Ismaray used to treat patients in Cuba’s public hospitals. Now she spends her days on her feet in a Spanish restaurant, earning a fixed 1,400 euros a month whether it’s packed or empty. The move from doctor to waitress means more than a change of job: her medical training goes unused as she adjusts to a new set of rules.
She’s not alone. The Instituto Nacional de Estadística reports that over 287,000 Cubans live in Spain. Many have university degrees, but most can’t work in their fields. For Ismaray, the strict rules at her new job stand out. In Cuba, she could step out during her shift to handle personal matters. In Spain, she must stay on the floor, and keep her phone hidden unless there’s a real emergency or she needs it for work. “That’s a shock, because Cubans are used to always having their phone,” she says on her YouTube channel, La Tribu Pérez.
Recent analyses indicate that over 600,000 Cubans applied for Spanish citizenship between 2022 and 2025 under the law for descendants of Spaniards. That suggests the Cuban community in Spain may be significantly larger than official figures show, information from CFR.
Her routine is punishing. She works split shifts, and the commute takes an hour each way, adding up to four hours lost every day getting to and from work. The job is rigid and physically tough. Her medical degree means little until Spanish authorities recognize it. The process, called homologation, can drag on for months or even years. Many skilled migrants take jobs in hospitality, retail or customer service while they wait. There’s no shortcut.
Ismaray’s story is part of a bigger trend. Spain’s hospitality sector relies heavily on foreign workers. Women fill 55.1% of these jobs, with 977,000 working in hospitality. Foreign nationals or dual citizens hold 723,000 of the sector’s 1.77 million jobs, more than 40%. Most work as waiters or cooks, often in basic service roles. The sector continues to grow: in the first quarter of 2026, it added 70,000 new jobs. But these jobs rarely lead to careers for people with higher education. The ladder stops at the ground floor.
Recent labor market studies put the number of foreign workers in Spain at approximately 3.55 million, with foreigners making up nearly 33% of the hospitality workforce. This reliance on migrant labor is at a historic high, as the country faces ongoing demographic challenges, information from Institut der deutschen Wirtschaft Köln.
Most contracts are permanent: over 87% are indefinite. But for Ismaray, the work is a world away from medicine. She sent out CV after CV and applied for jobs in her field, but had no luck. Restaurants hired her for her speed and willingness to learn, not her degree. “Emigrating also means leaving behind a life, a profession, your family, your customs, and learning to start again,” she says. The words are blunt. The reality is tougher.
Spain’s hospitality industry is changing, with automation and new technology on the way. For now, the sector still runs on people who can adapt and stay present. Bureaucratic barriers keep skilled migrants out of their professions, leaving their talent unused. Every day, thousands like Ismaray start over from scratch.
Spain keeps drawing foreign workers into its hardest jobs. It can speed up the recognition of foreign qualifications or leave skilled people on the sidelines. The current system leaves professionals like Ismaray in limbo, their skills unused and ambitions on hold. Until these barriers fall, stories like hers will keep repeating in Spain’s economy.
