Without lights or the old bustle, Cuba awaits what comes next

Havana, once synonymous with lively energy, now finds itself shrouded in darkness and uncertainty. The Malecón, a famous seaside promenade that historically teemed with cars and people, is now eerily quiet. Each night, the narrow cobblestone streets of Old Havana fall into complete darkness due to persistent blackouts, leaving them virtually deserted.

Compounded by a seven-month fuel embargo from the United States and constant power cuts, residents have resorted to scavenging through garbage for anything usable or sellable. Manuel Sánchez, a 50-year-old suffering from oral cancer, stated, "We opt to scavenge the garbage to survive. I have no home, no family, nothing."

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We opt to scavenge the garbage to survive. I have no home, no family, nothing.

Occasional bursts of noise erupt as small groups of protesters bang pots and pans to voice their anger over the prolonged blackouts, quickly dispersing to avoid police. Many Habano residents avoid the old city at night, citing increased violence. "There is a lot of violence in the streets," Sánchez warned, describing the risk of being stabbed or struck by a rock. The only significant daytime gatherings occur at state-run banks, bakeries, and outside consulates, particularly Spain's, where hundreds wait with documents to leave the island.

Demographer Juan Carlos Albizu-Campos estimates Cuba's population has dropped significantly, potentially to eight million, a figure only slightly higher than 67 years ago. The island has weathered the collapse of the Soviet bloc, a pandemic, and intensified U.S. sanctions, but the current crisis has profoundly altered Havana's character. The vibrant sounds of salsa and chachachá have largely vanished, replaced by the hum of generators or the tinny sound of mobile phones playing music. Tourism has also plummeted, a stark contrast to Havana's past allure.

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There is a lot of violence in the streets.