Growing in conflict

From my husband’s graduating class less than half still live in Venezuela. The rest have emigrated to the USA or South America even Australia. This sample of men is an accurate illustration of what has been happening in Venezuela since 1999, when Hugo Chavez won the presidential elections and began to move the country in the socialist direction. From those that continue to live here, some have become rich buying and selling dollars in the black market, a way of life that is illegal but results in huge payoffs, just like any high risk endeavor. The rest of the men have been working in a country where private ownership is constantly attacked, where manufacturers and distributors close their doors on a daily basis, where raw materials are scarce because the country produces little and imports a lot. As professionals leave, we lose our most valuable asset, the studied, trained, and highly skilled human resource. But even in this dire situation, amid shortages, inflation above 50%, rampant crime, etc. some people choose to stay one more year. 

Some of my husband’s friends who have left assume that those of us that stay here do so because we are used to having maids, going to the Country Club on weekends or are comfortable working in the family business with flexible hours and vacation days, suggesting that we put our comfort before the safety of our family, our kids. In reality, living here is not very comfortable at all. While most of us have domestic help, spend much of our free time in the Country Club and work in businesses started by our families, the reasons we stay run much deeper. Some of us stay because we want to care for our parents (who are adamant about not deserting their country), others because their businesses continue to grow and even thrive in the current environment, still others because they cannot practice their profession anywhere else (like lawyers), and some because even though they have lost everything they are not ready to give up. The fact is that all of us would give up domestic help if we didn’t have to visit three or four supermarkets to find basic foodstuff like oil, flour, chicken or toilet paper. We would gladly trade in our membership at the Country Club for more than a single safe place to hang-out with the kids. All of us would be willing to sell our family business and enter the corporate world if paid a fair price for the company that has been in the family for decades.

And yet… living in any country in conflict has certain opportunities that are closely linked to personal growth and development. Professionals who stay and work in Venezuela learn to solve problems they wouldn’t face anywhere else, on a daily basis. Successful executives must make business work using a single manufacturer and regional distributor in a company that is probably weighed down by under qualified and over protected human resource in a hostile environment run by a socialist government. This is especially hard on small businesses, that do not have the financial muscle to import raw materials from another country, set-up their own distribution chain, pay off the employees that do not meet company objectives or hire an expensive law firm to protect their rights. Everyday executives like my husband and his friends find creative solutions to obstacles that would daunt business people in other countries. They have developed an eye for finding opportunities in a place that is fraught by human right violations, corruption and violence and have become extreme players in the sport of making profit. There is not a single masters program in the world that will teach business administrators, lawyers, doctors and other professionals what they are learning daily by living here in Venezuela. 

Life here for me, as a writer, is just as interesting. I am constantly scared and inspired by the people around me, the stories of an express kidnapping gone bad or grandmothers spear-heading a dangerous march to Miraflores, our Whitehouse. At this moment Venezuela offers no peace, no safety and no guarantee that your rights will be protected. But it is a moment in time, a part of history which has changed the country forever. We could go, and maybe we will, but until then we continue to learn and grow from conflict. We do our best to create a bubble of peace, safety and happiness for our kids by surrounding ourselves with family and friends, taking them to places that are safe, explaining the situation in simple terms so that they too can grow while instilling importance of finding a solution and never giving up. No one ever said life would be perfect and it is in the flaws of life where there is most room to grow.

Shortage of food, but abundance of humor.

In Venezuela, there is a great rift between the wealthy and the poor. Theses extremes generate so much turmoil and beauty in such close space. Yet even in the throngs of chaos and anarchy, Venezuelans, rich and poor, color their life with humor. For better or for worse, we have the ability to laugh at our situation. Demographics and politics tear us apart and our sense of humor brings us back together.

