A fisherman with his improvised polystyrene raft to cope with the lack of resources and fuel, in Havana, on July 22, 2024. YAMIL LAGE / AFP
Cuba always gives the impression of a country where time has stopped. No loud advertisements in its streets or brands on its storefronts; no traffic on its avenues, and very few chemicals in its food. The only modern element that stands out in this setting is the smartphones on which residents now tap: owned by more than 80% of the population, they have become essential for getting information, paying, exchanging money, and doing business. Meanwhile, Cubans continue to get around mainly on foot and by bicycle. The slightest car or motorcycle is an exceptional asset that allows, by becoming a driver, to earn ten times the salary of a doctor or a teacher.
Despite an ideology claiming to be socialist, inequalities are now glaring within society between those who work for the State and those who have other sources of income. According to Cubans, the current social crisis is much worse than that of the "special period," at the time of the collapse of the Soviet bloc starting in 1991, the most serious that the island had experienced up to that point.
In Havana, on the Malecon, the promenade that runs along the sea, the American convertibles from the 1950s still take tourists to discover the capital. They drive alongside the old Ladas from the USSR, like the one driven by Romulo (all the first names have been changed) won by his father for having fought during the independence war in Angola (1975-2001). "You have to have the fe [faith] to live in Cuba," he says, pressing hard on the gear lever to engage a gear. The fe does not mean adhering to a belief, but having a family abroad. "You just need to receive 50 dollars [45 euros] a month or some clothes that you can resell to live well," Romulo recounts. "But if you don't have that or a car, then you are what the government calls a 'vulnerable' not to say a 'poor'. But in fact, every day, you struggle to survive."
"Incompatible cars with our society"
At 27, Romulo would have liked to work as an engineer, after six years of studies at the University of Havana. But the salary that awaited him (10,000 Cuban pesos, or 30.30 euros) would not allow him to raise his 2-year-old son or help his parents, whose retirement (1,200 pesos) is now equivalent to a carton of thirty eggs. So, he reluctantly drives the Lada, connected to the La Nave app, a Cuban Uber, and earns a very good living. "In one day, I earn 12,000 pesos, which is ten times my father's pension or the same monthly salary as a doctor, he recounts. It's crazy, it's unfair, and the government knows it very well: most Cubans cannot afford the price of a ride, and yet I do more than ten a day."
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