Christmas For Emilio, Jorge and Carmelo: Three Beggars Who Sleep on the Streets of Matanzas

Lack of food and cold are no worse than the lack of hope for the most vulnerable these days

Religious institutions and associations put on recitals and encourage cultural activities, but the poor of Matanzas aren’t up for partying. / 14ymedio

14ymedio bigger14ymedio, Matanzas 24 December 2024 – “I sleep wherever I can” is the ’calling card’ of Emilio, one of the beggars who trawl through Matanzas after sunset looking for a shop doorway in which to bed down. A quiet man, he asks for 20 pesos as a condition of talking to us. “I’ll buy a coffee with this”, he says, putting the note in his pocket. “It was quite cold last night and it got very uncomfortable towards dawn”.

His worst enemy is a cold weather front. “When one of those arrives I think I’m going to die”, he says. “So far it hasn’t happened. I try to keep going. I sell stuff that I find in people’s refuse, and if I can’t find anything I just beg for something to eat”.

His base for the moment has been the area around Matanzas Cathedral. The two yellowish towers of the old church shield him against the light. “They say that before Christmas they are going to have a dinner and there’ll be a crate of food”, he says, pointing towards the church door. “I’ve been invited. After that, who knows what’ll happen”.

As in other dioceses on the island, the bishoprics and parishes usually organise initiatives for the city’s beggars, at which Cáritas (the international support agency of the Catholic Church) distributes food and clothing. They also put on recitals and encourage cultural activities, but the poor of Matanzas, Emilio admits, aren’t up for partying.

It’s enough just to take a stroll around the centre of Matanzas or around the cathedral to see that the number of beggars has grown. / 14ymedio

It’s enough just to take a stroll around the centre of Matanzas or around the cathedral to see that the number of beggars has grown. With his bits of junk and improvised sales displays, his mission is to “find a few pesos to get through the day”, as Emilio puts it.

For Jorge, who has suffered from Amyotrophic lateral sclerosis (ALS) for years (a degenerative illness which gives rise to progressive muscular paralysis and is ultimately fatal) the kindness of strangers is indispensable. When he needs breakfast he goes to the dining room at the Kairós centre, which is an institution run by the Baptist church. From time to time he also attends other religious centres.

It’s enough just to take a stroll around the centre of Matanzas or around the cathedral to see that the number of beggars has grown. / 14ymedio

“Not even adding that one to my coupon book is enough to get me to the end of the month”, he says, sorrowfully. With his physical condition “every mouthful counts”. Every minute too.

Matanzas (’massacre’) lives up to its name – a name which, according to legend, came from the slaughter of a group of Spaniards by indigenous people in 1510. And life is hard not only for its citizens but for its animals too. Just like during the Special Period [after the fall of the Soviet Union] the rumour now is that when there’s nothing to eat, people have to go out hunting for cats, or dogs.

Nor is it unusual to find beggars living off families’ discarded food scraps (frequently used to make “sancocho” pork stew), collecting them to use as raw material whenever they can. You can also often see them at the city’s refuse tip “diving” amongst the rubbish to fill up a bag with old tin cans or scrap metal. Sometimes you’ll even see the families themselves doing this kind of scavenging – including the children.

In the city, the beggars’ worst enemy is a cold weather front. / 14ymedio

Living like this finishes you off in the end. Carmela knows this well enough. By trade a “seller of mousetraps and other useful items”, he suffers from untreated ulcers on one of his feet, which was injured in an accident. He has worn the same clothing for years, and his hands, full of calluses, are testimony to his way of life.

Carmelo used to be a delivery man. Riding on his work tricycle – a very creole artifact – he would deliver whatever his customers ordered from him. But after his accident he had to find another way to make a living. Now he sells what he can find, and if “things get bad” he goes to the notorious Calle del Medio to beg.

He says he doesn’t like going to the charity canteens. This New Year’s Eve he plans only to shut himself up in his tiny single room. The silence inside the little cubicle – without any visitors – is the closest thing he’ll have for a party.

Translated by Ricardo Recluso

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