ranging from 3,000 to more than 10,000 pesos. These are particularly hefty sums considering how widely this type of activity was tolerated until very recently.

To evade oversight, some garage sales have moved online. “Selling bales of used clothing in good condition,” reads a classified ad on Facebook. “A combo of pants, shoes, blouse and feminine accessories at a very good price,” reads another, which adds “No need to leave home, the merchandise comes to you.”

There are also those who act as suppliers to the vendors. “I have clothes for garage sales, available separately or as twelve pieces packaged together” reads another classified on a page seemingly overflowing with deals on both second-hand and brand new items. Many ads are placed by families planning to leave the country, of which there are more and more every day, and who cannot fit their belongings in their suitcases.

But it is not just officials who are keeping an eye on garage sales. Residents in one twelve-story building in Nuevo Vedado complain that an operation of this type has invaded their stairway and is attracting people “who are constantly coming and going,” shopping for and trying on clothes. “It’s fine that they’re making a little money but they’re using a public space for their own personal gain,” one neighbor remarks.

If the building’s residents complain, the chances of getting a visit from an inspector or the police increase astronomically. “They can always find some reason to shut you down or to fine you because no one can get just by selling only what you’re allowed to sell,” she adds. When it comes to garage sales, the era of just looking the other way has come to an end, and only a little more than a year after they were legalized.

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‘Inspectors Monitor the Sale of Tomatoes in Cuba as if They Were Lobster Tails’

The 19th and B market, in El Vedado, is almost entirely privately managed and is governed by the law of supply and demand. (14ymedio)

14ymedio, Natalia López Moya, Havana, 7 November 2022 — What is expected this season, when temperatures begin to fall in Cuba, is that tomatoes will reach the markets. However, this year, the fruit is absent from many agricultural stands in Havana. The reason is the daily police raids, launched recently, against high prices, and the decision of merchants to withdraw the product so as not to sell at a loss.

“There is no one selling tomatoes in this market,” said a young man this Sunday morning. He manages one of the stands at the Juvenile Labor Army (EJT) premises on Tulipán Street, in Nuevo Vedado. “We have been told that we can’t sell them for more than 200 pesos per pound, and that amount doesn’t give us a good profit,” he adds, speaking to 14ymedio.

This weekend, in the different kiosks located in the EJT market, you could see burro bananas, cabbages, sweet potatoes and leeks, but not the characteristic red color of the tomatoes needed to make a tasty salad. “That product is candela. You get a fine right away,” the young man warned.

“To be able to recover the investment, a tomato must be sold right now at 250 to 270 pesos a pound,” says Jorge, a 38-year-old habanero who transports goods from the area of Güira de Melena and Alquízar, in the province of Artemisa, to the 19th and B market in El Vedado. “Below that price I would now be working at a loss.” continue reading

The El Vedado market, known for its wide variety of products and high prices, is almost entirely privately managed and is governed by the law of supply and demand. An avocado at 100 pesos, a pound of small onions at 350, and cucumber at 80, turn a modest purchase in that market into a four-figure bill.

“They come here to try to pressure us to lower prices, but they are the same ones who later sell you beer in a state restaurant for more than 180 pesos,” Jorge says. “For us everything has become more expensive, too, from the fuel that we get ’on the left’ to the price that the farmer puts on his harvest.”

“What people are doing is that they prefer not to bring some products for sale here in the market,” he explains to this newspaper. “If through digital sites, where they buy from abroad for their family in Cuba, a product can be sold at a more reasonable price for us, what need is there to look for a fine by bringing the merchandise here?”

In on-line sites aimed at emigrants, a pound of tomatoes is around 4 dollars, almost 500 pesos at the official exchange rate. Deliveries are made directly to homes, and the customer pays online with their credit or debit card. “You get rid of the inspectors, the police and having to hide the product every time they warn you of a raid,” Jorge explains. “If it continues like this, the only ones who will be able to eat a tomato salad will be those who have family in Miami.”

In markets such as the EJT, administered by the military, the pressures on merchants are greater. “It’s not that we have been banned from selling tomatoes, but they might as well have done so, because they want to force us to keep the price low; but on the other hand when asked if prices are capped, they tell you that no, it’s not that, it’s part of a battle against illegalities,” explains the intermediary.

For the official press, it’s not a question of recovering investments but of speculating. “In other words: it’s about obtaining, by all those involved in the chain, logical profit margins, from fair and reasonable sales prices, contrary to those who, with legal status or not, monopolize the productions, speculate and fleece the public without a minimum of modesty,” the official State newspaper Granma pronounced this Sunday.

“It’s urgent to close all loopholes to the flight of products to illicit destinations, and call to account those who participate directly in selling, calling themselves markets, plazas, points of sale, pushcarts or street vendors,” threatened the official organ of the Communist Party.

The offensive also extends to sellers who, like Dayron, offer their goods on a tricycle in some corner of Havana. “Last week I was fined 6,000 pesos that I haven’t yet been able to pay. The inspector told me that I couldn’t sell chopped onion at 1,000 pesos or tomatoes at 220, as I was doing.”

