I shot this picture a few days before the power failure on March 7th, which threw Venezuela into darkness. The image shows the street where I lived in Caracas. This is my street on March 7th without electricity. When the power failed, many questions came into my mind: how long will my food last? Will the Venezuelans loot the supermarkets? Will a civil war break out? Life is so hard, people are so exhausted that a spark is enough to start a fire. Caracas is the most dangerous capital city in the world, and this without a war. After dark, the city is abandoned. Most shops and restaurants close. Hardly anyone is still on the street. Without light, that was even more noticeable than usual. The streets were swept empty. My roommates are repairing the shower. The lack of water is almost worse than getting along without electricity. With the power failure, the water supply collapsed. Many people in Caracas even drew water from the filthy Guaire River, so desperate they were. On the day the power failed, something strange happened. I visited my friend Pedro. He had unbelievably many of those Coca-Cola bottles in the kitchen. His wife Maritza told me it was boiled water in case the electricity went out. I thought that was a little over the top and said so too. As soon as I pronounced the words, the electricity network fell across the country. No kidding. I hope nobody reads that in Venezuela and blames me. Pedro and I ran down immediately. That was a nice piece of work. He lives on the 18th floor. I went up and down that evening again. I had left my backpack in his apartment. I had to go home the same evening. Fortunately, a friend of a friend gave me a ride. On the way we passed hundreds of caraceños walking along the roadside. They were stranded in the darkness because the subway and buses had ceased operations. The next three days I spent mainly in bed. On Sunday afternoon, on the fourth day of the power outage, I went down on the street. There was a truck from which drinking water was sold. I immediately bought one of those water gallons. They weigh around 19 kilograms. I then had to go up to the twelfth floor with that weight on my shoulders. The elevator did not work. These people were angry. The controversial President Nicolas Maduro had tried to blame the US for the energy crisis. Trump had provoked an internet attack on a power plant, Maduro said. Experts thought that was nonsense. The people here on the street corner, too. Some young men began to build barricades by setting fire to garbage and branches. Cars stopped. The drivers did not shout. They just turned around. At 6 pm, people at the crossroads sang the Venezuelan national anthem. They still loved their country. Juan was standing on the crossroads with a national flag. He used to be Chavista, a supporter of the government, he told me. Because of the corruption he turned away. The electricity came back on Tuesday, the water on Thursday. That same Thursday, I visited the Venezuelan Central University. I walked alone that day through the sprawling university grounds. Only a few guards looked curiously after me. The university was closed all week, due to the energy crisis. There was a dead vulture in the parking lot behind the Faculty of Pharmacy building. We then walked on over the empty campus. It was like in whole Venezuela. Everything stood still. The blackouts hit an already collapsed land. It feels like kicking someone again and again who is already lying on the ground.