City Life on the Hillsides of Caracas
By Awake! correspondent in Venezuela
CARACAS, Venezuela. Tall, modern office blocks loom over noisy traffic, busy shops, and crowded restaurants. Tourists roam the plazas in their shorts and sun hats, festooned with cameras. The sidewalks teem with people.
But there is another side to Caracas. Beyond the chrome, steel, and glass lie los cerros (the hills), unusual communities built on hillsides. They cling to the steep slopes that surround the city to the east, west, and south. Almost two million people live there, in hundreds of neighborhoods called barrios.
How did these communities come into existence? In 1958 the government established a plan that gave money to unemployed city dwellers. So people flooded into the capital to take advantage of the provision. Many abandoned the provinces to seek out the benefits of the city—hospitals, schools, universities.
Political violence and economic depression in neighboring countries also triggered an immigration as people came to Caracas in search of work. Soon the flat area of the valley of Caracas was fully occupied, forcing people to move upward in search of a place to live. Thus were born the hillside communities.
The Journey Upward
We begin our trip by joining a long line of people. They are waiting not for a bus but for a jeep, which is better suited for the steep climb that lies ahead. A long-chassis jeep draws up, and a dozen people scramble on board. Five sit along each bench running lengthwise along the back; two share the prized front seat. Soon we are bending ourselves double to get in through the back door. We squeeze into a space on the bench, tuck our knees under our chin, and try to keep from treading on one lady’s bag of vegetables.
We begin a steep climb. The streets are narrow and often winding. At times they seem almost vertical. The driver inserts his favorite music cassette, and soon feet are tapping to the Latin beat. Suddenly someone calls out to the driver: “¡Donde pueda!” (Wherever you can!) It seems a strange way to ask him to stop. But it is best to rely on his judgment. If the jeep was to stop on one of the steeper stretches of road, it might not get moving again—at least, not forward! A few disheveled passengers tumble out of the back door, after treading on some toes en route.
We soon find ourselves behind a slow-moving vehicle that is dripping from every seam. It is the water truck, carrying its precious cargo to homes where running water is a virtually unknown luxury. People usually store it in tanks or used oil drums.
The jeep jerks to another of its many stops, and we realize it is time to get out. The solid ground seems almost strange beneath our feet, and we pause to get our bearings.
The Hillside Homes
The houses are built anywhere and in any way. It seems that extra rooms or even extra stories are simply added on as the families grow. Some are solid little dwellings made of terra-cotta bricks. But others are made of planks, flattened cans, or even packing cases still stamped with the words “This side up.”
It is fairly quiet, now that the jeep has growled its way out of sight. The view is breathtaking. There, far below, is the center of Caracas. Suddenly the silence is shattered by a voice shouting scratchily from a loudspeaker: “Yes, there are onions. Yes, there are potatoes, yucca, and plantains.” Turning, we see that a truck that was quietly parked nearby has burst into life. A boy serves the customers from the back of the truck.
There are an estimated 500 barrios in Caracas. Some are named after “saints,” others after famous dates or political figures. Still other names reflect the aspirations of the inhabitants rather than the reality. Examples: El Progreso (Progress), Nuevo Mundo (New World), and El Encanto (Delight).
Life in the Barrio
Here a community spirit thrives. Often, united efforts are made to rid a barrio of drug abuse or crime. Most barrios have bodegas—general stores selling a variety of items—as well as a school and a pharmacy, where the pharmacist is always ready to help diagnose and recommend treatments for minor ailments.
Yet, life here is difficult. The problems are described by criminologist Dr. Elio Gómez Grillo: “Presently two million people who can barely afford to meet life’s basic needs live in these marginal zones. The delinquency rate is soaring . . . Suicides, muggings, bank robberies, and armed robbery resulting in homicide are worrisome.” Water shortages and power cuts are the order of the day.
In the rainy season, los cerros change completely. Earth turns into mud, steps turn into miniature cataracts, and garbage comes tobogganing through the rivers that swell in the gutters. The noise of rain on the zinc roofs is deafening; conversation ceases inside as the inhabitants concentrate on finding bowls and buckets to put under the leaks. But the sun soon comes out again, drying the soaked roofs and roads. Likewise, the indomitable Venezuelan spirit resurfaces. Life goes on.
Onward and Upward on Foot
Our trip is not over yet. We still have to reach our friends’ home. Between two houses a steep, irregular concrete stairway runs up the hill. Signs compete for our attention on cramped houses that seem to vie for space: Pego Cierres (I Put In Zippers); Cortes de Pelo (Haircuts); Se Venden Helados (Ice Cream Sold). Residents devise all sorts of ways to make a living. Some spray-paint cars, change the oil, and do repairs—all right there in the street.
Catching our breath as we reach the top of the stairway, we then turn in to a labyrinth of narrow passageways between houses. We emerge from this warren blinking in the bright sunlight. Our friends’ home is along this unpaved track. No house numbers here—and no mail service either. The smell of freshly brewed coffee hangs in the air. No doubt our hosts will welcome us with coffee served in tiny cups, along with an arepa (a bland maize bread made tasty by a variety of fillings).
Welcomed
As expected, with the customary hospitality the family welcomes us into their spartan but clean ranchito, as these little houses are called. “Están en su casa” (Make yourselves at home) is one of the first things they say.
As the sun beats down on the zinc roof, we are thankful for the breeze blowing in through the glassless windows. The windows do have bars over them, however, as burglary is quite common. Noticing that we are feeling the heat, our hosts bring out an electric fan, which, like a refrigerator and television, is standard equipment here. The floor is cement. Many of the neighbors have only an earthen floor.
The husband, father of five small children, moved into Caracas from the country as a teenager to seek better prospects in the big city. He went to live with his older, married brother who, like so many before him, had simply staked his claim for a piece of unoccupied land high up on the hillside. When our friend later met his wife-to-be, his brother generously said that they could use the available bit of land at the side of his house to build a makeshift home. With the help of neighbors and relatives, this couple built their brick house little by little, right on that spot.
The family feel that the location is far from ideal, but they have resigned themselves to it. They make the best of what they have. ‘Maybe one day we’ll be able to move farther down the hill,’ they say, “si Dios quiere” (if God wills).
A very pleasant afternoon passes with this poor but kind family. Occasionally, the conversation is interrupted by small children coming to buy candy at the front window. This is the wife’s way of helping to supplement her husband’s income.
The Descent
We want to leave before it gets dark. Today is Friday, and the barrio livens up as the men come home with their wages. The bodegas do a brisk business in beer, and the sounds of salsa and merengue rhythms contribute to a relaxed weekend atmosphere.
Once we get to the bottom, we walk toward the nearest metro station. There an efficient subway train will take us to the city center. We are a bit relieved to return to more familiar ground. But as we look back up at los cerros, now a mass of lights twinkling in the darkness, we are glad that we were able to become better acquainted with this other side of Caracas.