With his point of sale, Dayron travels through some parts of the Los Sitios neighborhood. “Now you have to sell a tomato as if it were a lobster tail. Carefully watching that an inspector or policeman doesn’t approach,” the man says. “I prefer that they spoil at home and my wife has to turn them into puree, but at 150 or 180 pesos a pound, I won’t be able to to sell them.”

And he concludes: “That’s what they did with pork: they began to impose fines on the sellers, and the result was that pork was lost from the markets. Now it’s the tomato’s time, and tomorrow the time will come for something else, the malanga or the cucumber; it makes no difference, because they just want to control everything.”

Translated by Regina Anavy

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‘We Don’t Even Have Bread for Communion’ Says a Priest in Cuba

Every diocese orders the hosts it needs from the nuns, picks them up in Havana and pays a modest fee to help support the sisters. (Screen capture)

14ymedio, Natalia Lopez Moya, Havana, 3 November 2022 — The monastery of the Discalced Carmelite nuns of Saint Teresa in Havana produces most of the communion wafers, or “hosts,” consumed by the island’s Catholics. On Wednesday the nuns announced in an online statement that they would not be able to manufacture or sell any more of them, paralyzing a distribution system that has been operating for decades.

“We’ve been working with what little flour that was left but we’ve already run out of that stockpile,” wrote the nuns, for whom the sale of hosts was one of their sources of income.

The announcement has aroused the solidarity of many Catholics on the island as well as of Cuban exiles in Spain and the United States, who have taken the opportunity to send raw materials to the Havana convent. The sisters have also set up a phone line for anyone who might want to help.

“Since production has been halted, we’ll have to stretch the existing hosts, almost like [the biblical parable of] multiplying the loaves,” says Fr. Jose Luis Preyo, a Spanish priest working in the town of Caibarién, in Villa Clara province. “We’ll have to divide each host into two or three pieces until the supply is replenished.”

Pueyo explains that priests from every parish goes to their local bishops once a month to pick up hosts for their congregations. “It’s not a product that will keep indefinitely,” he points out. “It’s better not to wait too long before consuming it. That’s why production and supply have to be ongoing.”

As for the Carmelite nuns of Havana — they were the subject of the 2015 Spanish documentary “A Million Hosts” — he describes their work as “doing a favor for the island’s dioceses.” The money they receive for the continue reading

hosts also allows the convent to be economically self-sufficient. “If this turns out to be a chronic problem, which seems unlikely, we would have to import hosts from overseas, as we do now with sacramental wine. We would also have to find dioceses or parishes to produce them, which has already happened to some extent, or to consecrate ordinary bread,” says the priest.

As for the latter option, Pueyo says that this could only be done with bread made from wheat flour without any additives or fillers, something impossible to find in Cuba.

“The hosts are distributed on a monthly basis,” says Pedro, a lay administrator in Villa Clara. “Every diocese orders the hosts it needs from the nuns, picks them up in Havana and pays a modest fee to help support the sisters.

Pedro speculates that the host shortage will lead to rumors about the Catholic church’s relationship with the government. He claims the nuns have an agreement with the regime to supply them with flour but that the government has not lived up to its end of the deal.

“It’s worth noting that Pope Francis does not supply the flour, as some people think, nor is it his responsibility. Every country has its own system for producing and distributing hosts.” He says some hosts are also produced at the local level in Cuba though he admits he does not know how this is done.

Sebastian, a layperson working for the diocese of Matanzas, claims the Carmelites produce all the hosts consumed by the western half of the island. “Years ago the nuns were able to modernize their operation. It’s not ordinary bread. It’s a wafer whose dough must be cooled in a very exacting way, then placed on very hot metal sheets, where it is shaped and cut,” he explains.

Sebastian does not believe a shortage of communion wafers will disrupt religious life in Cuba but he cautions, “It will severely impact the lives of thousands of Catholics who attend Sunday mass.”

He also points out that Catholics are not the only ones affected. “Evangelicals, Anglicans and Orthodox Christians rely on the archdiocese to provide them with hosts for their own religious services.”

“It’s not the first time we’ve faced a crisis but, so far, we’ve always been able to overcome any obstacle. But this time there’s an announcement that speaks louder that a thousand words about the hardships we are facing. It is as though the old saying ‘We don’t even have bread for communion’ were literally true.”

Shortages of raw materials have significantly affected churches and church-related endeavors. Sebastian recalls that, some time ago, Vida Cristiana — a nearly 60-year old Jesuit publication that was one of those which published the Carmelite nuns’ announcement — faced a serious paper shortage. Dozens of other Cuban religious publications faced the same problem, forcing them to delay printing or to shut down entirely.

“Another problem is the electricity shortage. What kind of manufacturing operations can survive blackouts that last for more than twelve hours?” he asks.

Although the protests over shortages and blackouts seem to have subsided, many people in the country’s interior still suffer from long power outages. These hardships, along with the imprisonment of demonstrators and worsening living conditions, have led the island’s priests and nuns to denounce the situation.

Alberto Reyes, a priest in Camaguey province, posted a message of support to the demonstrators: “Given the unacceptable lack of electricity in Esmeralda, if anyone is going to hold a peaceful protest, let me know so I can ring the church bells.”

