What Lasting Effects Does Chikungunya Have and Why is the Cuban Regime Now Saying They Will Be "Persistent"?

The Cuban regime has, for the first time, acknowledged that some chikungunya patients will experience ongoing joint inflammation, a chronic and debilitating aftermath that can last for months or even years. However, they presented this information with their usual ambiguity, referring to an undefined “percentage” without offering any concrete figures or verifiable data, despite the undeniable scope and impact of the outbreak.

Medical sources, independent reports, and firsthand accounts from the island—compiled by the BBC—indicate that chikungunya is causing widespread pain and disability throughout the country. A local journalist in Matanzas described the city as resembling a "zombie town" back in November, with streets filled with individuals hunched over, suffering from joint pain and struggling to walk.

Transmitted by the Aedes aegypti mosquito, the chikungunya virus causes high fever, rashes, and severe muscle and joint pain. Yet, the aftermath can be even more severe than the initial acute phase. In numerous cases, patients develop a chronic inflammatory arthropathy similar to rheumatoid arthritis, marked by stiffness, inflammation in the hands, knees, ankles, and shoulders, and a loss of mobility.

International studies suggest that between 20% and 40% of those infected with chikungunya may endure prolonged or disabling symptoms. Hansel, a 31-year-old engineer from Havana, described his experience to the BBC: "I was working when I felt a sharp pain in my knee, like a heavy weight. When I tried to stand, I couldn’t. Walking became very difficult." He continued to suffer from stiffness in his hands and shoulder pain weeks after the initial symptoms: "I struggle to open jars or close my hand, and it's been over a month."

In Pinar del Río province, a woman identified as Silvia shared a similar plight within her family: "My mother and grandmother are very sick. They have fever, chills, and such severe joint pain that they can't get out of bed."

Despite these personal accounts, the true extent of the outbreak remains unknown in Cuba. In December, the Cuban Presidency's own website reported that over 5,000 patients had been treated in Matanzas alone, with 60% requiring rehabilitation. This equates to approximately 3,000 individuals suffering from post-chikungunya effects in just one province. However, in January, during a meeting led by the ruler Miguel Díaz-Canel, this data was replaced with a vague reference to an unspecified "percentage" of cases.

This contradiction between official reports—both issued by the same government office—highlights the deterioration of health transparency and the manipulation of public discourse. In December, the regime boasted about mathematical models predicting the epidemic's total control by early 2026. Yet, by January, once those predictions were proven wrong, any mention of the models was dropped, shifting focus to the Jusvinza drug, touted as a national scientific achievement.

This communication strategy is deliberate: it is part of a political tactic of distraction and narrative control. Initially, they promise control; then, when reality disproves their claims, they introduce a "biotechnological solution" to regain the upper hand in information dissemination. Meanwhile, Cubans suffer the virus's aftermath without access to medications or rehabilitation. The scarcity of resources in hospitals has forced many patients to endure the illness at home, self-medicating with whatever they can find.

"Hospitals can't accommodate people. Everything is overwhelmed, including pediatric wards," Silvia told the BBC. "They only provide hydration and paracetamol for pain... people manage as best as they can at home, nearly unable to walk." Another witness, a 50-year-old professor from Havana, expressed the sense of despair: "Hardly anyone goes to the doctor. There are no medications or diagnoses. You have to buy them on the black market or wait for someone to send them from abroad."

The healthcare system, in a structural crisis, lacks anti-inflammatories, physiotherapists, and basic resources. Many patients, as several told the BBC, recover at home, self-medicating with painkillers or natural remedies, because hospitals are devoid of supplies and cannot provide minimal assurances.

The absence of clinical follow-up means thousands of post-chikungunya cases are not recorded in official statistics, exacerbating underreporting and allowing the regime to manipulate the extent of the damage. The authorities, who have long boasted of their "medical prowess," remain silent about the real impact of these aftereffects on the country's aging and working population.

In an environment of power outages, piled-up garbage, and neglected vector control, the virus spreads easily, and its effects are worsened by the lack of medications and medical personnel. The words “persistent” and “percentage” have become, in the regime's rhetoric, synonyms for vagueness and concealment. They do not describe a health policy but rather a political survival strategy: partially admitting the inevitable without offering solutions or data.

Meanwhile, on the streets of Cuba, thousands continue to walk with difficulty, bent by pain, in a country where official silence has become yet another ailment.