When I arrived in Cuba, I did not expect to be speaking Arabic. Organisers from the United States arrived at Mezquita Abdallah hours before the Jummah prayer to deliver bags full of Spanish translations of the Quran, donated by a mosque in Atlanta, prayer mats, halal vitamins, over-the-counter medications, and solar-powered phone chargers. The visit came as Cuba faces a deepening energy and economic crisis due to tightening sanctions .
Fuel shortages, power outages, and tightening US sanctions and economic pressure were worsening daily life across the island.
In the back of the women's section, eight cardboard boxes from Turkey's TİKA agency were already stacked against the wall.
On the side of each box was printed "Desde el corazón del pueblo turco al pueblo cubano," translating to "from the heart of the Turkish people to the Cuban people." Mezquita Abdallah (Abdallah Mosque), Cuba's only purpose-built mosque, was established 11 years ago on the first of Ramadan . When we arrived, two men were sitting at the door. Both were Palestinian refugees from Gaza. We sat down and chatted with them in a mix of broken Arabic and Spanish. The older man, who asked not to be named, said he left Gaza because of escalating Israeli attacks on the enclave and moved to Panama. He later left Panama because of the 1989 US invasion . He has a medical degree, but he told me he is too anxious to work as a doctor. His anxiety, he said, comes from witnessing Israel's ongoing genocide in Gaza while much of his family remains there.
Before the Jummah prayer began, he asked whether we had brought anxiety medication in the aid bags. Anxiety medication, like many medications, is difficult to access under US sanctions, commonly known in Cuba as "el bloqueo" (the blockade). Medicines containing US-origin components or produced by companies subject to US sanctions can be difficult or impossible for Cuba to obtain. I showed him pictures from my phone of the May Day mobilisation in Havana, where Palestinian flags were visible throughout the International Workers' Day march. He told me he used to attend the annual mobilisation, but now prefers to sleep in. As more people arrived for prayer, the mosque began to fill. Children ran through the prayer area as their mothers yelled at them to sit down, as happens in mosques around the world. In the women's section, I met Hiba, a young Cuban Muslim woman who spoke with me about how difficult it is to access hijabs, abayas, prayer rugs, and halal food because of the blockade.
Not all Cuban Muslim women, she told me, have the same ability to obtain these blessings. "When an abaya or prayer rug is found, it is very expensive," she said. "And what we would spend on it, we prefer to spend looking for food," while still trying to make sure it is halal or something they can eat. For Hiba, this scarcity has also shaped her understanding of her responsibility to the community. She said she tries to raise awareness among other members of the ummah, and has collected clothing for sisters in the community who are most in need, as well as children in precarious situations. She is currently raising funds to support Cuban Muslim women. Palestinian Muslims, she said, often send sadaqah to help support the most vulnerable women in the community. "I feel that we have to show solidarity, because our situation in the country is difficult," Hiba said. Some elderly members of the community, she said, sometimes do not have enough to sustain themselves. "As a Muslim, I do not feel comfortable if I do not act or help in some way," she continued. "I don't have much, but I try to be useful to my community as a Cuban Muslim woman." Hiba's own path to Islam began long before she first entered the mosque. Raised Catholic, she said she had carried three questions since she was a child: Who is God, the true God? What is our purpose in life? Where do we come from, and what were we created from? "These questions echoed in my mind when I was barely eight years old," she said. She searched for answers in the Bible and in religions native to Cuba, but said she never found answers that convinced her. By 18 or 19, she said, she became agnostic. In October 2023, as news from Palestine spread around the world, Hiba attended a Palestine march at her university. In the middle of the crowd, she saw Palestinian and Arab women wearing hijabs and asked why they wore them. A classmate told her they were Muslim and practised Islam. After the march, Hiba said she began defending the Palestinian cause because she felt, as a human being, the need to denounce the genocide.
Soon after, she began reading about Islam and connected with Palestinian and Syrian medical students in Cuba who shared information with her. She said one book about Islam answered in less than an hour what no one had answered in 11 years of searching. She took her shahada online in December 2023 and later took it again in front of the Muslim community at Mezquita Abdallah on 9 March 2024, one day before Ramadan. Many of the mosque attendees I spoke with were reverts to Islam. When I asked what brought them to Islam, many cited the steadfastness of the Palestinian people under siege . That relationship was echoed by Palestinian Ambassador to Cuba, Ammar Zorba , when he addressed a gathering of international solidarity delegations.
"Every time we talk about Palestine, we are talking about Cuba because right now many cannot enter Palestine," he said. "If you are in Cuba, you are in Palestine. If you are in Palestine, you are in Cuba." One of the most enduring exchanges between the two countries is educational.
Hundreds of Palestinian medical students study at the Latin American School of Medicine, known as ELAM, in Havana. The school was established by Fidel Castro in 1999 to educate doctors from around the world free of charge. Murid Abukhater, a Palestinian graduate of ELAM, described this relationship to a group of solidarity activists: "Fidel is in every one of you and in me because I am his dream of international students studying in Cuba. I am Palestinian by blood, but Cuban in my soul." For Hiba, the Cuban Muslim community is also connected to a wider ummah beyond the island.
She said she has friends from Algeria, Morocco, Nigeria, Yemen, the Comoros, Turkey, Chile, Palestine, Syria and, now, the United States.
Many of those relationships began through learning about Islam and supporting the Palestinian cause. "Through the cause of Islam and just causes, we were able to meet," she said. Arabs in Cuba can also find community at the Arab Union of Cuba headquarters in the Centro Habana neighbourhood. At the entrance, a Spanish-language advertisement promoted online Arabic language classes.
The organisation was formed in 1979 when different Arab associations in Cuba came together, including Syrian, Lebanese and Palestinian organisations.
Today, it works to preserve Arab culture and identity on the island through various programmes, such as children's dance workshops and political discussions. The Arab Union is currently creating a hookah lounge on its patio, with a mural of the Dome of the Rock painted on one wall. Back at the mosque, girls talked about how they like to get coffee together after Jummah, just as they do elsewhere.
In the women's section of the mosque, we spent the hour before the sermon began exchanging jokes and stories.
The blockade shapes the conditions of what people can access, but inside Mezquita Abdallah, it did not stop Arab and Muslim culture from transcending borders.
Women still took selfies together, and kids still chased each other while their parents prayed. In Havana, Arabic and Spanish continue to intertwine — from Cuba's only purpose-built mosque to the Arab Union — sustaining a community through faith, solidarity and the ordinary rituals of care. Anam Hussain is a writer and researcher based in Washington, DC. Her work focuses on international solidarity, political economy, and diasporic communities Follow her on Instagram: @an37m