That’s when 72-year-old Leidis Rodríguez frantically cooked beans after the lights switched on this week following hours of uninterrupted blackouts.

“The power has come back on, everyone go!” Rodríguez shouted.

In the wake of sometimes dayslong blackouts in Cuba — fueled by the oil blockade imposed by the Trump administration in January — Cubans are planning their lives around the lights turning back on.

Those small bursts of relief last a few minutes or a few hours. They come at any time, day or night. Increasingly, electricity flicks on when Rodríguez and her 41-year-old daughter, Yaimara Matos, would normally be asleep.

When the power comes on, the family stops everything they’re doing.

“You want to do everything at the same time — wash clothes, iron, cook, tidy the rooms, because it’s impossible in the dark, and even get a little relief from the heat,” Matos said. “What we used to do in 10 hours, we now have to do in two.”

Life transformed by crisis

That’s the case for Cubans across the island, whose lives have been transformed by one of the worst crises the island has seen since the Cuban revolution. Daily life has turned into a tangle of compounding crises families have to unravel.

Public transportation and cultural events have come to a standstill. So has tourism, the country’s economic engine, especially as tourism companies have withdrawn, leaving 25,000 hospitality jobs vacant. Flights to the island are regularly canceled and workdays have been shortened to adjust to the new reality of a Cuba without power. Medicine shortages have worsened and food rots in fridges without power.

“If there’s no electricity, there’s no water because it doesn’t get pumped to the tank. When there’s water, there’s no electricity,” Rodríguez lamented.

Power outages are nothing new to the Caribbean nation. Endemic blackouts began to worsen five years ago as a result of a crumbling energy grid, decades-long U.S. sanctions and failed economic reforms by the communist-run government.

But the quality of life began to rapidly deteriorate when U.S. President Donald Trump threatened to impose a tariff on any goods from countries that sell or provide it with oil, Cuba’s main source of power. The move, combined with even more rigid sanctions, was aimed at pressuring Cuba’s government into political change. The worst effects have been felt by average Cubans.

Previously, most blackouts were scheduled by the government to save power, so each family knew how long they would be without electricity — usually two or three hours. Now there is no longer any predictability: an outage can last 12 hours, 30 hours or longer. Increasingly, the entire island goes dark. Last weekend’s grid collapse marked the sixth time this year.

‘I try to carry on with life’

Cubans like Rodríguez and Matos, long accustomed to adapting to crisis, have found ways to cope. The family bought a small power generator, which they’re only able to run a few hours a day.

Others install solar panels — often sent by relatives abroad. Some purchase rechargeable fans or solar-powered vehicles since gasoline is also unavailable.

Lianet Barroso once cooked with a gas stove. Now she cooks over a wood fire. Unsure of when she will next get water when the power does go on, she fills up as many plastic bottles as she can.

“Life for Cubans has become difficult, harsh and sad,” Barroso said.

In several municipalities, particularly in Havana, residents staged neighborhood protests after blackouts lasting more than 48 hours, banging pots and pans and burning garbage piled up on street corners.

Meanwhile, with inflation surging as Cuba’s currency is increasingly devalued against the dollar, many people are struggling to even pay for food that could later go bad in a blackout.

At 10 p.m. on Tuesday, 64-year-old Caridad Delgado was preparing food for her cat during a blackout under the light of a rechargeable lamp, something the family bought with remittances from her three children, who had emigrated from the island.

Months ago at this hour, she said, “ I’d probably be watching a soap opera. Now I can’t even dream of it.”

“There’s just too much anguish, too much desperation,” she said. “I try to carry on with life.”

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Associated Press writers Megan Janetsky in Mexico City and Milexsy Durán and Ariel Fernández in Havana contributed to this report.