Article and photos by István Ojeda Bello on November 3, 2025
This eyewitness coverage of an area of Eastern Cuba gives us a glimpse of the coordination in the rescue and recovery by the Cuban military (FAR) with local leaders and the people impacted by Hurricane Melissa – to date there has been no deaths from the devastating storm in Cuba.
Las Tunas – The road between Las Tunas and Bayamo offers the first evidence of the magnitude of the disaster from Hurricane Melissa. Sections near Jucarito, Vado del Yeso, Grito de Yara and, above all, Miradero, east of the bridge over the Cauto River, have literally disappeared. Only the power of the trucks transporting the Armed Forces’ amphibious vehicles manages to keep us moving forward.
Leaving the wake of the tractors means getting lost in the murky waters, as the crew of the jeep in our convoy discovers. Only the driver’s cool head prevents the worst, as the olive-green UAZ from the Las Tunas Military Region roars, spewing black smoke first and then white. From our cabin, the young lieutenant looks at the two soldiers and warns them: “Get ready, because we’ll have to jump into the water!” But this time, it’s just a scare.
Colonel Elio Barrera Garcell is waiting on the viaduct over Cuba’s largest river. He is categorical before the assembled troops: “This is great!” His order is direct: get to the municipal capital with the three amphibious transporters, report to the local Defense Council, and rescue whoever is necessary. “No recklessness! We must save all lives,” he clarifies.
The head of the Las Tunas Military Region had arrived at that point on the highway on the morning of that same Friday, October 31. Only then did he get a direct sense of what had happened in the area, so he contacted the Eastern Army Headquarters, which immediately sent several helicopters into the air to begin the first rescues in the most dangerous areas.
Further south, in Guamo, during the night of Thursday, October 30, and the early morning of Friday, October 31, the first 1,300 people had already begun to be evacuated by rail to the municipalities of Jobabo, Colombia, and the provincial capital in Las Tunas, in what was only the initial wave.
In Miradero, next to the bridge, Armando Domínguez Rivera, an employee of the Electric Company and member of the Zone Defense Council, provides details. “Since Tuesday night, the waters began to rise little by little,” he says. “We knew that Hurricane Melissa would bring heavy rainfall,” he notes. However, “there came a point when we had to climb onto the roofs. My house? I don’t know. My people are fine, but until the waters recede, I won’t know what’s left of the house.”
In Cauto del Embarcadero and then in Cayamas, the scene is devastating. The waters seem endless. Without respect for courtyards, squares, parks, or streets, they mark their level by brushing against the roofs, regardless of the construction.
Those who remain to look after their belongings in these semi-empty settlements improvise tents in a peculiar harmony with pigs, chickens, and pets. Others chose to leave, but first covered their most precious possessions with waterproof tarps. From above, we see the first helicopter and two small planes.
In Melones, we find cattle ranchers spending the night on the highway. With their makeshift shelter set up, they boil a ram for dinner in a pot. They keep a close eye on cows, horses, and other animals settled as best they can along the dry stretches of the road.
IN THE FACE OF PANIC, THEY TAKE ACTION
The village of Río Cauto welcomes our caravan with an initial sense of relief. A man in his 50s, gray-haired, thin, and wearing shorts, stops walking with the water at knee level. Without thinking, he throws a bag of toasted bread to the crew. From rooftops and balconies, others smile and wave. Despite three days without electricity, they keep their cell phones alive to record our arrival.
Three blocks later, in the place locals call El Paseo, the atmosphere is completely different. There is fear and even panic on people’s faces. Here, the noise of vehicles confirms the unfounded rumor that a flood will wash everything away. There are no hugs or smiles, but rather the crying of a thin young woman who believes that she and her daughter are at risk, and the many questions of those who have remained safe in an elementary school until now and fear the worst.
At the command post are Sadia Reyes Nápoles and Dailín Cox Pajaró, president and vice president, respectively, of the Municipal Defense Council. There is no time for formalities. Both are working hard to counteract the false news that is unsettling the population.
Looking people in the eye and speaking clearly, Dailín confronts a frightened woman who believes she is living her last hours. “You know me, you know I tell the truth,” she assures her after assuring her that the province’s reservoirs are in perfect condition. Their existence mitigates the effects of the rains; otherwise, the calamity would be like that of Hurricane Flora, she concludes.
Sadia and Dailín have to rise to the occasion again, as they have done more than once in the last three years. The former in the Party leadership and the latter in the Municipal Assembly of People’s Power, they work as a team and interpret each other’s moods with a glance. Both confirm that these are the hardest hours of their leadership, due to a collective tension they have never experienced before.
Río Cauto, Sadia explains, is a polycentric municipality. Its demographics distribute its inhabitants almost equally among several urban centers. Each one has created its own infrastructure to reduce dependence on a single nucleus, which is expressed by activating each Defense zone to ensure basic services.
A sharp blow on the water in the flooded street stops the conversation in the darkness. A telephone pole has given way to the humidity. Electricity cables are colliding with each other. A female voice shouts for a teenager walking nearby. “She’s here!” someone replies, turning on a flashlight.
“Some say that our municipality is like a flat plate, because all the water comes here,” Sadia continues, after the scare. With every weather event, numerous areas have to be evacuated. There are 33 vulnerable neighborhoods, she points out. “When Tropical Storm Noel hit, we had to evacuate a large part of the municipality, but perhaps only Flora surpasses what happened this time.”
