I Came Back From Cuba With a Broken Heart

By Sheyla Paz | Sheyla Adventure Travel, LLC™I came back from Cuba on Sunday evening with a broken heart.  I knew things were difficult.  I had heard the stories from my family. I had seen the messages about the blackouts, the shortages, the rising prices.  But there is a difference between hearing about suffering and standing in the middle of it.
There is a difference between knowing that your family is struggling and watching your sister figure out how to cook dinner when there is no electricity.  I spent three nights in Santiago de Cuba, and I barely slept.

People sitting and spending time together in a park in Santiago de Cuba

It wasn’t because I was busy.  It was because it was incredibly hot; there was no electricity for most of the nights, and the mosquitoes seemed relentless.  I kept thinking about the people who live like this every day, not for three nights, not for a week, but month after month.

My sister told me something that I will never forget.  She said that never in a million years did she imagine that she would live through what she is experiencing today.  I told her I felt exactly the same way.

I remember when cooking with wood was part of my childhood. 

When I was a little girl, my grandmother cooked with wood in her kitchen.  Later, my family cooked with kerosene.  When I moved to Havana with my mother, we continued using kerosene until she eventually got natural gas.  Those memories belong to another time in my mind.  But today, my sister is once again cooking with fire.  Not because she wants to.  Because she has no choice.

When there is no electricity, she builds a makeshift fire pit outside using charcoal.  She uses whatever she can find to get the fire started so she can prepare a meal for her family.
And electricity?  Sometimes they have it for only about two hours a day.  Two hours.  Imagine trying to plan your entire life around two hours of electricity.

When there is no electricity, this is how my sister cooks.

​When will you cook?
When will you charge your phone?
When can you run a fan?
When can you keep food cold?
When can you pump or store water?
When can you simply rest?

A small piece of technology became a lifeline.

A few months ago, I was able to purchase an EcoFlow for my sister.  At the time, I knew it would help.  I didn’t realize just how much she would depend on it.  She uses it to keep food in her freezer when the electricity is off.  Sometimes she can even cook rice on her electric burner.  At night, she can plug in a fan and have at least a little relief from the heat.

It isn’t a luxury.
It has become a lifeline.
And that realization broke my heart.

Then I began seeing the reality outside her home.

When I walked through Santiago, one of the first things I noticed was how few cars were on the streets.  There were almost no vehicles except those being used for transportation.  The cost of getting from El Caney, where my sister lives, into central Santiago was around 1,500 pesos each way.  I remember when that same trip cost around 25 pesos.  The transportation from the airport and back was even more shocking—around 30,000 pesos. 

These aren’t abstract numbers to the people who live there.  They are barriers.  I also saw rechargeable fans like the one I purchased for my family for about $26 USD being sold on the streets for $70 to $80 USD.  I couldn’t believe it.

Who can afford that?

My pregnant niece hasn’t received her salary in two months.  How do you buy a $70 fan when you don’t have your paycheck?

I began to understand that people are simply trying to survive however they can, buying something when they can, reselling it when they can, trading, sharing, and helping one another.

Even the stores tell a story.
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Some of the stores that once operated in Cuban convertible pesos, or CUC, now price their merchandise in U.S. dollars.  The prices can look remarkably similar to what we might see in the United States.  But the people shopping there do not earn American wages.  And many people cannot even access those stores unless they have a USD-based debit card.

During one visit, the store had no electricity, so the doors were open.  But a table was placed across the entrance.  You had to stand outside and look in to see what was available.

It was surreal.

And yet, people keep finding ways to survive.  Some families have managed to install solar panels on their roofs.  Others sit outside under trees trying to escape the heat while they wait for the electricity to return so they can cook.

And then there were the people I came to help.

I arrived in Santiago with the donations so many of you helped make possible.  I distributed supplies to my two pregnant nieces and my sister.

Then my sister started telling me about other people in the neighborhood who needed help.  There was another pregnant woman.  Two women with newborn babies.  Older neighbors.

People who needed mosquito nets.  People who needed vitamins or cold medicine. One donation included a blood glucose meter, and I was able to give it to an older woman who needed one.  The supplies were never going to be enough for everyone.  I knew that before I arrived. But what I didn’t expect was how grateful people would be for something that, to many of us, seems so small.

A mosquito net.
A bottle of vitamins.
A package of medicine.
A rechargeable light.
A fan.
A few baby clothes.

Something to help a family get through another difficult week.  I asked whether they had received any humanitarian donations sent to Cuba from other countries.  The people I spoke with told me they had not.  They also said Santiago often feels forgotten, with much of the assistance and attention concentrated in Havana.  I can’t speak for every donation effort or every organization, but I can tell you what I saw and what my family experienced.

And what I saw was heartbreaking.

This was only a small amount of help.

I left Cuba knowing that I had helped some people.  But I also left knowing how many people I could not help.

That is the hardest part.

You hand a family a mosquito net, and you see the gratitude in their eyes.  You give someone medicine they couldn’t find.  You hand a pregnant woman something for her baby.  And you’re grateful that you were able to do something.  But then you look around and realize so many more people need help.

My heart aches for my family.  It aches for my friends, and it aches for the people I met who are simply trying to make it through another day.

So I’m going back.

My October 1–7 Cuba Humanitarian Journey is no longer just an idea on a calendar.  After what I witnessed in Santiago, I know I need to do more.
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On October 1, I’ll return to Havana with a small group of travelers who want to experience Cuba through meaningful human connection while helping deliver humanitarian supplies.  After my travelers return home, I’ll continue on to Santiago to spend more time with my family and bring additional supplies to those who need them.

​After my travelers return home, I plan to continue to Santiago to spend more time with my family and bring more supplies to those who need them.  Some people have already told me they are interested in continuing with me to Santiago.  And one friend has already donated two additional pieces of luggage, one filled with food, medicine, and medical masks for a local clinic.

This is how the mission grows.
One person.
One suitcase.
One family.
One act of kindness at a time.

But we need more. 

Should you not be able to travel with me in October, you can still be part of this journey.  You can sponsor humanitarian supplies.  You can donate items from our supply list.

You can ask your dentist or medical office if they have extra toothbrushes, toothpaste, masks, first-aid supplies, or other items they can contribute.  You can ask your church, food bank, community organization, or workplace to help collect shelf-stable food and essential supplies.

And if you’re shopping during Labor Day sales, consider picking up a few items from the humanitarian supply list and helping me fill another suitcase.

Every pound matters.
Every item matters.

And every person who says, “I can help,” becomes part of this journey.

I don’t know how to fix what is happening in Cuba.

But I know what I can do. I can show up.  I can bring what I can carry. I can connect people who want to help with people who need help.  And I can keep telling the story of the people I love.

I left Cuba with a broken heart.  But I also left with a renewed sense of purpose.  Because sometimes we cannot change everything.  But we can change something.  And for the family receiving a mosquito net tonight, the woman with the newborn baby, the pregnant mother wondering how she will get through another blackout, or the older woman who can finally check her blood sugar, something matters.

Help Me Take More to Cuba in October!

Should you like to help with the October 1–7 Cuba Humanitarian Journey, donate supplies, sponsor a humanitarian kit, or join me in Cuba, I would be honored to have you be part of this mission.

Travel with purpose.  Deliver hope.  Experience Cuba through human connection.

With gratitude,

Sheyla Paz
Founder & Luxury Travel Advisor
Sheyla Adventure Travel, LLC™