MY SURVIVAL STORY - ESCAPING FROM DEATH (VARGAS, 1999)
For all survivors
For all survivors
On December 16, 1999, the tragedy of Vargas, Venezuela, occurred. In an earlier post I told how I died and revived during that natural disaster. Now, I will finish the story of that tragic moment of my life and I will explain how we did to escape from a place that was isolated, desolate and dangerous because the rain not only brought out the rivers, but also the WORST of some people.
The morning of December 16, it was a moment I will never forget; That day I was reborn, and maybe for that reason, all the memories that I tell you here along with some anecdotes of my family were recorded forever in my memory.
Once they rescued me from the river and gave me my mother, we had to get away from the street because the force of the water was starting to turn deadly, it was going from dragging garbage to being able to pull with its current those who tried to pass from one side to another.
Confused, injured, full of mud and unable to return
We did not know where to go, walking through the streets of La Guaira was a deadly lottery, as the force of the water made its way randomly and destroyed everything in its path. We had to make a decision and we rushed it when receiving a neighbor's invitation to go home.
We went a little over 100 meters and we found some narrow stairs that two people could not climb together, my mother took me in her arms, she was clinging to me for the sensation of having lost me for a few minutes; He did not release me even for a moment despite the physical strain of carrying a large child for so long.
Once in the apartment, solidarity was present and our hosts gave us breakfast and drinking water; We would have loved to shower but from the faucets came brown liquid and we could only clean our faces a little to prevent the dust that forms when the mud dries from entering our eyes.
We felt safe to be in a third floor, from the window we saw how the river grew and dragged from rocks to appliances and small cars. The minutes passed, the rain did not stop and within the group there was a worried man who told us that we had to leave, he was an architect and warned that this structure would collapse.
We spoke through the window with the neighbors of the building next door and they invited us to move there, we accepted and we passed as we could, we tried to convince the owner of the apartment to accompany us, but he refused to leave his property and forced his family to stay with him.
In our new shelter we had the opportunity to shower because it had a tank on its roof, we could also change our clothes because the lord of the apartment we entered kept his son and his ex-wife's clothes, we were a little more comfortable having taken us out the mud of our body.
It was close to two in the afternoon when the floor began to shake, the forecast of the architect was fulfilled and we all saw how that whole family lost their lives for not having listened to an expert; could the arrogance and the attachment of a father for the material thing, than what the logic said.
I listened as everyone in the area shouted and cried, I was very small and did not understand that about death, nothing could be done, the river was already dragging giant stones and going out to help was a suicide mission. Together, we spent the rest of the afternoon praying, waiting for the night to bring the cessation of the rain and a new dawn.
The sun came out, everyone was grateful
The sun came out, everyone was grateful
December 17, 1995, the prayers of all Venezuela and the world were heard, I remember being the first to wake up inside that apartment, I ran to the window and saw the sun for the first time after weeks, the river became mud and debris; without rain, it was time to escape from that hell.
After thanking the owner of the apartment for his hospitality, we left the building with those clothes that were not our size, in my case with some shoes that although I had giants, fulfilled their function of protecting my feet from the sharp objects that were watered everywhere. The streets were impassable and we had to walk through the rubble for more than three hours, without food or water in our bodies until we arrived at a house that was offering help to those who were left with nothing.
While we were eating and hydrating ourselves with bread and water, my father had started the search for his son (me). He was divorced from my mother and that's why he did not live with us, he walked for more than 15 km stunned with the news that the area in which I lived had been razed. Upon arriving at the place, a badly informed neighbor told her that we had all died; in shock he refused to believe that information, with tears in his eyes he never gave up until minutes later he was informed of our whereabouts and all that we had lived.
Being in the shelter, I saw the silhouette of a man, I knew he recognized her, he was my dad; I ran out to hug him, he cried, I cried, he charged me until we got to where the rest of my family was and we all hugged. At that time telecommunications were down and you could not have any information from our relatives until you found them.
At approximately eleven o'clock in the morning we saw military helicopters land at a famous hotel in Los Corales, they had started rescue operations, we decided to go there with the hope of being rescued, what we did not know was that we would find ourselves with an impassable road full of debris, dead and the stalking of rapists and murderers who took advantage of that tragic situation to commit their atrocious acts.
It was one in the afternoon when we managed to get in front of the building, we thought it would be easy to enter, but to our surprise, the entrance was blocked and the only way to enter was by swimming in the mud that had stagnated in the parking lot. With fear of an infection by the scrapes that we all had, we filled ourselves with courage, we submerged ourselves (myself in the back of my dad) and we managed to reach the access stairs.
During the ascent of twenty floors strange cries were heard, bad things were happening in those dark corridors; We did not pay any attention because we could not waste time on our way to the terrace. We felt bad for not having seen if someone needed help, but once on the 10th floor we felt lucky because the people there were rumored that on the floors below were robbing, raping women and murdering. This not only happened where we were, anarchy had been unleashed throughout the state; The order of society was broken, Vargas during some nights became no man's land.
We decided to rest in an open room on the thirteenth floor because the legs of my grandmother, my mother and my aunt could no longer resist. My dad stood in the door on guard, he met a group of ill-intentioned men and lied to them telling them that the women inside the room were armed and pointing towards the door, any strange movement, would be the detonator of that imaginary weapon.
After a while of rest we decided to continue climbing, it was already three o'clock in the afternoon when we reached the top, the number of people was impressive, they wanted to launch practically on the aircraft because of the desperation and hunger. To the surprise of our entire family group we heard that by the hour, they would only allow women and children to be approached. That phrase still resounds in my ears, it would mean to separate myself from my father and the rest of my family, because even though I was a child, I knew what we were living and did not want to save myself by leaving everyone behind. For a few minutes my grandmother spoke with my mother and made her understand that getting out of that natural and human disaster would be much more difficult with a child and that the best thing would be to separate.
I will never forget how I got away from my father, the military men guided us and hurried us to sit on the ship. To my surprise, when I managed to calm down I heard the barking of a dog, I got scared and saw a man dressed in a jacket, black glasses and two giant bags, probably full of money and valuable things, which could have been occupied by my sister, my grandmother or all those mothers with their children in their arms who were also waiting to be rescued.
During the flight only chaos, death and destruction were seen; My mom pulled me away from the window when we all saw a corpse lying on a giant stone. My last memory is my arrival at the Maiquetía airport, where another journey would begin to get to Caracas.
In a next post, I will tell you what we lived to get to Caracas and the crossings of the rest of my family group escaping from that social hell in which La Guaira had become.
Thank you for reading
Have you experienced something similar?
I want to read their survival stories, they do not always give us two opportunities to live.