Even by going to the supermarket we face our national identity. I have witnessed stampedes of desperate shoppers with carts rush past me for sugar, cornmeal or toilet paper. The day I have to fight someone to get toilet paper so that I can wipe my butt is the day I need to find a new place to live. So I keep my calm, buy what is available at the moment and maybe circle the sales floor a couple of times to see if I get lucky… they might bring something out when I cross that aisle. I ask the butcher while he prepares my meat, “Do you know if they will bring out any more milk?” “Take mine”, he answers and hands me a single liter of milk. “Thank you!” I say, wide-eyed, putting the milk into the cart. “Why did you do that?” I ask later when he gives me the meat. “You have kids,” he says, pointing to the formula in the cart. I nod and walk away, feeling guilty because the milk is destined for my coffee rather than the baby’s bottle. As I wait to pay, I look around and am deeply embarrassed by my cart. It is filled to the rim with produce, formula, diapers, snacks, meats and other items. It is so obvious, I have money. I was able to grab three bottles of vegetable oil, the daily allowance. An old lady, waiting behind me asks, “Where is the oil?” “It was in the fourth aisle, but it is all gone,” I answer sadly. “We haven’t been able to buy oil for a week,” she says. “Take one of mine,” I say and hand a bottle to her. She doesn't dare reject my offer. For the next half hour, until I pay and leave, the old lady blesses my family, everyone from my unborn grandchildren to my oldest ancestors for sharing the vegetable oil.

Shortage, insecurity, lawlessness, filth affects each person differently. I maintain my cool to keep my toddlers’ lives carefree, fun, peaceful, untainted by the evidence of a crumbling country that is falling apart around us. I step over fallen pieces gaily, hoping that they won’t notice the furrow between my eyebrows or the underlying worry in my happy tone. There will be time enough to worry when they can understand one single truth… not everyone is good, or bad. My husband worries for all of us; he double bolts our doors, calls me when I pick up the girls from school, buys extra food, candles and batteries in case of power outage. Even though he works all day, he drags me to the supermarket at night or on the weekends to buy what we didn’t find during the week. We get separate carts so that we can buy double rations. When I am on the second aisle my husband has already covered the supermarket twice and is on his third lap. A thin, dark skinned man approaches and whispers, “Flour is coming out soon. It will be handed out by the seafood counter,” and continues to walk slowly. I turn and notice he purposely skips giving the insider’s tip to the frantic guy, my husband, who is looking into people’s cart and asking, “Where did you get the rice? Is there any toilet paper left?” In the same extent that basic food items are unavailable, imported products are incredibly expensive. Canned foods, peanut butter, Nutella, preserves, instant coffee are just some examples of products that cost four or five times the original price. I browse at those items, nod at the prices and eliminate them from our shopping list without taking them. As I walk to the seafood counter my husband races past me towards a mountain of people anxiously crawling over each other. I hear him scream, “Hurry! They brought something out!” I realize that he doesn’t care what item is under the tumult, or whether we have some at home, what matters to him is that we both buy some now because we might not be able to buy some later. The general chitchat in the line to pay is always the same. Some people highlight that the only coffee they can find is from Brazil, when we used to produce as much coffee as we do oil. Others have noticed the disappearance of popular name brands that have closed their factories or left the country. Still others talk about the bad quality of the food, like the milk which curdles when you heat it up. I look at my husband and wonder how much more productive and happier he could be if he didn’t have to worry about this stuff.

Cellular phones and social media have been key factors in documenting what happens daily in Venezuela. It is not unusual to take and post pictures of an endless line of people waiting to buy chicken, an empty supermarket aisle, a full supermarket aisle, or a selfie lying on top of a mountain of toilet paper in a random Walmart in the USA. Through texting we find out and inform others that there is sugar or flour at the local market, fully knowing that sharing the info will double the line at the registrar. Small things like drinking a coffee, making a cake, going to the bathroom have acquired a new meaning for us and are done differently since shortages began. This experience in scarcity and rationing challenges our lavish nature, our belief that just by living in a country with tropical weather you can survive on fruits. People think twice about offering a guest a coffee with milk and sugar, “Are we really that close?” Making any desert requires a prior inventory check to make sure you have all the ingredients and there is enough left over for others. In the homes that have them, bidets have become shrines used with more frequency than when they were first invented.