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The Delivery of Passports is Delayed for Thousands of Cubans Eager to Emigrate

Cubans line up outside a DIIE office to get their passport. (*14ymedio*)

14ymedio, Natalia López Moya, Havana, 3 November 2022 — This Tuesday, Liliam and Jorge went for the third time to the office of the Directorate of Identification, Immigration and Aliens (DIIE) in Centro Habana, and their passport was not ready although they have tickets to travel to Nicaragua next Saturday. The mass exodus, together with the economic crisis, is delaying the delivery of travel documents.

“We managed to book the flights, paying more than a thousand dollars each, but if they don’t give us the passports in the next few days we can lose that money,” the mother of two children, who will also travel to Managua, explains to 14ymedio. “They were supposed to deliver everything on October 25, and nothing has arrived yet.”

The delay in deliveries is confirmed by an employee of the office located on Castillejo Street, on the corner of Jesús Peregrino. “We don’t make the passports here; we have to wait for Sepsa (Empresa de Servicios Especializados de Protección, S.A.) to bring them, but they don’t have fuel for their vehicles,” he tells this newspaper.

“They must travel in a safe vehicle because we’re talking about very sensitive documents, which must be guarded until they reach their destination,” he adds, like the cash from the banks or exchange offices.

“That has extended the period between requesting a passport or identity card and when it can be picked up,” the employee adds. “Now it’s taking about 30 working days, where before it was two weeks, but that may be more dependent on how the issue of transport is resolved and the number of requests for new documents.”

The place is full of people every day, and it’s difficult to find an empty space on its two floors to sit down, due to the avalanche of applicants. Most of those who go to the office do so to start the procedure for a new passport, although there are also those who want to request the mandatory extension of that document every two years, and others who need an identity card. continue reading

I have just retired and have stopped the whole pension process because I lost my identity card, and although four weeks ago I applied for a new one, I haven’t received it yet,” complained Rodolfo, a neighbor of nearby Salud Street, who is still waiting to start several official procedures. “They gave me a paper that supposedly replaces the card but in many places they don’t accept it.”

As soon as the doors are opened in the Castillejo office, a worker lets the first group in. Those who enter are placed in rows of seats until they are called, one by one, to go to a table where another employee in front of a computer enters the person’s data to call him later. On the upper floor are the areas for taking fingerprints and photos.

“They can have everything very well organized, but what’s the point if the delivery times are late?” complains Rodolfo. “Since I arrived today I have even seen people crying because they had everything ready to leave the country believing that they were going to get their passport on time and then found out that there are serious delays in delivery.”

In front of the premises, Idania looks through her window at those who begin to enter the second round of calls, after the obligatory break from 11 in the morning to 1:30 in the afternoon to save electricity in the state premises. “I’ve lived here since I was born and I’ve never seen such a long line. Whole families are coming to get their passports and emigrate,” she tells this newspaper.

“In these days there is so much delay in the preparation of the documents that I have seen people who have even tried to give money to expedite the procedure, but the employees can’t do anything,” she says. “This is not the place where they make them; they have to wait for them to be brought, and if there is no gasoline for the cars there is no way.”

“And it’s not only here. The 17th Street office in El Vedado is the same, with a permanent line and delivery dates of more than a month and counting,” she says. “There are people who come from other municipalities with the illusion that it will be faster here, but it’s a general problem, and no one escapes.”

Idania estimates that every morning, when the DIIE office begins to open, there are already “more than a hundred people outside waiting to enter.” Throughout the day that figure can continue to multiply several times. “In this place, quietly, they are serving more than five thousand people a week, and if only half come to ask for their new passport, then we are talking about many people.”

In silence, so as not to bother employees or get into problems that delay the process, fifty people wait on the ground floor, sitting and listening to the rules, read by a worker with a martial tone: “Here you cannot use your mobile phone; to call or receive calls you have to leave. You must be aware of the person in front of you so that you don’t miss your turn*, and you aren’t allowed to speak loudly either.”

After the indications, there are a few minutes of silence that break when a young man goes down the stairs and shouts with annoyance: “I’ve been doing this and nothing more for a month. Another day lost and no passport!” A murmur of indignation runs through the room, and several people go out on the sidewalk to use their cellphones. “We won’t be able to leave on Friday. They are still not delivering the passports that were supposed to be available in the second half of October,” one is heard saying.

*Translator’s note: In Cuba, people line up by asking “who’s last?” when they arrive, and then waiting until the next person to join the line behind them asks the same thing. Once the ’order’ of those waiting is established, people can then move around, a convenience particularly when lines can be hours long.

Translated by Regina Anavy

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Mexican Company Magnicharters Denounces Theft of Luggage from Their Flights to Cuba

A letter has been sent to Cuban Airports and Airport Services, and to the authorities at José Martí International Airport Terminal 3. (México Destinos)

14ymedio, Natalia López Moya, Havana, 22 October 2022 – The tourist operator Bojórquez has sent a stern letter to the Cuban airport authorities, denouncing the misplacement of suitcases, removal of belongings from passengers’ luggage, and the substitution of waste matter for passengers’ property, in flights operated by the Mexican airline Magnicharters. The company considers these matters to be criminal and is even threatening legal action.

