his can’t go on much longer,” I thought to myself as I waited in line in the tropical heat. Perhaps 30 people were still in front of me, and the supermarket guards were letting people in at sluggish pace that just made me want to groan in exasperation.
To kill some time while I waited to buy groceries, I decided to try interviewing someone. I picked a middle aged woman behind me, and asked her how she felt about the lines outside supermarkets, the shortages of consumer goods and the general economic downturn.
At first she started slowly, muttering about the state of the country, Venezuela. As she gained momentum, her voice rose, and her sentences became disjointed. By the end of the impromptu interview, she was shrieking hysterically about “Castro-comunismo” and some conspiracy theory about President Nicolas Maduro being a Colombian Cuban spy. After a moment of two, it was just pure rage, directed at everything: the country, the government, the people – everything.
Don’t get me wrong, I certainly understood her frustration. Unlike most international journalists who cover Venezuela, I actually lived in the country long term. I lived in a barrio. My income was minimum wage. I drank my beer on the curb outside a bodega.
Inflation had eaten away my savings, making my weekly trip to the grocery store not only time consuming, but also increasingly expensive. It felt like the country was heading into crisis, and it couldn’t possibly go on much longer.
That was Venezuela two years ago.