14ymedio, Dayami Rojas, Guantánamo, 8 March 2026 — In Guantánamo, the sound of hooves on asphalt has once again become part of the everyday landscape. Where Lada and Moskvich engines or small private trucks once roared, now horse-drawn carriages slowly make their way, carrying passengers, sacks of food, water tanks, or any merchandise that needs to be moved around the city. The fuel crisis has brought these animal-drawn vehicles back into the spotlight, but the lives of those who drive them are far from easy.
Mid-morning, on a corner near Martí Park, Rodolfo holds the reins of his horse while waiting for customers in the sun. The animal shakes its head, shooing away flies, and the wooden carriage creaks each time someone climbs onto the running board after asking the fare.
“Before, I charged between 20 and 50 pesos for a short trip, but now I have to ask for more. Otherwise, I can’t afford to keep the horse,” the coachman explained to 14ymedio. The fare increase has led to frequent arguments with passengers. “People complain, and I understand them, but nobody sees what it costs to run this business.”
The scene repeats on several streets throughout the city. At makeshift stops, passengers negotiate the price before getting into the car. A woman with several shopping bags protests when she hears the price the driver is asking to take her to the Caribe neighborhood.
“That’s an abuse, chico. They raise the price every day,” she mutters. But she ends up settling into the back seat because she doesn’t have many alternatives. The buses hardly ever run, and private taxis are paralyzed by the lack of gasoline. In Guantánamo, as in many cities across the country, horse-drawn carriages have gone from being a quaint form of transportation to becoming an essential part of the urban landscape.
However, for the coachmen, the work has become increasingly complicated. Rodolfo lists the problems without letting go of the reins. “Horseshoes are incredibly expensive, feed is almost impossible to find, and you have to go far to find hay,” he says. Feeding the animal can turn into an extra day’s work. Many coachmen head out at dawn to nearby rural areas to cut grass or buy a sack of feed.
“If you don’t eat, you can endure it, but the horse can’t. And if the horse gets sick, the job is over,” he adds.
Restrictions on driving on certain streets have also reduced opportunities to find customers. In recent months, municipal authorities have limited the routes these vehicles can use, citing concerns for health and public aesthetics.
“They’re making us go around in circles like we’re in a maze,” Rodolfo complains. “There are streets we used to go down that are now prohibited. That means more detours, more fatigue for the horse, and fewer passengers.”
At a nearby stop, another coachman meets him. Leaning against the side of his carriage, he observes the almost nonexistent morning traffic. “What they want is to get us off the streets,” he says bitterly. “But when there’s no gasoline, who’s going to get people around?”
Fines are also part of the routine. Municipal inspectors check documents, authorized routes, and vehicle condition. A violation can cost up to 16,000 Cuban pesos, an amount that many find impossible to pay.
“A fine like that will bankrupt you,” says Rodolfo. “Some people have had to sell things from their homes to pay them.” The fear of theft is another constant worry. Horses have become a coveted target for butchers who slaughter them illegally to sell the meat.
“I sleep here, next to my horses,” Javier, a resident of Guantánamo, explains to this newspaper. He spends his early mornings away from his bed because he fears his animals will be stolen. Vandalism particularly targets those who own cows, pigs, or other animals that could end up being sold on the black market.
Javier usually spends the night in a small, makeshift shed in the yard. “If you leave him alone, he can be stolen. And without a horse, there’s no car or food for the family,” he explains.
Some of his colleagues have already decided to temporarily abandon the trade. The cost of supplies, fines, and traffic restrictions have made the work increasingly less profitable.
“There are coachmen who have stopped operating and are waiting for things to change,” Javier says. “But in the meantime, the city still needs transportation.”
Throughout the day, his carriage travels along dusty avenues, potholed streets, and corners where passengers raise their hands, searching for an empty seat. On each journey, the complaints of the passengers mingle with the worries of the driver.
“We keep people moving,” Rodolfo insists. “But nobody helps us.” The horse snorts as the coachman climbs into the front seat. A couple of passengers approach, asking if he can take them to the hospital. The coachman calculates the price and looks at the animal before answering. Then he gives a small tug on the reins, and the vehicle begins to move slowly down the street.
______________________
COLLABORATE WITH OUR WORK: The 14ymedio team is committed to practicing serious journalism that reflects Cuba’s reality in all its depth. Thank you for joining us on this long journey. We invite you to continue supporting us by becoming a member of 14ymedio now. Together we can continue transforming journalism in Cuba.