“Our airline takes seriously the care and protection of our passengers’ belongings”, warns the letter, dated 19 October, which has been seen by 14ymedio. “Every day we see an increase in this activity”, it emphasises, alluding to the interference with, and theft from, luggage. The letter, signed by Armando Bojórquez Patrón, president of the tourist operator Bojórquez, details some of the troubling discoveries they have made.

“Misplaced suitcases, suitcases broken, opened, with damaged locks (padlocks, cable ties), removal of contents, substitution of contents with other items in order to keep the baggage weight the same, broken items left inside cases, empty perfume bottles, used and soiled items of clothing”, explains Bojórquez.

The letter, sent to Cuban Airports and Airport Services and the authorities at José Martí International Airport Terminal 3, explains that the airline “backed the Cuban destination, under the conditions of the travel agents charter”. This season, in addition to carrying passengers between Cancún, Mexico City, Mérida and Havana, as well as on the new route of Cancún- Holguín, the company is transferring Cuban migrants who have been deported from Mexico. continue reading

“That is to say, in an active way it is maintaining its services to Cuba not only in a tourist capacity but in a governmental one”, Bojórquez emphasises. The company operates these routes with a fleet of Boeing 777’s, each with capacity for 136 passengers. Although Magnicharters “takes seriously the care and protection” of its passengers’ belongings, “it is becoming impossible” to maintain its standards on its routes to the island.

The airline, which flies mainly to Mexican beach destinations, had 12 aircraft in 2016, but with the arrival of the pandemic it was forced to keep a number of them grounded. There is a hold-baggage limit of 25kg plus 20kg hand luggage on the Cancún-Havana route, which makes the company a perfect choice for Cuban ’mules’.

The ticket price of 278 dollars makes the route between the Cuban capital and the Mexican resort an attractive proposition for those importing goods for resale on the black market in Cuba. “They are flights loaded with purchases — white goods, clothes, footwear and other products — carried for later profitable sale at the highest price”, admits an employee of the General Customs Service who works at terminal 3 of Havana airport.

Bojórquez’s letter demands that the Cubans do more to protect luggage: “It’s our intention to ensure that all parties are able to activate the mechanisms for security and protection to which we are duty-bound, in the handling of passengers’ luggage, and that we don’t lose, through being lax, the prestige that we have all earned in our daily operations”.

Last April, Magnicharters cancelled their flights between Havana and Managua, Nicaragua, a route which had been particularly profitable given that each ticket sold for over 3,000 dollars. This cancellation came in shortly after conversations about migration had been held between the Cuban and Mexican governments, in which they pledged to maintain an “ordered and secure” migration.

The letter ends by calling for the “minimisation of these unfortunate incidents” and the company offers its “collaboration in avoiding these occurrences, already happening repeatedly on Magnicharters’ flights” to Cuba. The document has already had an impact in the baggage section at José Martí airport, where management are looking to evade responsibility and are seeking out the culprits.

This very week several tour operators arrived in Havana on Magnicharters flights, at the invitation of the Cuban tourist authorities. “When they arrived at their hotel they noticed that their luggage had been partly interfered with and stolen from”, an airport source told this newspaper, who blamed the incidents on the Mexicans themselves. “They seem to have occurred back there at the airport of departure, but we haven’t been able to verify that yet”.

However, other employees consider that what is happening fits with a “type of theft which is unique to Cuban airports where the workers are paid a very low salary and are put in daily contact with luggage containing belongings that are worth more than a whole month’s wage”, a worker connected to the main Cuban airport terminal told 14ymedio.

There are frequent complaints of luggage theft at Cuban airports and among victims’ testimonies are repeated accounts of broken locks, removal of items such as clothing, shoes, perfumes etc, as well as substitution of these items with old clothing, newspaper and even stones.

Translated by Ricardo Recluso

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The Police Sweep up Vendors from the Doorways of Havana

Police operation carried out last week in a shop on Neptuno and Galiano, in Havana. (*14ymedio*)

14ymedio, Natalia López Moya, Havana, 23 October 2022 — The urban landscape of Havana lacks an important element these days: informal vendors who, in parks and doorways, offer everything from matches to soft drinks. A police operation carried out last week swept up these vendors, who sell basic products that are scarce in state stores.

“Not even one was left. These doorways on Galiano Street were always full of people selling many useful things for the home,” said a resident in Centro Habana who, approached the central avenue with the intention of buying a washer for his Italian coffee maker. “At first I thought it was too early and they hadn’t arrived, but a neighbor told me that the police had removed them.”

According to this resident, the raid took several minutes. “They arrested some and took away all the merchandise. Others were fined and warned that if they see them here again the fine will be even higher,” explains Luisa, a resident on nearby Águila Street, who rents part of her room to informal sellers to keep their merchandise.

