At the Transition Camp, La Guaira, Venezuela, July 2026

Venezuela, June–July 2026

There are journeys we choose.

And there are journeys that begin because nature suddenly changes the lives of hundreds of thousands of people.

This album documents those days.

In June 2026, a powerful earthquake struck north-central Venezuela, leaving entire neighbourhoods damaged or destroyed, particularly in La Guaira, but also affecting parts of Caracas and neighbouring states. Within minutes, ordinary life was interrupted. Families lost homes. Roads collapsed. Schools, health centres and public buildings were damaged. Entire communities suddenly found themselves sleeping outdoors, uncertain what the following days would bring.

For me, these photographs are not simply a record of an emergency operation.

They are a tribute to the remarkable resilience of the Venezuelan people.

In the days that followed, I had the privilege of witnessing one of the most inspiring aspects of humanitarian work: people coming together.

National authorities, firefighters, civil protection teams, volunteers, international search and rescue specialists, humanitarian organisations, United Nations agencies, the Red Cross, community leaders and neighbours all worked side by side.

The Emergency Response Coordination Centre became a place where decisions were made rapidly, information constantly updated, and countless organisations attempted to transform uncertainty into coordinated action.

Beyond the meeting rooms, the real work unfolded in the streets.

Many of the photographs show temporary shelters established and managed by humanitarian partners, both Venezuelan and international.

Families tried to recreate a sense of normality beneath tents and temporary structures. Children continued playing. Volunteers organised activities, distributed food, water and hygiene kits, while health workers, protection specialists and engineers quietly carried out their work.

Displacement camps are rarely places anyone wishes to remember.

Yet they also become places where humanity reveals itself at its strongest.

Neighbours caring for neighbours.

Parents trying to reassure frightened children.

Volunteers working long after exhaustion should have overtaken them.

Other images capture the scale of destruction.

Collapsed buildings.

Cracked roads.

Entire neighbourhoods transformed in a matter of seconds.

Particularly moving are the scenes from La Guaira, where the earthquake left visible scars across communities already accustomed to living between mountains and the sea. Looking at these photographs today, it is impossible not to think about how quickly certainty can disappear.

Nature reminds us, from time to time, that all human plans remain fragile.

Yet destruction is only one part of this story.

The other part is resilience.

Again and again, I met people who had lost almost everything but still found the strength to smile, to help one another, to clean debris from streets, to prepare meals for neighbours, to organise communities, to rebuild.

These photographs cannot fully capture that spirit.

But they offer glimpses of it.

Humanitarian work often happens quietly.

It is made up of thousands of conversations, assessments, meetings, distributions, technical decisions, logistics plans and moments that rarely appear in newspapers. Behind every visible action stand hundreds of people — many of them local staff and volunteers — whose names are seldom known outside the communities they serve.

This album is also a tribute to them.

To colleagues from Venezuelan organisations.

To United Nations agencies.

To international and national NGOs.

To European Civil Protection teams.

To rescue workers.

To health personnel.

To engineers.

To logisticians.

To drivers.

To cooks.

To everyone who chose service over comfort during those difficult weeks.

Looking back now, I remember not only the destruction, but also the extraordinary dignity with which so many Venezuelans faced those days.

The earthquake changed landscapes.

It damaged buildings.

It disrupted lives.

But it never succeeded in breaking the generosity, solidarity and quiet courage of the people I met.

And perhaps that is what I hope these photographs preserve above all else.

Not only the memory of what was lost.

But also the remarkable strength with which people chose to begin again.

Click here to access the album.