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The boy speaks with difficulty, each breath punctuated by a wheeze, as he urgently shares that his mother remains alive beneath debris. His dust-covered hands and frantic words tell the harrowing tale of hope among destruction.
Two weeks ago, Venezuela was struck by two devastating earthquakes. The catastrophic event has claimed the lives of thousands, leaving countless families in turmoil as they desperately search for missing loved ones amidst the chaos.
Amneiver Parra, a young man of 18 years, recounts a fateful call from his mother at half past eleven on the morning of July 2. The timestamp sits permanently on his phone screen, a reminder of her possible survival.
Despite his existing lung issues, Amneiver remains undeterred by the personal danger of digging through ruins. He adamantly expresses, “I would do anything to find my mum,” standing as a testament to his unwavering determination and love.
It feels surreal being in this country. I have worked on its periphery for years, documenting the plight of its people from neighbouring Colombia, where I was born. Media freedom is restricted in Venezuela, and foreign journalists haven’t been allowed in the country in recent years.
Now I’m witnessing the tragedy firsthand.
Parra has others helping him. There’s no shortage of fellow Venezuelans using shovels, pick axes and other makeshift tools. But while we’re at the site, we see very few government authorities.
There’s only one excavator, operated by a Venezuelan volunteer. Parra wants more equipment, specialised machinery to move the giant slabs of concrete trapping his mum.
The sheer suffering here is on a scale that’s hard to comprehend or describe.
Building after building is either completely flattened or severely damaged in the hardest-hit state of La Guaira on Venezuela’s northern coast.
It truly looks apocalyptic and there is fresh grief everywhere you turn — sunken eyes and raw anguish, as a mother watches authorities pull her daughter’s body from the rubble. Her wail is something I’ll find hard to ever forget.
It’s impossible to see how a country already crippled by economic mismanagement and international sanctions could even begin to recover.
The earthquakes have exposed how underprepared the country was for a national disaster, with a healthcare system that was already under-resourced before the quakes struck.
The humanitarian needs are monumental, with the smell of death and decay filling the air around collapsed buildings. The risk of disease among the displaced and largely unvaccinated population is only increasing.
People are desperate, on edge and angry. Where freedom of speech has long been stifled, the earthquakes have acted like a release valve for frustrations with the government. Many people here say they feel abandoned.
The government says it is continuing rescue and relief efforts, but many residents told us help has been slow to reach the worst-hit areas — if it has arrived at all.
Over the last decade, Venezuelans have learned to rely on each other for support. Alongside the immense grief that I’ve witnessed, I’ve also seen incredible spirit. There’s an enormous amount of solidarity, unity and resilience among the Venezuelan people.
People who have very little to give are finding ways to donate or volunteer their services. As earthquake survivor Marjory Gonzalez told me: “This is an opportunity to show the world that yes, we can.”