The operation reached the self-employed fair also located on Galiano Street. Although those who sell there are licensed to sell local handicrafts and other privately-produced goods, according to the police, some were offering industrial products brought from abroad or bought in stores in freely convertible currency. continue reading

Fe del Valle Park, in Centro Habana, without the vendors’ tables. (14ymedio)

The usually-bustling place on Tuesday was practically empty and without the in-and-out of customers that has characterized it for years. Through the doorways in Galiano, from time to time you can see police, who monitor the area so that the street vendors don’t return. A daring one manages to take advantage of the fact that the agents move away to quietly hawk sponges and small bags of detergent.

“There are people who say that it’s the fault of the resellers who hoard the little they buy in the store and then resell it, but most of the things that these vendors sell are brought from abroad,” explains the woman, alluding to the mules that import all kinds of goods from Mexico, Panama, the Dominican Republic and the United States.

“If you need a sewing needle right now, where do you buy it?” asks Luisa. “Many of the things they sell don’t exist anywhere else, for example, dyes for clothes, lighters for gas stoves or shoe polish,” the woman says. “None of them have become rich selling all that junk,” she emphasizes.

The panorama, when you walk along Reina Street or San Rafael Boulevard is strange without the small tables or blankets on the ground of these informal merchants. The hope that some of their most assiduous customers have is that the waters will soon reach a level when the police raids against them end, and then the stalls will return with their tubes of glue and belts for men.

They do this all the time but then the vendors come back,” considers another neighbor. “Now they are again with the ’battle against illegalities,’ but they don’t recognize that these sellers solve a problem.” In the Fe del Valle park, where until a few days ago the tables alternated with bargains and school items, now there are only a few people sitting on the benches or connecting to the wifi area. It looks like the same place as a few weeks ago, but it no longer is.

Translated by Regina Anavy

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Despite its Enormous Benefits, Etecsa Runs Out of Resources

Etecsa is one of the few Cuban entities that generates large earnings, and, nevertheless, it is in crisis. (14ymedio)

14ymedio, Natalia López Moya, Havana, 17 October 2022 — With its blue logo, air-conditioned offices and no competition in the national market, the Cuban Telecommunications Company (Etecsa) is experiencing a paradoxical situation: it is one of the few national entities that generates a large income, and, even so, it is in a difficult financial situation.

“We’re tying pieces of cables together in order to solve the breaks,” complains José Ángel, a worker of the state monopoly, a company that is experiencing “the worst crisis since its creation,” an employee of the Plaza de la Revolución municipality tells 14ymedio. “The bosses still have privileges, but we are without the resources to serve customers.”

José Ángel lists everything they lack. “There are no landlines to replace the old ones; we lack the boxes to install inside homes; the supply of cables is also having many problems, and even mobility is affected by the shortage of fuel.” The rosary of hardships stimulates the desertion of employees who once saw in Etecsa a “comfortable and privileged” place to work.

“This has changed a lot in recent years. They used to sell us products at a preferential price, but that happens less and less,” says a worker at the customer service office located in the Trade Market. “Here we are a little better because this place is very central and works like a display window, but in the other municipalities they can practically not even turn on the air conditioning.”

Every 15 days, Etecsa launches a cell-phone recharge promotion with extra bonuses to be paid from abroad. In 2019, computer science graduate Luilver Garcés Briñas estimated that on each of those occasions the state monopoly could be earning more than 7 million dollars from abroad. continue reading

But most of that hard currency isn’t invested in the telecommunications infrastructure. “About 90% of what Etecsa collects leaves the company in a large item marked “undefined,” clarifies another employee linked to the accounting area, who prefers to remain anonymous. “With what remains, it’s very difficult to maintain a quality service because we can’t make large investments.”

The lack of liquidity is also beginning to take its toll on Etecsa with its foreign investors. “In 2022, for the first time in 15 years, we haven’t been able to fulfill our financial commitment to Nokia,” the Finnish company that has worked on the Island to implement part of the data service for cell phones. “Investors are pressing us like crazy, but there’s no money,” says the accountant.

“A point has been reached where a large investment has to be made to improve connectivity, because the submarine cable with Venezuela is not enough now,” adds the source, who assures that alternatives are being sought with the Government of Andrés Manuel López Obrador. At the same time, he says: “Although negotiations are in the works with Mexico for the possible laying of another cable, such a project will need investments, and the company is not able to make them right now.”

“The problem is that cell-phone usage has grown very fast, and we went from almost zero to approaching the 8 million cell phones we have right now. Customers are increasingly making use of data, downloading and uploading videos, making video calls and watching movies on the Internet, and all that is overtaxing the infrastructure we have, which is not expanding and improving at the speed needed,” he explains.

Bad news will continue to accumulate for the monopoly. Etecsa has not updated the exchange rate between hard currencies and the Cuban peso, as state exchange offices have done since last August. The delay in assuming the new exchange rates brings many distortions, including for immigrants, who find it better to send euros or dollars in cash to their family in Cuba to pay for a recharge, instead of paying for the service from abroad.

“A recharge from the United States costs between 20 and 23 dollars, and my relatives in Cuba receive 500 pesos of fixed amount, plus the bonuses that Etecsa promotes,” explains Indira, an immigrant from the Island who has been in Miami for a few months. “That same amount of money in Cuba is equivalent to about 4,200 or 4,500 pesos, enough to put eight packages of 500 pesos and still leave money for a smaller package.”

