Part 4: El Ingeniero con Alma de Poeta
La Chachi
My first years of life were spent in the arid lands of Punta Cardón, where coastal winds dissipate the desert-like heat brought on by relentless sunlight. Once a poor fishing town, refineries brought hundreds of families to the region in the late 20th century, fueling the growth of residential complexes.
Working as an electrician for oil refineries despite lacking a high school education, my grandfather raised his four children in a similar neighborhood. Following my birth, abuelo and abuela returned to this familiar environment to help raise me as my parents continued working.
Each morning, abuela sat me on a tiny rocking chair beside her on the front porch and let the hours pass in conversation with neighbors. Passersby marveled at the massive bows she strapped to my head, signaling I was a girl despite my persistently short hair.
As the youngest of all the cousins, she called me la chachi for muchachita (“small girl”) and poured the remnants of her love into that chunky, spoiled shadow tracing her every step. Abuelo also took part in raising me, teaching me to walk a bit too soon and forcing me to wear orthopedic shoes years later.
By my second birthday, the PARC refinery was fully built and the project reached its natural end. My father was offered a managerial position at the International Center of Education and Development in Caracas (CIED), marking our return to the capital city.
It is difficult to pinpoint my earliest memory, yet I vividly remember racing across the apartment lobby of our Caracas condominium and jumping into my father’s arms at the end of each work day. He often brought back small cardboard boxes of colored Chiclets and a handful of torontos, my favorite chocolate. While the years spent in Colorado brought my father his greatest joys, I never rediscovered the pure bliss of my childhood in Caracas.
