I just want them back with me. They are all I have.
On Wednesday, twin earthquakes struck Venezuela, leaving the coastal state of La Guaira in ruin and its people suspended between desperate hope and mounting grief. Rescue teams — local and international alike — move through the rubble with trained dogs, searching for lives that may still be reclaimed from the wreckage. As with all disasters of this kind, the full human cost reveals itself slowly, and the numbers already known are almost certainly not the final ones. In the silence between aftershocks, families wait — and the world watches.
- Twin earthquakes have reduced parts of La Guaira to rubble, with collapsed buildings trapping an unknown number of people beneath them.
- A mother named Natacha Díaz has not heard from her two daughters — aged 22 and 23 — since they were working in a shopping centre that collapsed during the quake.
- International rescue teams and sniffer dogs are racing against time, knowing that survival odds beneath rubble diminish with every passing hour.
- The death toll remains incomplete and is expected to climb as teams work through collapsed structures across multiple affected areas.
- Families gather at disaster sites, holding photographs and waiting for news — caught in the agonising space between loss and the possibility of rescue.
The coastal state of La Guaira bore the worst of Wednesday's twin earthquakes in Venezuela. BBC reporter Vanessa Silva traveled to the region in the hours that followed, finding a place caught between hope and dread — rescue teams moving methodically through the debris, sniffer dogs at their sides, international units having joined the effort.
Among those waiting was Natacha Díaz, a mother whose two daughters — 22 and 23 years old — had been working as manicurists in a small shopping centre when the earthquakes struck. The building collapsed. Díaz's voice had nearly given out from crying and calling their names. She held up her phone to show their photographs. "I just want them back with me," she said. "They are all I have."
No one yet knew how many people had been inside the shopping centre when it fell, nor how many remained unaccounted for across the wider disaster zone. Rescue work after earthquakes is a race against physics and time — and officials were already bracing for the death toll to rise. For those still beneath the rubble, the trained dogs and the hands of rescue workers represented the only remaining chance. For families like Natacha's, the waiting continued.
The coastal state of La Guaira, Venezuela, has become a landscape of urgent rescue work. On Wednesday, twin earthquakes struck the country, and La Guaira bore the worst of it. BBC reporter Vanessa Silva traveled to the region to document what was unfolding in the hours and days after the ground stopped shaking.
What she found was a place suspended between hope and dread. Rescue teams were moving through the rubble methodically, sniffer dogs at their sides, searching for the living. International teams had arrived to join the effort. The work was painstaking and ongoing, with no clear sense of how many people remained trapped beneath the collapsed buildings.
Natacha Díaz, a mother, spoke to Silva about her two daughters. They were 22 and 23 years old, and they had been working as manicurists in a small shopping centre when the earthquakes hit. Now they were somewhere in the rubble of that building. Díaz's voice had nearly gone from crying and calling out. She held up her phone to show Silva their photographs. "I just want them back with me," she said. "They are all I have." The words carried the weight of a parent whose entire world had contracted to a single, desperate need.
The shopping centre where the two women worked had collapsed. No one yet knew how many people had been inside when it happened. The rescue teams were working against time and uncertainty—time because people trapped under rubble do not survive indefinitely, and uncertainty because the full scope of the disaster was still becoming clear.
As rescue operations continued, officials and observers braced for the death toll to rise. The initial count of the dead was almost certainly incomplete. Beneath the rubble of La Guaira and other affected areas, there were people still unaccounted for. Some, like Natacha's daughters, had families waiting and watching. Others might not be missed for days. The international rescue teams, with their dogs trained to detect human scent, represented the best chance those trapped people had. But rescue work in the aftermath of earthquakes is a race against physics and time, and not everyone can be saved.
Citações Notáveis
I just want them back with me. They are all I have.— Natacha Díaz, mother of two daughters trapped in the rubble
A Conversa do Hearth Outra perspectiva sobre a história
What made you focus on Natacha Díaz's story rather than the broader rescue operation?
Because the rescue operation is abstract until you meet someone living inside it. Natacha's voice nearly gone, the phone with the photos—that's where the earthquake actually lives. That's the thing people need to understand.
Do we know if her daughters survived?
The source doesn't say. That's the hardest part of reporting in the immediate aftermath. You're standing in the middle of an unfinished story.
Why emphasize that the death toll will rise?
Because it's true, and because people need to understand what rescue teams are actually racing against. It's not just about finding people. It's about finding them in time.
What does the presence of international teams with sniffer dogs tell us?
It tells us this is big enough that Venezuela couldn't handle it alone. It also tells us that whoever is trapped has a real chance—these teams exist because sometimes people do survive under rubble for days.
How long do you think rescue operations like this typically continue?
The source doesn't specify, but typically weeks. The question isn't when they'll stop—it's when they'll shift from rescue to recovery.