In Havana, blackouts at day's end plunge the city into oppressive darkness, evoking a war without bombs. Veronica Vega describes how residents adapt with kiosks lit by mobile phones and await electricity's return to resume fragile normality. This situation highlights everyday resilience amid persistent adversity.
Veronica Vega, in her diary entry published on December 1, 2025, vividly depicts nighttime life in Havana amid frequent blackouts. As natural light fades, most windows stay dark, except those with rechargeable lamps or generators. The air grows heavy with sadness, turning the city into what seems like a ghost town.
On one corner, a private kiosk stays open, selling basic foods and sweets. Customers light the space with their mobile phones, forming an oasis in the gloom. Nearby, a produce cart is tended using matches if a buyer approaches. "I always have the feeling that we are in a state of war, one in which no bombs were dropped, or they exploded while we were unconscious," Vega writes.
Destroyed houses, broken streets, and weary people afflicted by ailments like chikungunya foster a dense silence and general disorientation. Few silhouettes move about, suggesting a post-apocalyptic scene. Yet, when power returns, excitement erupts: children's voices echo, and residents emerge to savor functional moments.
No one speaks of the blackouts, as if to avoid summoning them. Cubans, per Vega, endure by scaling back expectations and needs, retreating to homes while safeguarding ambitions for brighter days. This collective hibernation implies belief that crises cannot persist forever.