“Every day that passes without Etecsa correcting this great difference, more people here realize it and prefer to send the money for the recharge directly to the relatives,” says the young woman.

In the customer service center, the phone rings and the operator says: “Good morning, Marilú is taking care of you, how can I help you?” On the other side of the line, a subscriber complains with an annoying tone that his landline has not been working for three months and that he has reported this five times. “I’m going to put it on the list, but right now we don’t have supplies for repairs,” the employee says.

Calls with similar claims will continue for the whole day. In his daily report, José Ángel receives calls to attend to breakdowns in his municipality. “I’m going to see what happens, but if you need cables or boxes I can’t do anything. I’m only going to fulfil the formality that we review the problem,” he says while driving a van with a half-deleted Etecsa logo.

Translated by Regina Anavy

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Dozens of Cuban Medical Students Leave Their Careers to Emigrate

The pandemic has taken away the desire of many students for a medical degree, poorly paid and with poor working conditions. (Granma)

14ymedio, Natalia López Moya, Havana, 14 October 2022 — A few weeks ago she got married, in a white, short suit, with flowers and many photos. But the celebration for Kirenia, 22 years old, was in the simple formal procedure for her to reside in Madrid with her husband, a young Cuban who is also a nationalized-Spaniard. Behind her will be her medical career, almost about to conclude, which she abandons for fear that Cuba’s social services will hinder her exit.

“It’s been the most difficult decision of my life because I love my career,” says Kirenia, an outstanding student not only in her course but also throughout the University of Medical Sciences of Ciego de Ávila. Her parents supported her from the first moment and encouraged her to leave before obtaining her degree. “I have several classmates who are doing the same thing.”

Kirenia doesn’t know if she will one day be able to graduate as a doctor in Spain, but she will not do so in Cuba. “My grandfather and grandmother are retired doctors and have to work, because their pensions are not enough,” she tells 14ymedio. “Washing dishes in a café in Madrid I can probably live better than them.” continue reading

The winner of many school contests in her teenage days, Kirenia now no longer has a “head for books and studies” because she only thinks about the moment when the plane takes off and she can look from the window at how the lights of the Island move away.

“Since I made the decision, I can’t even sleep. I have the feeling that something is going to happen that is going to stop me from leaving, but my family tells me that I have to calm down and that everything is going to be fine.” Kirenia already announced at the Faculty her decision to leave her career but attributed her departure to a pregnancy and the need to spend more time with her husband and future baby.

However, the truth is that she can’t imagine “working more than twelve hours a day in a hospital where there are no medicines, the toilets are so dirty that many doctors spend their entire day without even urinating, and they earn a little more than 4,000 pesos that don’t serve for much.”

Together with other colleagues they have created a WhatsApp group where they exchange any scholarship opportunity to leave Cuba. “There are more than twenty, most of them are third, fourth and fifth year medical students. If they are given a scholarship, they are willing to leave medical school” and join the almost 200,000 Cubans who have arrived in the United States since last October, or, unspecified, those who have left for other countries.

The Faculty of Medicine has been one of the jewels in the educational crown in Cuba for the last 60 years. The mass graduation of health workers is part of the official policy and is displayed as one of the great achievements of the revolutionary process, in addition to providing doctors to medical missions abroad, one of the main sources for hard currency on the Island.

In six decades, between 1959 and 2019, Cuba graduated 376,608 people in different branches of the Medical Sciences, of which 171,362 were doctors. The number of those who have left their profession to exercise other economically more rewarding professions and those who have emigrated is handled with secrecy, but in hospitals there is often a shortage of qualified staff and specialists.

Artemisa province is a dramatic case: more than 20 medical students from the same year abandoned their studies, all together. “It’s not just to take advantage of Nicaragua’s no-visa policy,” Inés, the friend of one of these deserters, explains to this newspaper. “It’s also because the rumor that they will be ’regulated’ [that is denied permission to leave the country] once they earn the degree is getting stronger, and they are afraid,” she adds in reference to the ban on leaving the country that the Government applies to students who finish strategic careers, such as Medicine.

On the other hand, in the provincial hospital, “several health workers have requested exit permits and, once granted, have emigrated permanently,” says the same source. “Some ask to be discharged; others leave without doing so because they [the authorities] can delay it, and others have taken advantage of gaps in the system; for example, that they’re in their last year of specialty and have not been ’regulated’.”

In the case of Yander, age 24, the reasons for requesting dismissal from the Victoria de Girón Faculty of Medical Sciences, in Havana, were different. He entered the first year of the program a few months before the outbreak of the COVID-19 pandemic. All students were, in one way or another, sent to support hospitals in the face of the large avalanche of people infected with the virus.

“I had hardly any experience and I had to face situations that I don’t want to live through again,” he tells 14ymedio. “The main problem for me was not the fear of getting sick; I got infected twice. I also didn’t make this decision from seeing so many people die without being able to do much to help them, because even oxygen was scarce.”

Yander got tired of the health authorities using students and recent graduates “as if they were furniture… Nobody was asking us anything. They moved us back and forth to support here and there, but the conditions in which we worked were terrible. There was a week that I could only eat bread with something and a juice that I don’t even know what it was because it only tasted like water with sugar.”

