Reinaldo Iturriza
Mural author: Badsura. Title: The three graces. Photo: Jeanneizy García
On Saturday around ten o’clock in the morning we arrived at the agreed meeting place. As soon as we got into that rare, marvelous and fascinating artifact called a car, in which we were traveling with three friends from Caracas, Gerardo, who lives in La Carucieña, the largest neighbourhood in Barquisimeto, decided to grant us a five-minute delay. He wanted to see if the car was in good condition, if we had managed to fill the tank with gasoline, if we were not playing a trick, a joke in bad taste.
Gerardo thought that he would never see the inside of a car again. After a few blocks, and after allowing himself to enjoy that marvelous experience, allowing himself to be caressed by the tenuous and delicious breeze of the air conditioning, he proceeded to attack us, implacably, with an incomparable and foolproof bite.
He asked us if in Caracas we had had problems with the Internet connection. Somewhat surprised, we replied that the service worked, but that it failed with some frequency, that it was slow and, to make matters worse, a few days ago it had collapsed for hours in some areas and in others even a couple of days. Without being able to hide the laughter, he told us that Miguel, his eldest son, kept track of the time they had without Internet at home: nine weeks. He revealed his plan to us: at nine and a half weeks they would celebrate by watching the famous film of the same name, it doesn’t matter if Miguel isn’t old enough to see it. The occasion deserves it.
The problem, he continued to tell us, is the electric service. He asked us how things were going in Caracas. We replied that light very rarely fails, only in some specific places, such as Ciudad Tiuna or Caricuao, who knows why. He explained something we knew partially, because we have friends and family in Lara, but it is one thing to find out from others and another very different thing to live it: almost all Barquisimeto is without light for up to twelve hours, sometimes more, sometimes less, every day. It is therefore possible to speak of a certain regularity, although it is practically impossible to know when it will be gone, much less when it will return. Except when the President visited the city, recently: that day the service was rendered uninterruptedly. Far from celebrating it, the bulk of the population was on fire all day long, waiting for the imminent cut. The night came and the light was still stubbornly there. They went to bed worried about what the next day would bring. But let us not stray: the point is that, given the circumstances, it is not possible to know whether, when the day comes, they will actually be able to enjoy the film.
Eventually the light comes on, but they still don’t have Internet service, and the local telephone hasn’t worked for a long time at home. The latter does not matter so much: overall, almost everyone has their cell phones at hand, but increasingly less intelligent. There will not be Internet in the personal computer, but with light, and if you have data, you can surf for a while. The problem, as you know, is that to use cell phones you need to be able to charge them. But, one step at a time, you have to be intelligent, patient, see the glass half full and not half empty, which is a pessimistic thing.
The important detail is that the water service is impossible. In other words, there is almost never water in La Carucieña. That being so, it will be understood that it is not possible to fill any glass, so there is nothing left but to imagine it half full. And of course they do: imagination, popular inventiveness, that is never lacking.
For some strange reason, Gerardo didn’t ask us if we had water in Caracas. Instead, he wanted to know how we were doing with the gas service. And yes, there are countless places in Caracas with gas problems, but none of us in the car suffer from them. He accused us of being privileged. We urged him to reduce his hostility towards us, under the threat of getting out of the car. He laughed again, and told us that in the neighbourhood they have been cooking with firewood for a long time, sometimes taking turns with several families to take advantage of the fireplace. He confessed to us that several times he has faced the dilemma of burning wood that is still green or damp and therefore having to deal with the almost unbearable smoke or burn the furniture and books in his house. When he assured us that his library had been cut in half, we suspected he was exaggerating, but we were left with the uncertainty.
We complained once again about the fact that he dumped all his resentment on us, his dear Caracas friends, and, amidst generalized laughter, we demanded that he think of the people of Táchira, Zulia, Delta Amacuro. He replied, this time in all seriousness, that what happens to those people is always in their thoughts: they cannot imagine what it must be like to live in some border town or city, so far from the capital of the country, so close to the daily tragedy.
When we arrived in Sarare, we told several of our common friends about everything we had to hear along the way. As if relieved, almost pleased, our friends from Sarare told us that at least the electric service had been regulated a little, that what never arrived was the CLAP. So far this year it only arrived when they were fortunate enough to simultaneously receive a member of the national board of the PSUV. Not wanting to miss something more: Gerardo rushed into details about the irregularity of the CLAP in La Carucieña, the people of Sarare told us about the permanent sabotage against the communal direct social production company that is in charge of the distribution of gas in the municipality, at the same time the town was left without light for five days and the mayor took refuge with all his family in a hotel with an electric generator, and it seemed as if it started all over again.
By night, without losing a moment of good humour, Gerardo told us that a good part of the popular unrest associated with the terrible provision of services was perfectly acceptable, that the situation was even understandable: many people know that, at least in part, what they are suffering is the product of the war against the people, that there is a direct relationship between the imperialist sanctions and the problems of everyday life, that what is being pursued is to break the will of the people. What is absolutely intolerable, he explained to us, more than the corruption of some officials of the service companies, is the inconsistency of the government, the fact that, as a general rule, those responsible will neither show their faces, nor explain, nor inform, but above all that they will not support the people. What is most disturbing is feeling alone, not unprotected, but alone, a popular loneliness that contrasts with the abundant official discourse on the “protection” of the people.
Gerardo is undoubtedly a fortunate man: the next day, after providing us with supplies in the shop of the Socialist Commune El Maizal (something that, incidentally, Gerardo demanded angrily, because these Caracas people are going to come and buy cheaper in Sarare), and despite everything he had made us go through, he kept us in the queue to his house. Lies: to Vargas Avenue. There we left him behind in punishment, so that he had to catch a bus or, as they say in Barquisimeto, the route to La Carucieña.
When we were halfway there, he sent us a message by wasap: he had managed to get home, everything was fine. I replied: “Ah, but you have transportation and you have light. So don’t complain. Ungrateful”.
