A day after Saturday's US strikes, Venezuelans describe fear, confusion and long lines for fuel and food.
LAUREN FRYER, HOST:
This afternoon I called some Venezuelans whose lives were changed after American planes bombed military installations around their capital. One such person is Helena Carpio. She is a journalist and lives in Caracas, about a mile from one of the airbases hit on Saturday.
ELENA CARPIO: So that night I couldn't sleep and didn't sleep. And suddenly I heard the windows shaking so hard that I thought it was an earthquake.
FRAYER: She quickly realized what was happening.
CARPIO: After the third explosion, something else happened. And frankly, I think many Venezuelans have been thinking about U.S. intervention in one form or another for months.
FRAYER: Hours later, President Trump announced Maduro's capture on social media. When this news arrived, Carpio's window was open.
CARPIO: All of a sudden I hear this explosion of sound, and it was shouting combined with applause, combined with caceroleando, a traditional way of protesting against the Maduro government where you grab pots and pans from the kitchen and hit them really hard with, like, wooden spoons and other utensils. And after 10 minutes everything calmed down and remained quiet for the rest of the day.
FRAYER: The shock and, for some, the excitement after the strike did not last long. Carpio said she turned her attention to the most pressing topic: survival. Power outages are occurring in some areas of Caracas. She'll need gas.
CARPIO: Fuel. Fuel is a huge concern. Will any pumps be open? Will you be able to find fuel? Will you have to stand in line for five to six hours to get it?
FRAYER: And food.
CARPIO: Yesterday I stood in line at the supermarket for seven hours to buy food. To be honest, it was a pretty apocalyptic scene. Like, eggs were scattered on the floor. Some of the shelves where non-perishable food items are stored were empty. No one went to work at the supermarket that day. And so it was – out of 20 ticket offices, only three were open.
FRAYER: Outside the capital, Venezuelans share the same concerns. Fabbiana Lamboglia is an energy analyst. She lives in Maracaibo, west of Caracas. She woke up when the attack happened.
FABBIANA LAMBOGLIA: I was just talking to friends who live in the capital, and they're starting to be like, “OK, I hear planes, I hear bombs, I hear impacts.” And of course, I was very nervous about this situation.
FRAYER: In her city, the traffic lights work. She has power, but that doesn't mean everyone is safe.
LAMBOGLIA: Honestly, I won't leave unless I have to. I just go out for groceries and essentials. And of course, I saw queues at gas stations too.
FRAYER: Lamboglia says the future is uncertain. And she told us that she was scared.
Do you hope for the future, for change?
LAMBOGLIA: This is a difficult question. We don't even know who runs our country. It's not clear.
FRAYER: There's a lot of uncertainty at the moment and people want to wait and see, says Carpio from Caracas.
CARPIO: This is what we call tensa calma, which is tense calm.
(SOUNDBITE OF MODERATOR'S “SPACE”)
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