Living with Shortages

In Venezuela, there is a great rift between the wealthy and the poor, and in that space an expanse of fertile soil; dark, rich, soft earth where love and hate alike root and multiply. To negotiate this terrain can mean moving through the tangles of ignorance and resentment to hit upon the magnificence of a rare flower like generosity. These extremes are what 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. We share our experiences, compare our waiting times, scrutinize each other’s tactics and even bring out the evidence of our presence with digital pictures. Demographics and politics tear us apart and our sense of humor brings us back together.

Going to the supermarket and buying basic foodstuff has become an exploit where we face the fruit of what the country has sown. Though shortage has become a fact of life, I have yet to wrestle other mothers over my lawful three liters of milk. My tactic is to maintain my pace even when a stampede of desperate shoppers with carts rushes 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 right as 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; the rare flower. “Thank you!” I say, wide-eyed, putting the milk gently, lovingly 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 and I can store food at home. I was able to grab three bottles of vegetable oil, the daily allowance and my precious liter of milk. 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 mine,” I say and hand her the rare flower. “I have some at home,” I explain before she rejects 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 the three bottles of 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. When I reach my husband I tell him to follow me with a look I reserve for more intimate moments; a look I know will draw him in without explanation. He follows my lead momentarily intrigued but then races past me as we get near the seafood department 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.

Voting at Local Elections

Casting my vote at the local elections left a sour taste in my mouth, even though the candidate of my preference won. This time around, I refused to be swept up by the whirlwind of tweets that declared this last election as a turning point for Venezuela, the mark of a new beginning. I don’t believe in optimistic rumors anymore and was plagued, the entire day, by details that in the end illustrate the state of our nation.

I bumped into a friend leaving my voting center and found myself wondering whether he wanted a better country or to continue making the millions he has been making in the last decade. How many people say one thing and secretly vote the other way because this government has been good to them? What would I do in their shoes? What I see is a country shrouded and weighed down by layers, over layers, over layers of division, lies, cheating, cutting corners, information trafficking and such.

I am glad my candidate won. With him at the helm I know that streets will be lit, trash picked up and a small measure of security guaranteed. Maybe that is who my friend voted for, the guy who will keep his residential area clean, safe and working while he votes for the other guy at a national scale, so that he can keep the connections that make him millions intact.

Lack of clarity is what plagues me… not knowing where the country is heading, what rights will be suspended, what products will cease to exist, what industry will be attacked, where my friends stand politically, what will be ceased illegally, whether we will be kidnapped, who can I trust, when should I leave...