LA GUAIRA, Venezuela — In the aftermath of the devastating twin earthquakes that struck northern Venezuela last month, many victims confront not only the trauma of loss but also the harsh realities of poverty that complicate their ability to properly mourn and bury their dead.

Among those affected is 16-year-old Michell Mendoza, who survived the collapse of a public housing high-rise in La Guaira state, but lost her parents and older brother. When Michell and her relatives arrived at a hillside cemetery in their hometown of Caraballeda to bury her mother’s coffin, they were turned away by the caretaker because the family did not own a burial plot and could not afford to purchase one.

The rejection underscored the stark inequalities facing poorer Venezuelans in the disaster’s wake. While the earthquakes destroyed buildings across social classes—including upscale luxury towers and neglected public housing alike—the resources available to survivors varied widely. Wealthier families often rented private heavy machinery to assist in rescuing bodies and were commonly able to inter their loved ones in family-owned graves. In contrast, low-income families, lacking access to such equipment and affordable burial sites, were frequently forced to resort to cremation, a practice uncommon and often undesired in Venezuelan culture.

“I would have liked to bring her flowers,” Michell said after reluctantly handing over her mother’s body to be cremated, expressing her sorrow at being unable to provide a traditional grave.

Multiple survivors described how the scarcity of heavy machinery hampered recovery efforts. Victor Calderón Castillo, who lost over 20 family members in the same apartment complex, recounted stopping his own search for bodies because he lacked the tools and finances necessary to continue. “If you don’t own anything, you are nobody,” he said, observing how nearby private operators deployed cranes while many victims waited helplessly.

While the Venezuelan government offered some free burial options—such as a mausoleum in Caracas, a mass grave, and a site on a mountain near La Guaira—these locations were often distant and difficult to reach for families without transportation. At local cemeteries, plots could cost several hundred dollars, prohibitive for many struggling with lost income and resources.

For example, Amarilis Rada, a mother who lost three children, said one cemetery demanded $300 per gravesite. Unable to pay, she cremated two of her children’s bodies and continued searching for the third. “I didn’t have money to hold a wake for him. If I could have held a wake, I would have a place to visit him,” she said.

Others attempted to finance heavy machinery through crowdfunding or assistance from relatives abroad. Paola Alessandra Peñaloza Gómez, who paid a private company $650 daily to search for her father’s body in an upscale neighborhood, acknowledged that many buildings simply had no access to such equipment or financial means.

Even with machines on site, recovering bodies was not guaranteed. One family reported spending $11,500 on crane rental over four days without finding their relatives’ remains.

The crisis has revealed persistent social and economic divisions that dictate not only survivors’ ability to recover their loved ones but also how they can pay last respects. Many families have had to navigate painful choices dictated less by tradition or preference and more by financial constraints in the shadow of Venezuela’s ongoing economic struggles.