“The situation of doctors is something that you have to experience to see.” The young man decided to end his career as a doctor on the day that “a companion was upset because his mother with cancer was dying, and we didn’t even have a painkiller to give her. The man assaulted me and a nurse with a chair.” That night, when he returned home, Yander hung up his white coat for good.

He now has a business selling birds in Cerro. “What I learned at the Faculty I use a lot in the care of these animals, and I also sell hamsters, turtles and rabbits, in addition to the food they need.” The days when business goes badly, Yander still earns what a doctor achieves in a week. “I don’t miss it at all; rather I feel that I was saved from disaster.”

Economic problems also tipped the balance for Nelson Sánchez Ramos’ daughter. “We decided that the best thing for our daughter is to abandon her studies,” this man wrote on his Facebook account. “The disparity between what a professional earns who must study six years to save lives and what the frontmen of the regime receive, makes you reflect on your future and the future of this country.”

Sánchez’s wife, a graduate of Medicine, ” was forced to stop practicing the profession because it’s very difficult for her to get used to living on a salary” that doesn’t even guarantee a regular breakfast. “My girl lost motivation for her studies and now she has to make a huge effort as many university students in this country do, to graduate from a profession that they may abandon in the future to be able to fulfill their dreams, or for something as basic as guaranteeing an adequate diet for her and her children.”

Wage contrasts are obvious between what a doctor earns and what the members of the Ministry of the Interior earn. “Cubans interested in training as prison officials will receive 6,690 pesos of monthly salary, after a course of five and a half months, while a newly graduated doctor earns 4,610 pesos; a resident studying his specialty receives 5,060; and in the case of doctors with finished specialties, the salary ranges between 5,560 and 5,810,” concludes Sánchez.

Others abandon their studies to use all their energies to leave the country. “My son left Medicine in his fifth year and sold everything he had to pay for the ticket to Nicaragua. He has already been in the United States for three months and works in a brigade of builders. His friends at the Faculty see him as a hero,” says Frank Vilaú, father of a 26-year-old boy. “Now he is earning enough to help his girlfriend, who also left medical school, to get out of Cuba.”

But the exodus is not only happening in university education and, specifically, in the faculties of Medicine but also at all educational levels. René, a 45-year-old father from Havana and about to leave for the United States with his children through the family reunification program, visited the youngest’s high school to communicate to the teacher that the child would no longer continue attending classes because of the imminent departure.

“The teacher almost burst into tears and told me: ’No one is going to be left here. I have several students who are in the same situation, and other teachers have also told me that the same thing is happening in their classrooms.’”

Translated by Regina Anavy

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‘Let’s See if They Are Going to Fix Our Houses’ With the Millions from the Restoration of the Santa Clara Convent

The imposing structure of the convent occupies a huge block outlined by the emblematic streets Habana, Cuba, Sol and Luz of Old Havana. (14ymedio)

14ymedio, Natalia López Moya, Havana, 21 September 2022 — Julita is 57 years old and sells avocados next to the Santa Clara de Asís Convent, the oldest cloister in Havana which is in the middle of a capital restoration to return it to its former splendor. A few meters from its painted yellow walls the residents of the area dream that the investment will be enough to also renovate a neighborhood sunk in housing deterioration and crisis.

“Until now, they haven’t told us anything that they’re also going to repair some nearby houses, not even the potholed streets that are quite cracked,” a resident of Calle Sol, who was born in the tenement where she and about twenty families now live, with explains to 14ymedio. “Since 1965, when my mother brought me into this world, the people on this lot have been waiting for their little dwellings to be fixed up.”

Across the entrance where Julita offers her avocados – “some are ready to be eaten today and others tomorrow” – rises the imposing structure of the convent that occupies a huge block outlined by the emblematic Old Havana streets: Habana, Cuba, Sol and Luz. The wall that surrounds the garden and the rest of the facades offer little information about the works that are taking place inside. continue reading

Only one entrance for vehicles allows you to browse and talk with an animated custodian who declares that the works “are already halfway through” and that they are in the hands of a Cuban cooperative, whose name he avoids giving. The view from that location does not help much to get an idea of the repair process, since there are no workers, no hustle and bustle of trucks with materials, and, other than the bored security employee in his booth, no other people can be seen.

There was “a lot of movement in the neighborhood” a few days ago when the future headquarters of the College of Arts and Crafts of Santa Clara was visited by the ambassador of the European Union in Cuba

“It is going to be a school and it will be ready in 2024,” explains the man at the top of his voice several meters from a fence that encloses the entrance to the place. But a walk around the block is enough to conclude that the prognosis may be rather optimistic, because only the part of the building that faces Havana Street shows signs of being restored. The rest still shows the scars that time, laziness and the natural elements left on the convent.

Julita and her neighbors saw “a lot of movement in the neighborhood” a few days ago when the future headquarters of the College of Arts and Crafts of Santa Clara was visited by the ambassador of the European Union in Cuba, Isabel Brilhante, according to the Spanish agency EFE. “We realized that someone important was coming because the area was filled with policemen and they even picked up the garbage. Then the diplomatic cars left and everything went back to the way it was before.”

