Sustainable development blog : ecology and humanitarian aid

Translated by Vanessa Morrell from De Caracas aux Barrios de Petare, à la découverte d’une autre réalité.

The word “shanty town” takes a new shape and form as we visit the South American continent. Its omnipresence is so crucial to our understanding, that its name even takes a different shape as we cross borders. Chabola, villamiseria, favelas in Brazil, we call them barrios in Venezuela. The term originates from the word “quarter” in academic Castilian speak, but now holds an entire new sense in Chavez’ Bolivarian Republic. 

Bordered by hills-the city of Caracas and its shantytowns

The barrio, an intrinsic part of Caracas. The barrios constitute a strong reality in Venezuela, notably in Caracas. When we arrive at the airport of Maiquetìa, about fifty kilometers or so from the capital, the barrios stand perilously perched atop the mountains, trickling down onto the main road that passes through the valley below and gaining access to the country’s capital city. From a foreign viewpoint, they seem to cheer up the landscape with their bright, vivid colors and impressive architecture.

They increasingly surround us as we get closer to Caracas and from the historical center and the Parque Central- where most of the museums are focused and where we can find the cultural complex of Teresa Carreno- we have such a sense of proximity. They seem so close, we could reach out and touch them.

Nevertheless, even though they are a constant and persuasive reminder of another reality, a majority of people keep a safe distance away from these zones. Common sense tells people to stay away because of high crime and delinquency rates. However, the barrios are the birthplace of the majority of caraqueños and to live in Venezuela misrepresenting or without recognizing them means that one has overlooked a major part of this magnificent country.

One of the numerous stairs that link together the different areas of the shanty town.

Stepping into the barrio

Petare, one of the largest shanty towns in Caracas

Freddy accompanies us today. He is the uncle of a friend who is well into his fifties, having left the barrios only four years ago. We went together for a weekend into the barrios of Petare, one of the largest in Caracas, to a place called Mesuca. I want to highlight that Freddy’s aura and the space and title he holds in the center of the barrio largely contributed to how special and unforgettable this visit was to be. First known for his athletic prowess (at a young age, he was a reputed marathon runner and he also participated in several national competitions and races), then a respected police officer, and finally a clown and compere for the most important parties of the shantytown, Freddy was a very popular man whose multiple and diverse qualities were known, admired and respected by everyone in Petare.

We enter from the bottom of the barrio by a normal road. We tentatively wind our way up the routes, as the barrios are built on the hillsides. In general, the higher we escalate, the poorer the neighborhood gets. We leave the car in a paid parking in the barrio to continue our journey on foot. There are people all over the road even though it is after nightfall- a rare thing in Venezuela, a country deemed incredibly dangerous and where the majority leave only their house by car when the sun has set. Everyone knows each other and we get offered several beers before reaching our first resting point. We seem and feel very far from the dangers that the word barrio systematically evokes in those that judge it from afar. To move from one place to another, there is the main route, but alternatively there are thousands of other stairs and alleyways that allow easy access between various parts of the shantytown. They are more or less dangerous, depending on the hour at which we take them, or their proximity- or lack thereof- to the main routes.

We arrive in a narrow road after having climbed a few stairs arriving Freddy’s sister’s house. The inside is decently furnished. There is running water and electricity. There are seven people living there- all generations mixed together under one roof. After having discussed a bit, I understand that this zone in the barrio is relatively safe, even though a young man was hit by a bullet just a few meters from the house the night before and that three of their sons succumbed to the same fate a few years earlier. The probable causes are always the same: rival gangs of youth between the ages of fifteen and eighteen.

Lifestyle and architecture

Our next stop is Freddy’s son’s house: but a surprise is in order. Aged 22, he lives with his 18 year old wife and their two year old girl, as well as his mom, and a whole load of other people. In fact, this building seems to house quite a few families. Every time we go up another staircase, we find another kitchen and a new micro house where old and young generations live together. This art of living so close to one another requires a concept of intimacy so far removed from the one we partake in. At night, we pass through a third house, where my guide’s daughter lives. On my end, I sleep with the grandmother, in the same bed. Her son is on a mattress on the floor. Everyone else- about a dozen others- are settled in the living room.

Freddy the mechanic- this time he lends a friend a helping hand to fix his car

Venezuela is a country where people will always be incredibly warm hosts. In the barrio this welcome brings forward another dimension. The people there don’t have much but prepare a feast as soon as you walk though the door; they allow you to enter as if you were part of their family and they always seem surprised when you show interest in the culture of petareña, present in the barrio… All in all, it was a beautiful lesson in humanity and fraternity…

Freddy and his parents- who still live in Mesuca