New dollar stores feed the stomach and drive inequality in Guantánamo
14ymedio, Guantánamo, November 17, 2025 — In Guantánamo, the line in front of the La Fragancia store forms early. Some arrive with international cards, others carry the Cuban Classic but all have something in common: they have dollars to buy anything from shampoo to soap. The arrival of hard currency stores in the city has been shaping domestic commerce and the economy, as well as dividing opinions between those who applaud their proliferation and those who renounce them.
On the outskirts of the central market this Friday, a dozen people were waiting to enter. From time to time, a customer came out with a transparent bag showing off some of those products that are barely found in Cuban pesos. “I have $8.70 left on the card and I have to manage it very well,” says a man who pauses for a moment and presses his face against the glass to observe the shelves inside.
For months, the city has been undergoing a silent transformation: a proliferation of shops selling exclusively in dollars, managed by Cimex, the powerful conglomerate under military control. So far this year, several of these air-conditioned spaces have been opened, with tidy shelves and products no longer seen in the dwindling shops in freely convertible currency (MLC): milk powder, detergent, pasta, imported chicken and, hopefully, some meat.
A few meters from one of these markets, a woman who identifies herself as a food worker summarizes the feelings of many. “This is an abuse: we earn in pesos and here everything is in dollars.” She says she has no hard currency card, does not receive remittances and depends on changing her Cuban pesos in the informal market to buy “from time to time a few cubes of soup and some sausages. If someone from outside doesn’t send it to you, you don’t eat here. But what are we going to do? I still have to come, because the MLC stores don’t even have oil sometimes.”
Miguel, an electrician, complains without hesitation. “This hurts. It hurts because it reminds you that your salary is not good enough to live in your own country.” His gesture is one of exhaustion, not anger. He speaks with the serenity of one who has already spent all his fury. “If there are elderly people who don’t even have a peso to buy rationed bread, how will they get dollars to come to this kind of store?”
Next to him, an old lady with gnarled fingers holds a blue card that contains part of the money she receives monthly. ” My son in Tampa helps me refill it. If it weren’t for him, I wouldn’t even have coffee to drink in the morning,” she says. She recognizes that these shops “save” her but immediately lowers her voice, as if she were ashamed to admit it: “This is a blessing and an injustice at the same time.”
Foreign exchange businesses also shape the informal market and the prices of private traders selling in national currency. “The MSMEs* in my neighborhood use the prices in these stores to set the exchange rate for pesos. If a carton of eggs is six dollars here, then they automatically put it at 3,000 pesos,” she complains.
That is the tone tone among the majority of people: the resigned recognition of a “necessary evil.” They use dollar stores because there are no alternatives, but almost nobody approves of them. The one who has no hard currency looks from outside; the one who has it buys, but with a hint of guilt, aware that the whole system drives inequality.
In a nearby park, a group of young people agree that these shops are an “economic tightrope.” “Those who receive remittances have it made,” says one of them. “The rest of us are cooked.” Another adds: “Before there were difficulties, yes, but we all looked at the same shelf. Now there are full shelves for some and empty shelves for others.”
“Before there were difficulties, yes, but we all looked at the same shelf. Now there are full shelves for some and empty shelves for others”
Dollar stores in the city of Guantánamo usually have good air conditioning, soft music and uniformed employees. The Micro Caribe market, of the Pan-American chain, is one of those comfort bubbles. A few meters from the premises a middle-aged man launches his diagnosis: “This is not commerce, it’s natural selection. Those with families outside survive better; the rest of us improvise.”
In the Pastorita neighborhood, the line for the currency store has become a meeting place. People chat, exchange news and make mental calculations. “Do you think I can afford a package of chicken?” asks a mother who came with her little daughter. “Hopefully,” says another. Some carry dollars in cash but they are the few.
“I prefer to put the currency on the card because they never have coins to give change and you get back candies or soup cubes,” complains another customer. The door opens and a breath of fresh air with a clean smell emerges from inside. Card in hand, the next lucky group with hard currency enters the store.
*Translator’s note: Literally, “Micro, Small, Medium Enterprise.” The expectation is that it is also privately managed, but in Cuba this may include owners/managers who are connected to the government.
Translated by Regina Anavy
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