Fighting for oil

I knew things like this had been going on, but it was a bit of a shock to the system to be a part of it personally.

At the supermarket again today, someone called out that a shipment of cooking oil had just arrived.

Within a matter of seconds people have thrown themselves to the floor. The cooking oil can no longer be seen from beneath the numerous bodies that cover it.

From far away they look like bees swarming around a hive. Each person is as desperate as the next to get their hands on a bottle or two of oil.

Up close, they are just as vicious. Elbows swing and sting my side. I fight to get my hands on a bottle, without regard for the person next to me.

As I see my grandmother hold up two bottles of Mazeite cooking oil, I feel a sense of relief and satisfaction come over me.

The battle was over, and we had won.

As my heart rate slows, the adrenaline wares off, and a harsh dose of reality sets in.

What just happened?

I'm not sure why I lunged. But I knew I had to. It was instinct that provoked my movement. There was no thought process involved.

In reflection, on the car ride home, I try to think  of something…. anything…. to compare this experience to. I stretch to make a connection.

The only thing that comes to mind is Black Friday.
A mob of parents surrounding the newest toy or gadget to have been advertised on the market.


A mob of parents surrounding the newest shipment of food to have arrived at the market.

While shopping at the supermarket in Venezuela...

It was today while watching my Ata (grandmother) shop at the supermarket that I finally understood. Never again would I criticize my mother for the way she hoarded food (or really any other goods) at our house.

It was experience that had taught my mother to be this way. It was the everyday scarcity of food and basic goods that Venezuela and its people faced.

My grandmother stockpiled the things she could find, while shaking her head and saying "Es que ahora en este pais, no se consigue" towards the items that were no longer sold or had already run out.
In this country, you can't find anything.

No se consigue. How many times had I heard that phrase since I arrived 4 days ago?
It must have been close to a hundred by now.

When they had the extra large version of some item, for example laundry detergent or powdered milk, my grandmother quickly snatched it. Her rational… "Después no se consigue."
Later when we need it, we won't be able to find it.

Life had taught my grandmother, just as it had taught my mother, to save and stock up for the days when food was hard to find.
In Venezuela, it happens often and in recent years, that scarcity seems more pervasive than ever before.

In moving to the United States, a country where shortages of any good are virtually unheard of, it's hard  for my mother to shift a mentality that has been molded and learned over decades.

Save, stock pile, and conserve.
Porque después… no se consigue.

A picture of the front of El País newspaper today in Caracas.
The yellow portion across PAÍS reads "8 page edition due to the paper crisis."