Havana’s formerly stately homes crumble, residents fear collapse
HAVANA — The house on Villegas Street, in the heart of Old Havana, looks nothing like the stately two-story home it used to be a century ago, with its high ceilings, wrought iron railings, semicircular arches and stairs covered in white marble. Its former elegance is such that local lore says it used to belong to a marquise.
Today, everything inside the six-family unit is chaos.
The roots of a tree protrude through the wall of a makeshift toilet where birds have made their nests. The roofs of the first and second floors are propped up. There is rubble and fresh sand scattered everywhere. The walls seem to tilt and the façade has completely disappeared, exposing a patio where one can see freshly washed clothes hanging.
The structure is one of many once luxurious houses in the island nation that in recent years have partially collapsed — or suffer visible damage.
Barely 100 yards away, also on Villegas Street, a similar building fell in earlier this month, causing three deaths.
Residents say they have repeatedly asked authorities for help to no avail. Years of neglect, inclement weather and a deepening economic crisis only aggravate the fear that their home will eventually collapse.
“How can we not live in fear? Every time it rains I feel like small pebbles come falling down on me,” said Maricelys Colás, a retired 64-year-old who has lived in the house with her 85-year-old mother for 59 years. “And a collapse doesn’t warn you.”
The Cuban government has in the past acknowledged the problem of housing deterioration, but said the lack of material resources prevents it from tackling it. Yet, many Cubans wonder why the pace of investment in tourism megaprojects such as hotels — a vital business sector that has failed to take off in at least the last two years — is not slowing down to address the dire housing crisis.
The house on Villegas Street was built at the end of the 18th century or the beginning of the 19th on a plot measuring about 50 feet wide by 200 feet deep. Three families live on the ground floor, where there used to be a main patio and rooms for the domestic staff. Three other families live on the more deteriorated top floor, where cracks abound and the staircase creaks as you climb it.
All of the residents say the building once belonged to the Marquise of Pinar del Río, a title granted by the Spanish crown when the island was part of its domains. The Associated Press could not verify that, but its elegant design is visible.
Nowadays, everything smells of mold.
AP interviewed all the residents in the unit, except for an elderly man who was temporarily staying in a relative’s house. They unanimously reported having made efforts before the government, requesting to live elsewhere or to have access to materials for repairs. They said they never received a response.