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A short story about emigration (Part II)

This is a recap of how those who have fled Venezuela, as I myself, get news about the situation back in the country.  

We are not the first people who have experienced the phenomenon of migration in history.  Venezuelans are, though, one of the few who have experienced it at this scale and in this way during this century (I personally don’t want to be the one to judge whether Syrians or such would fall in the same category, but I believe we are all up there on the list).

We are not a country at war, but we are.  There are two political sides to this story, lead by the chavistas and the opposition or, said less politically, the ones who hold power and/or money and those who don’t.  It is unofficially a dictatorship, yet it is.  And it is a violent situation, where crime is still rampant, the military use force aimlessly and people are on edge thus sometimes becoming quite aggressive.

I am not one to talk about those you have stayed, because I haven’t been to Venezuela in almost 3 and a-half years (yes, that long, and although I miss it, I don’t want to take the risk of going there unless there is a clear need).  But, I’ll try to illustrate through the stories of my very few close friends who are still there, and some family, including my 85-year-old grandmother. I speak from the perspective of the upper middle class I belonged to, unless said otherwise.

People don’t talk about this every day when we speak on the phone or WhatsApp, because it is honestly tiring to and they try to be positive. I’m also guessing they’re not super keen on sharing with their fellow “lucky” Venezuelans how hard their lives are while they –the ones who left– are mostly “worrying” about “1st world problems”.  

To name a few issues, food is scarce.  By that I mean that you might have to eat the same kind of stuff over and over.  Some people have noticeably lost a lot of weight (I’ve been told up to 20 kilos), because of not being able to find food easily.   Adults tend to give their children the pleasurable goods that might sporadically be found; I’m not referring to pate or caviar, but to muesli and olive oil. People with enough money periodically have boxes of food flown in from Miami or such.  The lower classes eat once or twice a day...

Also, finding things in general, other than food, is quite hard.  Having a car is imperative, especially in Caracas, but cars are getting older and whenever they are damaged, spare parts are very hard to come by.  Cars, as well many other machines stay parked while waiting to be repaired.  The most stressful in the not-being-able-to-find category is probably medicines.  People have to import them from Panama or Miami when possible.  Some of us abroad are constantly sending out medicines to our ill relatives.  Facebook posts of friends desperately looking for specific kinds of prescriptions are common on my news feed.  Forget about easily finding shampoo, perfumes and any kind of secondary pharmaceutical goods.

Work is plentiful, contrary to what you might think.  Many qualified people have left and there is so much to be done that there are many professional projects to undertake.  People work a lot, but for very little money.  Salaries, sometimes luckily in dollars, are raised every couple of months to keep up with the hyperinflation, but even that is not enough.  People under 35 –the vast majority of them-, live with their parents, as they cannot pay all the bills themselves, even when working in a top job in a top company.  The lower classes simply have lost faith in working altogether, because their weekly salary doesn’t even pay for a dozen eggs, so keeping up becomes useless.  For women who work as domestic help, their patrons have to spend more money on meals for them during the day than they pay for the day of work; so this kind of job is becoming more and more scarce, thus having a further impact on these lower-income people’s pocket.

Insecurity is still a very real problem in Venezuela, especially in the big cities like Caracas.  No matter if you’re rich or poor, chavista or not, everyone can be a target.  And by that, I don’t mean you might get simply mugged at gunpoint, I mean you might get killed for as little as a car or a phone.  Streets are deserted after sun down (which is between 5.30 and 6.30 pm all year long).  Although sometimes taking the risk, people try to be in only one place after that time.

After having a glimpse at the panorama for those who stay, it sounds ridiculous to speak the issues those who leave face, which are plentiful too, but as I said they look more like “1st world problems” compared to any of the things mentioned above.  If you still want to know a bit about the lives of those who have left, check my old post “A short story about emigration (Part I)” and stay tuned for next posts on the subject.

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✏️ At Christmas time is when we most miss our home country, Venezuela. 💛💙💔 This is our gift to you, a song that is dear to us because it explains the wonders of Venezuela that we carry in our hearts, wherever we might be. 🎁 Special thanks to my dad for sharing his voice with me.

The lyrics translate as follows:

I carry your light and your aroma on my skin, And the cuatro (small Venezuelan guitar) in my heart, I carry in my blood the foam of the sea And your horizon in my eyes.

I envy not the flight or the squeal of the tourpial I am like the wind in the harvest I feel the Caribbean like a woman That’s how I am, what can I do

I am desert, jungle, snow and volcano And as I go I leave my trail And the buzz of the plains in a song That keeps me awake

The woman that I want must be Heart, fire and spur With skin toasted like a flower From Venezuela

With your landscapes and dreams I will go Through God’s worlds

And your memories during nightfall Will make the road shorter Between your beaches my childhood was left Laid to the wind and the sun And this nostalgia that comes up my voice Unintentionally became song

Of the mountains I want immensity Of the river, the watercolors And of you the children that will sow New stars

And if one day my ship is wrecked And the typhoon breaks my sails Bury my body by the sea In Venezuela

https://ideasinwords.wordpress.com/…/all-i-want-for-christ…/