RESCUES
The sun is setting, and at the command post, now reinforced with the arrival of the Tunera Military Region Headquarters, decisions continue to be made. Two of the amphibious vehicles immediately set out. They are metal giants, noisy and rough. They break through the mud and plow through the water with apparent ease. Although they have difficulty taking the first step, once they get going, they seem unstoppable. Their medium is calm waters; on their backs, rescuers, ropes, and lifeboats are stowed away, making room for those who are in danger.
Only one can return, not without the risk of being swept away by the currents of streets turned into canals. The other is forced to spend the night in a flooded city bend. At around 8:00 p.m., Brigadier General Hatuey Ill Cuevas arrives to take command of operations.
He reviews the board with the most urgent locations and the number of people. He managed to make the same journey as us from Cauto Embarcadero, but in a four-wheel-drive Ural truck, accompanied by officers from the Granma Military Region and the Ministry of the Interior, as well as specialized rescuers.
His success implies that the force of the current has diminished, so that at dawn, using other similar vehicles, another evacuation route to Bayamo could be added.
“The train carrying evacuees from Guamo to Las Tunas is stopped. A technical malfunction in the locomotive and water covering the tracks very close to Guamo Embarcadero,” they report. The train convoy then has to be divided into two parts, giving priority to women, children, the elderly, and people with disabilities.
The rest spend the night at the Camilo Cienfuegos polyclinic and the local train terminal. The land route is longer and more tortuous for an evacuation attempt, so the strategy is as follows: on Sunday, in a small vehicle belonging to the track repairers, the residents will be transported to where the line is cut off by the water currents. While these “sparks” do their job, boats will take them to the La Torre pumping station. From there, rail buses (carahatas) arriving from various municipalities in southern Las Tunas will take them to where a motor car awaits them, in which they will finally arrive in Jobabo. There, they will be received by the main authorities, who will coordinate their transfer to evacuation centers within the province of Las Tunas.
“A Willys was lost in the water!” they warn from Miradero. The driver, an elderly man from Las Tunas, jumped out in time and grabbed hold of the branches of a tree. Instructions are given for his rescue at dawn. The task will be accomplished just as his daughter, who had arrived from the capital of Las Tunas, anxious about her father’s absence, is in despair.
-A Dongfeng in the water of the Cauto, in the same place!
“And the officers and rescuers?”
“They jumped in time and are safe.”
“The truck?”
“We’ll have to wait for the waters to recede to find out its fate.”
These tense moments leave little room for rest. Those leading the action are the last to close their eyes. Transient sleep comes in an office divided between armchairs, a sofa, and the floor. The sound of a small electric generator lulls the brief rest. Mobile phones, flashlights, and batteries are crowded together next to the outlets, whether they belong to a general, a worker, or the lady who cooks.
HELICOPTERS, TRUCKS… BOATS
Saturday, November 1, dawns with this dialogue:
“Is the girl ready to be moved?” asks General Hatuey.
“Ready, they confirm from the polyclinic,” replies Sadia.
“Where can the helicopter land, on the ball field where it landed yesterday?”
“That’s already flooded. It has to be done in the square,” clarifies Dailín.
“Then,” says the general, “have our comrades from the PNR clear the area of vehicles and form a cordon.”
And so, under an overcast sky, the esplanade is declared a landing zone. The aircraft would land successfully two more times to transport the elderly and pregnant women to hospitals, bringing medical supplies and fuel.
After the morning roar of the helicopter, another storm ensues, this time in the face of misinformation. The representatives of the FAR and the Sadia-Dailín duo are categorical: “There is no danger with the dams; the trucks will arrive during the day and we will continue the evacuations.”
As the sun peeks through the clouds, the FAR amphibious vehicles navigate the deserted streets of the Trinidad neighborhood. Los Mangos and 21 are their destinations, while the helicopters reach Grito de Yara and Cabezadas.
On their return, the amphibious vehicles settle on a main street that breathes easier as they watch the convoy of military trucks. With them come Army Corps General Roberto Legrá Sotolongo, first deputy minister and chief of the FAR General Staff, and the head of the Eastern Army, Major General Eugenio Armando Rabilero Aguilera. Other forces and boats from the Ministry of the Interior join them. “We responded positively to the call made to the province, and here we are and will remain until the province of Granma needs us,” says Lieutenant Colonel Gómez Acosta, commander of the Camagüey Fire Department rescue team.
Before departure, we talk with Antonio Morales Ramírez, head of the Etecsa Telecommunications Center in Río Cauto, as we have been pleasantly surprised by the quality of the connectivity. He shows us the facility’s meeting room, which has been converted into a shelter for those whose homes have been flooded.
On the return trip on the amphibious vehicle, a soldier throws a piece of bread to a dog guarding its owner’s belongings on the roof of a house near Melones. The boy has a good arm and aim. The animal will have something to eat, at least that night.
The final image that remains in my mind is that of a helicopter in the sky, of people climbing into trucks knowing that they will return to try to rebuild their lives, probably finding that their livestock is gone or that their crops have been lost. Thirty hours are nothing compared to what the people of Río Cauto have yet to endure. And there is still too much water there.
Source: Periodico 26, translation Resumen Latinoamericano – English