Hurricane Melissa adds misery to Cuba's malaise

For four years now, Cuba has been sinking into economic crisis. Failed internal policies, aggressive US sanctions and the consequences of the coronavirus pandemic have reduced many people’s prospects to an exhausted wait for better times. Long before Melissa hit, people in Cuba’s countryside faced 20-hour blackouts and a lack of basic supplies such as food and medicine. Lately, as the government’s once-impressive eradication programmes have faltered, there has been an increase in mosquito and sandfly related viruses such as chikungunya, dengue, oropouche and zika. In the past months, Cuba has suffered a particularly terrible epidemic of chikungunya, which, while rarely fatal, causes a week-long fever and terrible joint pain. 

Alerts were first raised in Matanzas in Cuba’s heartlands last July. By late October, health officials said there had been 13,000 new fever cases across the country in a week. But recent reports suggest one-third of the Cuban population has been infected, and the government officially called the outbreak an epidemic. In the east, where Melissa swept through, such illnesses have been heaping misery on those trying to rebuild. Leanet Pérez, a 21-year-old teacher in Cauto del Paso, 3km (1.86 miles) from Grito de Yara, spent the two weeks around the hurricane evacuated at a cousin’s house in Bayamo with her family. 

When she returned home, it was to scenes of disaster that made them cry. Their house, very close to the Cauto River, had been inundated and was barely standing. Pérez swiftly contracted chikungunya. She struggled to get up, applied alcohol compresses to lower the fever and relied on the paracetamol her sister gave her. Many families without access to repellants and medicines have been forced to rely on natural remedies. Cauto del Paso dam, the largest in the province, started to spill over the day after the hurricane, releasing 4,000 cubic metres a second at the peak of the flood, according to state officials. The water levels have remained high since, leaving homes covered in sludge, and foul pools where mosquitoes breed. 

Miguel Ángel Rodríguez, 31, was a social worker at Grito de Yara’s evacuation centre. Along with other colleagues, he visited small settlements to gather information to send on to the authorities. “All the damage I’ve seen breaks my heart,” he said. “I have no words.” The hurricane damage has made worse an already appalling situation. Eastern Cuba has long been the poorest region of Cuba, with the highest figures of alcoholism, unemployment and teenage pregnancy. In Cauto del Paso, the floods inundated houses, sweeping away mattresses, clothes and electrical appliances. When I visited, tractors struggled in the thick mud that covered the paths. Along the way, two vultures pecked at a dead horse. The raised graves in the local cemetery gave the impression they were floating in a swamp.  A group of volunteers, led by former neighbours who now live in Havana, arrived to offer some relief. They brought donated food, cleaning products and clothes. Those who had lost almost everything said they appreciated the hand extended to them, but it was clear these rations wouldn't last long. 

At sunset, wood smoke rose from the balconies and back yards in Grito de Yara. Without power for more than two weeks, better-off families cooked with charcoal. “Here, cooking with butane gas is only for the wealthy,” said Yudelkis Alarcón, a 42-year-old teacher, who was born and raised in the village. Her four-year-old son had contracted “the virus” and needed to be administered saline solution in the local polyclinic. Oil arrived and a generator was turned on, allowing residents to charge their cellphones and portable lamps. Extension cables created an immense spider’s web over the floor, while people waited their turn to connect their devices.