Many families cook on their porches with coal or firewood and the air becomes unbreathable due to the smoke.
14ymedio, Mercedes García, Sancti Spíritus, 29 August 2025 — In the Cuban provinces, when the power returns after a daily blackout of about 20 hours, a frenetic flurry of activity begins, regardless of whether it is day or night. Residents don’t exactly know when that moment will come, but they know they have very little time to do all the things the regular power outages haven’t allowed them to do.
“We only find out when it comes, and we know we have two, three, or four hours ahead of us,” says Alicia, a resident of Sancti Spíritus who doesn’t quite understand the electricity rationing “schedule” the central province is under. “The only thing that’s certain is that we have to run and turn on the washing machine, or put some rice in the crockpot.”
On Monday, it happened at one in the morning: “At that time I started preparing breakfast for the family to have in the morning, because my husband had to go to work and the power would be out by then.”
Residents of Camagüey report a similar situation. In the 36 hours spent in the city by a Havana resident visiting relatives, “if there were six with electricity, it was a lot,” he told 14ymedio. “When the power comes on, it’s a race against time to try to use the appliances: running the washing machine, charging cell phones, freezing some meats, turning on the water pumps to store it in the tanks.
“People are already so mentally exhausted that they just say ’the power went out,’ and they already know that more heat is coming without a fan and they’ll have a hard time.”
The most surprising thing for him is how “they’ve adjusted their lives to an existence without electricity.” Inés, a native of Sancti Spiritus, shares the same sentiment: “People are so mentally exhausted that all they say is ’the power’s out,’ and they already know that even hotter weather is coming without a fan and they’ll have to struggle to cook, but they’ve found their own way of surviving; they no longer care whether there’s electricity or not.”
There are professionals who continue to work by candlelight, or by a rechargeable lamp. A few days ago, this is how a veterinarian in Ciego de Ávila treated patients, with a light bulb attached to a headband. Tired, he and an assistant shared the urgent cases that came into the office, while looking up at the ceiling and whispering, “Long live the Cuban Revolution!”
The survival instinct even makes people respond, “Everything is normal,” in a city like Holguín, where, according to the Electric Company’s latest schedule, they only have seven hours of electricity out of 24, and that every other day. The next day, they “enjoy” three more hours. However, according to the 14ymedio correspondent in the area, “in some places, electricity is leaving earlier than usual and arriving later.”
Those who can cook with wood or charcoal, so the streets in a country that prides itself on investing in clean energy are filled with unbreathable air. “At eight o’clock at night, you can’t go out because you suffocate,” Alicia confirms. “Everyone is cooking with wood in their doorways or patios. The smoke covers everything.”
But not even these primitive methods are affordable for everyone. “Those who can cook with firewood,” says a resident of Santiago de Cuba, “because a can of charcoal costs 300 pesos and a sack, 1,200.”
“If it’s in the morning, the workers go to the city to deal with things and come back, but if it’s after three in the afternoon, they all go home.”
In Santa Clara, the power is also constantly cut off, Roniel says. “If it’s in the morning, the workers go to the city to resolve issues and come back, but if it’s after 3:00 p.m., they all go home.” They know that in two hours, the time left until the end of the workday at 5:00 p.m., the power won’t be restored. The man laments, resigned: “Tell me how a country like this can be productive.”
The inconvenient hours also prevent people from getting rest, something already difficult with the summer heat and the mosquitoes that proliferate without fans. “You can’t sleep, because when the light comes on, you have to get up and get things done,” says Inés. Thus, disturbed, stressed, and deranged individuals wander the streets from lack of sleep. Many are visibly drunk; alcohol and drugs are their only escape.
For this Friday, the Cuban Electricity Union forecasts a deficit of 1,565 megawatts (MW) during peak hours—for a demand of 3,750 MW and an availability of 2,215 MW—which will result in an actual shortage of 1,635 MW. This is a “low” figure in a week in which a shortage of no less than 1,700 MW has predominated.
Inés has been suffering from nervousness for months, she says, without being able to see a doctor. “There’s no time to get sick here,” the haggard woman says. “I’m waiting for the doctor to come back from vacation and give me pills to feel better.”
The scene unfolds before the attentive eyes of the neighborhood’s residents. The lack of distractions—not to mention the lack of internet service almost all day long—means everyone is absorbed in other people’s conversations and arguments. Inés then lowers her voice: “I realize I live in an impossible place. When I think about it, what I want is to die, to disappear, because I don’t know what the future holds.”
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