Every night, hundreds of people queue outside a charity-run food pantry in central Havana, some sleeping on the sidewalk as they await what may be their only meal of the day.
When doors open at 7 a.m., recipients hurry inside carrying numbered plastic containers. Volunteers follow a precise routine: washing containers, calling numbers, and distributing portions to the throngs of hungry Cubans.
“We’re having a really rough time,” said Fernando Fernández, a 71-year-old retiree who regularly visits Asociación Quisicuaba, a group operating a community kitchen in Havana. “I have to arrive in the early morning. Sometimes I even have to get in line the day before.”
Fernández, a former cook and security guard, is among a swelling number of Cubans struggling to feed themselves as the island’s prolonged economic crisis deepens, exacerbated by U.S. energy restrictions, soaring inflation, and dwindling government resources.
As the state falters in providing subsidized food, charity-run kitchens and pantries have become a critical lifeline for vulnerable Cubans — including retired doctors, teachers, and former government workers. Backed by religious groups, international aid organizations, and United Nations agencies, these operations provide what for many is their only reliable hot meal.
Centers like Quisicuaba, often housed in religious buildings or affiliated with faith-based groups, have proliferated across the island in recent years.
Fernández once visited the soup kitchen with his 80-year-old wife, Josefa, but now goes alone due to her illness. The couple survives on her monthly pension of 3,200 Cuban pesos — roughly $3 — supplemented by assistance from Quisicuaba.
On a recent morning, Marelys Ponce, a 34-year-old single mother, joined the line with two of her children; her other three attend school, where they typically receive lunch.
“I started coming here a little over a month ago because the situation is bad, and I don’t have the means to feed them,” she said, gesturing toward her children. “At least with this, they get something to eat.”
Alongside Ponce and Fernández stood men and women from a wide range of professions. Few were homeless. Most had long work histories or remained employed, yet told The Associated Press their earnings no longer cover basic survival.
Inside a vast kitchen equipped with more than 20 giant cauldrons, Quisicuaba volunteers prepare a mixture of rice, eggs, and pasta, sometimes with a little chicken, and pour chocolate milk into bottles. At 7 a.m., distribution begins.
The religious organization, supported by United Nations agencies and European aid groups, has identified approximately 12,500 vulnerable people in Havana.
“You only need to walk through the streets of Havana and Cuba to see a new dimension of vulnerability,” said Enrique Alemán, a physician and president of Quisicuaba.
For decades, Cuba’s socialist system provided free education, healthcare, and subsidized food, with most citizens employed by the state. Living standards were often modest, but basic needs — including food — were largely met.
“We don’t see illiterate people here or other forms of marginalization, but people who are products of Cuban society facing particularly vulnerable circumstances,” Alemán said, pointing to growing financial, food, and healthcare insecurity among families.
The U.S. energy squeeze has severely disrupted life on the island, while tourism, once a major revenue source, has declined sharply.
Meanwhile, private businesses have expanded, widening the divide between entrepreneurs, higher-paid workers, and Cubans receiving remittances from abroad, and state employees, retirees, and others struggling to make ends meet.
Private markets now offer imported goods that were scarce just a few years ago, but prices remain beyond reach for many Cubans. A carton of eggs costs 3,200 Cuban pesos — roughly a retiree’s monthly pension — while a bottle of cooking oil costs 2,700 pesos, or just under $3.
A doctor’s monthly salary can reach 15,000 pesos, equivalent to about $18. Inflation, which hit 28% in September year-over-year, has further eroded purchasing power.
Luis Carlos Battista, a Cuban American lawyer and analyst based in Spain, said rising poverty stems from both domestic and external factors, including global food price surges, tourism’s collapse during the COVID-19 pandemic, and the impact of U.S. energy restrictions on food production.
Cuba previously spent about $2 billion annually on food imports to sustain its rationing system, which provided households with staples including rice, beans, powdered milk, chicken, cooking oil, and eggs.
Authorities acknowledge the economic crisis has left the government unable to maintain those imports, resulting in delayed or missing subsidized food rations.
“While official rhetoric speaks of advancing toward socialism, a growing part of daily life operates under an increasingly individual logic,” researcher Lisbeth Moya González wrote in a recent essay published by La Joven Cuba, a prominent critical online platform.
She said families increasingly must rely on private markets, remittances, or community support to obtain what the state once guaranteed for all.