A retiree walks around the city of Matanzas, appalled by the prohibitive prices of tomatoes, avocados, and green beans.
14ymedio, Julio César Contreras, Matanzas, September 20, 2026 – As if he were fulfilling his wife’s last wish, Anselmo went out into the street on Friday with an errand that years ago would have been simple in Matanzas: to find some vegetable so they would not have to repeat the same old meal over the weekend. “She has a craving for a salad,” he says. But a dish with tomatoes or avocado has become a luxury for a retiree who receives 4,000 pesos a month.
A block and a half from his home, on San Luis Road, a private stand displays enough vegetables to delight the eye and sadden the pocketbook. Anselmo preferred to keep walking in search of a street vendor, one of those who still have a reputation for having lower prices than the market stalls.
In San Juan de Dios he found tomatoes. “I cleaned my glasses because I thought they were fogged up,” he recalls. A pound, with small, poor-quality fruit, cost 800 pesos. “I took a picture to show my wife, so she won’t think I didn’t want to make the effort.”
Tomatoes, avocados, cucumbers, green beans, and carrots have been disappearing from the tables of numerous residents of Matanzas, victims of an inflation that turns the recommendation to eat vegetables every day into a nutritional fantasy. The contrast is particularly painful in a province traditionally known for producing fruits, root vegetables, and green vegetables.
The market stalls can still look splendid. Green peppers, red tomatoes, citrus fruits, potatoes, and pumpkins form mountains of color that seem to announce abundance. The problem begins when the customer asks the price. Then they look, calculate, and, many times, keep walking.
“Every day they come by my house selling avocados for 250 pesos. My mouth waters, but I have to choose between pleasure and necessity,” laments Anselmo, who after working for the State for more than half a century has gone months without serving one of these fruits at his table.
On the way to Camilo Cienfuegos Avenue, he found a truck from an agricultural cooperative in Jovellanos. A line of customers quickly formed around it, several with carts to carry their purchases. Some thought they would find price-capped goods. “They were just as expensive as the offerings of any private seller.”
Anselmo counted ten-peso bills until he had gathered 120 to buy a bunch of green beans so meager that he calculates it will be enough for two small portions. There were also bunches of plantains and pumpkins on some sacks. He looked at them, but did not even ask how much they cost.
The crisis hits retirees especially hard, although not only them. In a city closely tied to tourism, many families have lost income because one of their members became unemployed or barely retains customers in activities related to a sector that has fallen on hard times. When money is scarce, the diet shrinks: first the extras disappear, and then foods that should be everyday staples.
After almost two hours walking under the sun, Anselmo finally accepted that his wife was right when she recommended buying three or four cucumbers at the stand near their home. “They’re the same price here as there, 60 pesos a pound,” he complains. It also bothers him that seven carrots can cost 850 pesos.
With the bunch of green beans in his bag, he headed home. His wife was waiting for him there with flour and Creole seasoning for lunch. As he crossed Maceo Park, he discovered an agricultural stand he had not seen before. He did not ask whether it was state-run or private. He did not ask about the prices either. What for?
Translated by Regina Anavy
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