Responding to an emergency when you are affected: Yohanna shares her story from Caracas
Yohanna Talloli, an inclusive humanitarian action specialist at HI, reflects on the earthquakes that have plunged her country into mourning and their devastating consequences.
Needs assessment mission in La Guaira a few days after the disaster. | © A. Jota / HI
The day of the disaster
On 24 June, I’d finished my working day and was at home. My daughter, a teenager with autism, was having a shower when my mobile vibrated. An earthquake alert popped up – I didn’t even know we had such a system in Venezuela. I thought it was a technical glitch, but I headed towards the bathroom anyway when, 10 seconds later, the first tremor struck.
We took shelter in the doorway of my bedroom and, once the first quake had passed, we thought it was over. Then we felt the second tremor; people started screaming because everything was shaking violently. I was trying to reassure my daughter whilst, inside the flat, I could hear glasses and pictures falling.
When it was over, we went down to the ground floor of the block, and that’s when I began to realise what was happening. Large horizontal cracks had appeared in some of the buildings. Nobody had any information, as all communications had been cut off. We waited a long time to find out more; some people slept on the streets. It was only a few hours later, when we regained mobile coverage and photos and videos began to pour in, that I realised the scale of the disaster.
The psychological impact
For the first two nights, everyone was on edge; no one got a wink of sleep. We’d been told to expect nearly a thousand aftershocks; there have been nearly 200 already, and they are still ongoing. One incident illustrates just how deeply everyone has been affected: on Monday, there was a heavy storm over Caracas and a deafening clap of thunder rang out; we all thought another earthquake had struck.
A week after the earthquakes, when I visit particularly hard-hit areas such as La Guaira, I still see the bodies of the deceased amongst the rubble. Funeral services are completely overwhelmed; sometimes it is neighbours who have to take it upon themselves to recover the bodies of the dead.
A few days ago, I met a young woman with incredible charisma and authority, who was in charge of a shelter where more than 35 families had found refuge. Everything there was well organised; she had precise information about the situation and the needs of every person staying there.
When I asked her what their top priority was, she replied: “We’ve received help; we’re fine. What we really need is a hug. Here, I don’t know if it’s because of the shock, but nobody has cried.”
It’s our loved ones who are affected
As a humanitarian worker, responding to an emergency in another country is very different from doing so in your own. For several days, I was very worried about one of my students who lives in La Guaira from whom we had had no word – her house had collapsed whilst she and her grandmother were inside. And yesterday, after my day’s work with HI, I went to the funeral of one of my best friends’ sisters.
It’s more than just responding to a humanitarian emergency; we’re doubly involved, doubly affected, because it’s our loved ones, our friends and our country that are being hit. It’s very emotionally draining; you really have to manage to stay calm and take a step back from time to time so as not to get swept away by all the emotions and thoughts that are running through your mind.