Private Businesses in Cuba ‘Are For Sale With Everything Inside’

The number of premises for sale or rent has multiplied in recent months. (14ymedio)

14ymedio, Natalia López Moya, Havana, 16 September 2022 — With the doors closed, the interior empty and a “For Sale” sign in the window, a private restaurant on Infanta Street, in Central Havana, is one of the many businesses for sale in Cuba, where the economic crisis and mass exodus have made entrepreneurship an almost impossible path.

The place, where a restaurant was planning to open, never served a single dish because its owners gave up the effort, and they now have put it up for sale for $400,000. “You can rent the whole space for $3,000 per month,” they add via WhatsApp, when a potential buyer is interested.

The closure of the paladar (private restaurant), which didn’t even have a sign with its name, affects the neighbors who were waiting for its opening to see tourists and hard currency arrive in the neighborhood, the money it takes to get out of the hole in which most families have sunk, in an area that doesn’t have the glamour of El Vedado or the attractions of the historic center of Old Havana.

“They didn’t even manage to sell a frying pan, but they spent a lot on the investment, because before this was it very deteriorated,” Pocholo, who lives some doors away from the failed restaurant tells 14ymedio. “They even built a mezzanine to enlarge the space. Then came the ’monetary order’*; tourism didn’t return as expected, and having a paladar is crazy right now.”

Getting the raw materials, paying for what a place open to the public consumes — from toilet paper to electricity — and paying employees has become a chimera for many private business owners on the Island. To this is added the fact that, given the situation in the country, the sale of any possession can help in the extended project of emigrating. continue reading

I’m selling a hair salon with everything inside,” announces Dayana, a 38-year-old Habanera who until a few months ago offered her services in a small space on San Rafael Street, near Galiano Avenue. “I know I’m not going to recover my investment, but I need the money urgently,” she tells this newspaper. “I’m selling for $25,000, and it’s worth almost twice as much.”

Dayana’s living room was equipped as a hair salon and beauty center. “Everything is new, from the bathroom tiles to the water installation. I have put in a heater, a kiwan safety system for water pressure; everything is freshly painted, and I have two floors,” she says. “I’m offering it with all the accessories needed to keep it running and with a very loyal clientele.”

Dayana says she began to transform her house into a private business five years ago. “If someone had told me at the time that I was going to end up selling all this and buying a ticket to Nicaragua, I would have laughed in their face.” But her husband took “the route of the volcanoes” a few months ago, and the rigors of the couple’s separation have been added to the crisis that Cuba is going through.

Interior of a paladar (private restaurant) for sale in Havana. (14ymedio)

“I no longer know how much I’m going to charge people who come to remove hair or have a facial, because I have to buy all the products in dollars or MLC ( freely convertible currency), but I have to charge for the services in pesos. So I can’t work.” She regrets having to shut down what she considers to be “the greatest pride” of her life.

“I’m selling a working cafeteria, located in El Vedado, because I’m leaving the country,” Suselle says emphatically in an ad that she has posted on several classified sites and that she has also sent to friends and acquaintances on Telegram and WhatsApp. “The payment is in dollars to be deposited in the United States.” Since she disseminated the offer, she clarifies, she has received only a couple of calls.

“I understand that there are few people interested because many Cubans want to leave the country, and buying a business of this type is not among their projects right now,” Suselle admits. “But it’s also a good time to invest, because I’m selling this same business for a price well below what it cost.”

On the buying and selling sites, there are ads that are repeated for several weeks or months, and from time to time the price drops a little more. “Reduced to $17,500, take advantage now,” says one that has appeared again and again on the digital sites for more than half a year. “Two in one: house and business of photocopying, printing of documents and copying of movies and series,” it adds.

“I have 24 hard drives full of audiovisuals and two Canon computers.” The salesman emphasizes what so many others say about their businesses: “it’s working and making money,” but few seem interested in the “bargain” that is advertised. “Half of the money here in dollars and the other in the United States,” the announcement ends.

Next to the premises there are also complete kitchen sets, display refrigerators, large capacity fryers, dishwashers, banknote counting devices and cash registers, all the furnishings that accompany restaurants and cafes. “I’m selling more than a business; I’m selling a dream,” says the owner of a rental house for tourists in the city of Holguín.

“Five bedrooms, five bathrooms, garden and swimming pool,” the announcement details. “I’m in a hurry so I’ll listen to proposals, but don’t call me if you don’t have dollars.” In the photos he has posted next to the ad you can see a ranch in the yard, a pool table and a spectacular view of the city. And the message concludes: “The villa is delivered with everything inside.”

*Translator’s note: A reference to elements of the ‘Tarea ordenamiento’, the [so-called] ‘Ordering Task’ which is a collection of measures that include eliminating the Cuban Convertible Peso (CUC), thus leaving the Cuban peso as the only national currency, raising prices, raising salaries (but not as much as prices), opening stores that take payment only in hard currency which must be in the form of specially issued pre-paid debit cards, and a broad range of other measures targeted to different elements of the Cuban economy.

Translated by Regina Anavy

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