When she learned that she was pregnant with her second child, María Gabriela Chalbaud knew that she had to do something to make more money because what she earned as a university professor was no longer enough. So, she and her friend Yanet Calderón decided to act upon an idea she had for a very singular undertaking: they would become the substitute daughters of many Venezuelans who had left their parents and grandparents behind when they migrated.
Mytha Cordido wanted to become a lawyer, but her mother had her enrolled in a career in Education at the University of Carabobo. At first, she felt frustrated, but she would eventually discover in her classroom practices a vocation for teaching, one that she has clung to, as she has to her faith, every time the world around her seems to fall apart.
For forty-seven years, Luis Antonio Molina ran a blacksmith workshop in Valle del Mocotíes, 50 miles from the city of Mérida. Welding fences, lanterns and doors, he found the means to provide for his family. It was also a way of life. Now, at 63, having been diagnosed with cancer, he feels that life is hanging by a thread.
I thought I continued to tremble for what I still wanted to know: themitochondrial secret in my nerves, my shoulders, my arms, my hands.
After Augusto Pinochet’s coup d’état against Salvador Allende, many families migrated from Chile. It was the case of the Ponsots, the Balaguers and the Escobars, who lived in Finland for some time and then settled in Venezuela. Decades later, some of them went back to the point of departure.
Minguito has the responsibility of keeping afloat Kiosko El Caney, a small business that his father started in Playa Parguito, Margarita, in the early ‘80s. The multifaceted economic crisis has compromised its operation, but nothing compares to the impact of the pandemic confinement. Images: Álbum Familiar On Monday, March 16, 2020, during a mandatory […]
On June 28, 2017, Valjova Saavedra decided to jump from a viaduct in Mérida. She was 18 years old. At that time, specialists and researchers had already warned about a surge in the suicide rate in Venezuela, particularly in that Andean region.
Misael Marchan was happy when he arrived in Torres del Paine National Park, in southern Chile, to resume his craft as a pastry chef, full of hope that he would save money to reunite with his family in Venezuela. But just as he was about to achieving his goal, the COVID-19 pandemic hit and put him out of work.
Carlos Fernandes was born and raised in Barlovento. It was there, in the deepest reaches of the state of Miranda, where he emerged as a political leader. It was also there where his parents settled a long time ago when they migrated from Portugal. In 2017, he would leave for Portugal because he did not want to become yet another Venezuelan political prisoner.
Through her friendship with teenage siblings Aníbal and Orianny Moreno, who have sickle cell anemia, Milena Pérez was able to grasp the meaning of a phrase she used to hear at mass when she was a little girl: “Thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself.” She learned how small acts of solidarity can change lives, not only that of others, but her own. This is the second installment of our #HaySegundasPartes [#SecondParts] series.
