At first glance, it looks like nothing more than splintered wood—a broken bridge, a skeleton of what once was. But for the residents of Boca de Miel, that fragile footbridge over the river is far more than debris. It's a raw wound left open six months after Hurricane Oscar hit, a symbol of a community still waiting for help that never came. It’s proof that Cuba’s reconstruction efforts aren’t reaching everyone equally.

In October 2024, the condition of the bridge over the Miel River worsened, says Suyenis Lambert, one of more than 500 people living in the area, speaking with elTOQUE. It’s not the first time the structure has neared collapse.

From the nearby city of Baracoa, the Miel River is no picture of serenity. It divides. It isolates. It silences. A single wooden boat—a cayuca—remains the only way to cross. There’s no reliable schedule. No guarantee of safety. After 6 p.m., someone in Boca de Miel could die, and the outside world wouldn’t know. It's not a curse or fate—it’s the brutal reality of being cut off from the nearest hospital after dark.

“My daughter nearly died on that bridge, but the country’s leaders—especially the provincial ones—don’t care, because they don’t go anywhere near it,” wrote Yudannys Fuentes in a Facebook post that’s been shared widely in community groups. “That neighborhood gets completely cut off during the rainy season.” Those who miss the cayuca have to walk for miles to go around the river. In a region with frequent rain and unpaved roads, that detour is closer to punishment than a solution.

A Community Still Reeling

Baracoa hasn’t forgotten Hurricane Oscar. When it made landfall on October 20, 2024, it tore through roads, buildings, and roofs. But in Boca de Miel, what people miss most is simply being able to cross the river safely. That bridge wasn’t a luxury—it was essential. Doctors, teachers, elders, children, street vendors, students—everyone relied on it.

A few months earlier, in August, a video had already revealed the bridge’s alarming instability. “Every time they ‘fix’ it, it’s garbage. They never build anything worthwhile,” wrote Dalmaris Primer Alba in a blunt Facebook comment on a post by local station Radio Baracoa. Her frustration echoes a wider sentiment: the bridge has been patched up repeatedly—and poorly. There’s no reason to believe this time will be any different.

A Growing Chorus of Voices

Others are speaking out too. “That bridge is vital for the hundreds of people who use it every day,” posted Daylen Lobaina. “It’s the shortest route to town… How much longer do we have to wait?” What upsets many isn’t just the delay—it’s the silence. No official response. No timeline. No explanation. Just the sound of water slapping against the remains of what used to be a bridge.

“It’s not just Boca de Miel,” said Facebook user Ysidro Leiva. “It’s Majayara, Majana, Yara, and parts of Bomba too. In all cases, a large percentage of residents work or study in the city. And in emergencies, there’s no way out.” Leiva, who seems to know the region like a map, told elTOQUE that the bridge has been rebuilt multiple times since the 1970s—using expensive hardwoods. “Experts say the money spent on those materials could’ve built two concrete bridges instead.”

Cut Off from Care

Medical access is a constant concern. If someone falls ill after the boat stops running at 6 p.m., they’re stranded. They can’t reach a hospital or clinic—not even get help. “When someone gets sick, the boat’s gone, and they’re not allowed to travel at night,” said local resident Yunet Paján Giral. “But there’s no money for a solution. What a shame.”

Beyond Boca de Miel: A Broader Crisis

What angers residents even more is the perception that the crisis is limited to Boca de Miel. “It’s not just Boca de Miel—it's Majana, Yara, Majayara, even Boma. Thousands of people are affected,” insisted Mila Maresma, challenging the official numbers.

Testimonies confirm that the current structure can’t withstand flooding and poses a serious risk to nearby communities. The deteriorating bridge isn’t just a hazard—it’s a barrier to essential services. “Most people in these communities work or study in La Primada,” added Ysidro. “Without a safe crossing, it’s nearly impossible to get there in an emergency.”

On Facebook, another resident pleaded: “This bridge serves five communities. We need a real solution—not just a quick fix. Otherwise, we’ll end up right back here again.” Others have raised concerns about misused public funds, poor technical oversight, and a repeat of past construction failures.

Suyenis Lambert told elTOQUE that the last bridge “didn’t even last a year before it broke.” She blames diverted materials and a lack of oversight. “No one monitors the work. That bridge can’t hold up if resources keep disappearing,” she said. And now, with a new project underway, she’s skeptical it will solve anything.

There’s been no public disclosure of the new bridge design, so elTOQUE couldn’t verify its details. But Lambert claims it will be more than 10 meters high and built on a slope—making it inaccessible for children and the elderly. She also questions the lack of an architect overseeing the project’s feasibility.

According to Lambert, the construction is just another profit opportunity for private contractors. “Most of us will be hurt by a project that won’t solve the real problem. It’s just another payday for small private construction firms,” she alleged. The same company behind the failed bridge, she says, is now leading the new build—with a request for even more funds. “They asked for more money, but they won’t guarantee quality. They just want to cut corners.”

She also challenged the logic behind trying to “save” money on a publicly funded project. “If the government has already allocated the money, why are they trying to save? It makes no sense.”

The Politics of Neglect

“Didn’t you see the first secretary on TV in Cajobabo? I thought he might drop by here too,” joked Facebook user Pedro Rafael, mocking how political visits rarely translate into real help.

Yender Villafañes Vior didn’t mince words: “If Martí or Gómez had landed there, the bridge would be finished by now—especially with the anniversary and the president’s visit. Sadly, they only act when it fits the old patriotic narrative, not current needs.”

His comment hits a nerve: the tendency to prioritize historical commemorations over present-day crises. Because in Boca de Miel, no one’s asking for statues or plaques—they just want a bridge that works. One that doesn’t collapse with every storm. One that isn’t a luxury, but a basic right.

After Hurricane Oscar, the Cuban government deployed Russian tactical bridges in places like Imías, allowing vehicles up to 12 tons to cross. Roads reopened across the province. But Boca de Miel was left off the map—out of the speeches, out of the relief efforts.

And that, more than anything, is what hurts. As they wait for answers, the people of Boca de Miel are slowly turning into a town that’s lost its sweetness.