As Cubans flee crisis, nuns care for elders left behind

Some, like Yvonne Martínez Padrón, 79, have lived at the facility for more than a decade — divorced and destitute, with nowhere else to turn, she is grateful to be here. Others are bedridden and unable to meet Fuentes’ eye.

On the sprawling property of the San Francisco de Paula Home for Elderly Women in the La Vibora neighborhood of Havana, green and yellow crotons and two-story palms line walkways connecting one building to the next. Inside, statuettes of St. Francis of Paola and La Virgen de La Caridad del Cobre, Cuba’s patron saint, stand in the hallways and crucifixes hang over doorways.

“Buenos días,” Fuentes cheerfully tells a group of older women sitting in a shaded walkway. A few respond with smiles.

Challenges every day

More than 1.4 million Cubans fled the island in recent years, leaving behind thousands of older adults — and Cuba is struggling with what to do with them.

More than 26% of the island nation’s population is 60 or older, one of the oldest populations in Latin America and the Caribbean, according to Cuba’s National Office of Statistics and Information, or ONEI. By 2040, that figure is expected to jump to 36%.

“The problem lies not in that accelerated aging,” Miami-based sociologist Elaine Acosta told Martí Noticias, “but rather in how ill-prepared Cuban society is to face the challenges posed by such a defining shift in population.”

U.S. sanctions and a fuel blockade, and years of Cuba neglecting its infrastructure, led to prolonged blackouts and shortages of food, water and medicine. The generation that grew up with the Revolution's promise of world-class, state-run healthcare is now abandoned — by its country and its family — and simply struggling to survive.

The Catholic Church stepped in as a de-facto safety net. Many of these older Cubans end up at the home overseen by the church and run by Fuentes. Eighty workers, including 17 nurses, three administrators and two doctors, tend to the older residents, who live here for free.

Fuentes, 63, wakes about 6 each morning to face the challenges of the day:

Workers need chlorine to clean urine-soaked sheets, but nearby shops don’t carry any.

If there’s no power, will staffers have to fire up the solar power system to run the freezers filled with food or the washing machines to clean soiled sheets?

Did the resident who screamed through the night take her dementia medication? Is there any medication?

Do the cooks have enough wood to fuel the makeshift outdoor kitchen?

By 7 a.m., Fuentes is dressed in her taupe religious habit and veil, making rounds and solving problems. On most days, she relies on grit and the shelter’s meager funds to hunt down supplies and keep things running. On others, she prays for guidance.

Each day, conditions worsen.

Life and death

All 102 residents, ages 70 to 91, will likely live out their final years here.

Five of the home’s six residential wings house the most frail: the bedridden, those with dementia, others who need help moving around. The last wing is devoted to those who can still get around on their own, Fuentes said. Most are 80 or older.

The women usually sleep two to a room in small quarters with single beds covered in threadbare sheets, two small dressers, walkers and, in some units, bedside commodes.

Families who leave relatives here often are struggling to survive or plotting to leave the island, said Gladys Pazos, one of two staff doctors.

The women here have access to some things many of their relatives don’t. Fuentes has seen some of the women set aside some of their meals or scoop up mangos that fell from trees on the grounds to give to family members on visiting days.

As Cubans flee, they sell their homes — and often leave behind their mothers, grandmothers and aunts, Pazos said. Some are brought here by concerned neighbors, some of whom had to bust down doors to retrieve incapacitated women left behind.

The women arrive at the home incontinent, with high blood pressure, schizophrenia, dementia, respiratory failure, coronary heart disease, encephalopathy, diabetes. They’re often in the final year of their lives, Fuentes said.

Some live just a few weeks; others stay much longer. One woman has been here for 17 years; another lived here until she was 107, Fuentes said.

Through August, 36 women died this year at the home.

“We deal with life and death every day,” Fuentes said, “with pain every day.”

Called to serve

Fuentes is short and stocky, with salt-and-pepper hair she keeps tucked under her veil. Originally from Las Tunas, she felt a calling to join the convent, in part, after caring for her grandmother until she died.

Fuentes felt the first pulls to a life in the clergy as a teen and entered the church at age 33. Missions to Puerto Rico, Costa Rica and Nicaragua followed, before she returned to Cuba.

When church officials asked her in 2013 to run the San Francisco de Paula home in La Vibora, she relished the opportunity.

“My reason for being here is a calling from the Lord,” she said. “Jesus loves and shows mercy through service, specifically charitable service.”

With Cuba’s power grid in freefall, the government installed a small solar panel system on the home’s hospital wing, Fuentes said. That allowed ventilators, air conditioners and dialysis machines to keep running overnight. All other residents sleep without air conditioning.

The kitchen staff built a wood-burning outdoor kitchen with concrete stoves and large stockpots. Nearby walls are blackened by woodsmoke. A cart near the kitchen is stacked with branches and weathered fence planks for kindling. Each day, staffers forage for more wood to keep the fire burning.

Beans are served twice a week, Fuentes said. If staffers can find it, they serve bread at breakfast with a glass of milk or tea. Pasta is served occasionally; chicken is rare.

Even when staffers have money, they find store shelves empty. “You might go to the store,” Fuentes said, “but there’s nothing to buy.”

Medical shortages

Antibiotics, anti-diarrhea medicine and blood pressure medication are in short supply across the island.

Someone gifted a glucometer, but the staff ran out of test strips to check blood sugar levels, Fuentes said. Stores in the area don’t sell them.

With no medication to treat a recent outbreak of diarrhea, Fuentes gave the sick women salty water to keep them hydrated. “Sometimes people want a solution,” she said, “but have to settle for one that isn't the best option.”

Fuentes accepts donations from Caritas Cuba, a nonprofit associated with the Catholic Church. She visits the United States regularly to raise money from families and parishes. With those funds, she bought 48 solar panels for the property — mostly to keep the infirmary, kitchen and laundry room operating — but it needs more.

In a recent blackout, staff members were unable to power the laundry room to wash soiled bed pads, so they used disposable gowns left over from the COVID-19 pandemic instead.

Despite the challenges, most of the women seemed happy to be here.

Martínez said she likes the stability of a roof over her head and the assurance that she’ll be cared for. Her room consists of a single bed, a small plug-in fan, a rocker and a tiny basket of plastic flowers atop a small television. Hanging on a wall is a framed portrait of La Virgen de la Caridad del Cobre.

The blackouts and heat are rough, she said, but overall she considers herself lucky.

“One suffers,” she said. “But you endure. It’s God’s will.”

To donate to the San Francisco de Paula Home for Elderly Women, contact hogarpaulamonaco@gmail.com.