Leaving Venezuela, July 2026

There are moments in life when you realise that a chapter is coming to an end.

This is one of those moments.

In just one week, I will leave Venezuela. Even writing those words feels a little surreal.

Almost three years have passed since I arrived in Caracas. What began as another humanitarian assignment gradually became something much deeper: a place filled with extraordinary people, genuine friendships, unforgettable experiences and countless memories that I know I will carry with me for the rest of my life.

This evening will be particularly special.

One of the things that has touched me most in these final days has been an incredibly generous gesture from the Ambassador of Portugal, who has invited me and some of my closest friends to celebrate my farewell at his residence. I have never before had the privilege of marking the end of a posting in such a beautiful setting, and I feel deeply honoured and genuinely grateful.

It feels like the perfect way to close this remarkable chapter.

Of course, saying goodbye is never easy.

The past few weeks have been especially emotional. The devastating earthquake reminded all of us how quickly life can change. It was heartbreaking to see communities I had come to know so well affected by such tragedy.

Yet those same weeks also revealed something extraordinary.

Everywhere I looked, I saw courage, generosity and solidarity. Neighbours helping neighbours before anyone asked them to. Volunteers stepping forward without hesitation. Emergency services working around the clock. Humanitarian organisations, the United Nations, the Red Cross Movement, local organisations and international partners working side by side with one common purpose: helping people recover and rebuild.

Those are the images I choose to carry with me.

The earthquake also reminded me how fortunate I have been to spend these years surrounded by exceptional people.

Humanitarian work is never the achievement of one individual. It is always the result of remarkable teams working together, supporting one another and believing in the same purpose.

To my wonderful team in Caracas: thank you for your professionalism, your friendship and your commitment, not only during the earthquake response but throughout these three unforgettable years.

To colleagues in Panama, Colombia, Ecuador and Nicaragua: thank you for your constant support, your advice and your partnership, despite the distances between us.

To friends and colleagues in Brussels: thank you for your confidence, your guidance and your unwavering belief in the work we do together.

And to the many people I have had the privilege of working alongside across the humanitarian community: colleagues from donor organisations, the United Nations, the Red Cross and Red Crescent Movement, and national and international NGOs—thank you. Working with all of you has been one of the greatest privileges of my professional life.

As difficult as it is to leave Venezuela, I have decided that this farewell should not be about sadness.

Instead, I want to remember the smiles, the friendships, the breathtaking landscapes, the music, the humour, the generosity and the countless everyday moments that made this country feel like home.

Those memories deserve to be celebrated.

And perhaps that is exactly what tonight is about.

The next chapter is already beginning.

In just a few days, Giovanni and I will leave Caracas together and fly to Bogotá, where we will spend two nights before beginning the long journey home through Panama City and Istanbul to Kraków.

After that comes something I have been looking forward to for many months.

Together with Mum and Giovanni, we will set off on a road trip across northern Europe. Part of the journey will take us back to familiar places—Warsaw, Riga and Gdańsk—cities I always enjoy revisiting. But it will also be a journey of firsts. Despite travelling extensively over the years, I have somehow never had the opportunity to visit Vilnius, Tallinn or Stockholm. I have a feeling these will become some of those journeys we will remember for many years to come.

We will drive across the Baltic States, cross the Baltic Sea on a night ferry to Sweden, spend a few days exploring Stockholm, then continue south before taking another ferry back to Poland and finishing our adventure in Gdańsk.

What I am looking forward to most, however, is not simply the destinations. It is everything that happens in between: long conversations during the drive, unexpected discoveries, evenings in unfamiliar cities, mornings watching the sea from the deck of a ferry, and the simple joy of sharing all of this with Mum and Giovanni.

Once we return to Nowy Sącz, there will still be time to slow down.

I hope to enjoy a few peaceful days at home, make a few shorter trips around Poland and perhaps into Slovakia or Czechia, showing Giovanni some of the places that have always meant so much to me.

Then, towards the end of August, it will be time to pack my bags once again.

This time for Addis Ababa—a new country, a new team, new responsibilities and, I hope, many new friendships waiting to be made.

Over the years, I have learned that every move brings mixed emotions.

Leaving is never easy, especially when a place has become part of who you are.

But I have also learned that every ending quietly opens the door to a new beginning.

So tonight, I choose to celebrate.

To celebrate Venezuela.

To celebrate the people who have made these three years so extraordinary.

To celebrate friendships that distance will never diminish.

And to celebrate the road ahead, wherever it may lead.

Thank you, Venezuela.

Thank you for your warmth, your generosity, your resilience and your friendship.

I arrived here hoping that, in some small way, I could contribute to the lives of others.

I leave feeling that this country has given me far more than I could ever have hoped for.

Until we meet again.

Mickey Mouse arrives to the temporary shelter. La Guaira, Venezuela, July 2026

Three weeks have passed since the earthquake.

Around the world, that is often enough for a disaster to begin disappearing from the headlines. News moves quickly. Another crisis emerges, another story takes its place, and gradually our attention shifts elsewhere.

Recovery, however, follows a very different calendar.

It does not unfold over days.

It is measured in months, and often years.

Over the past weeks, much of my work has revolved around understanding what recovery actually means. Humanitarian organisations often speak about the “transition from emergency response to recovery”, but behind those words are people trying to rebuild lives that changed within seconds.

One of the things that struck me most while visiting the affected areas was that, despite the destruction, life had already begun to return.

Children were playing again.

Small shops had reopened.

People were cleaning streets and removing rubble from their homes.

Fishing boats had returned to the sea.

Markets were beginning to fill with customers.

The first signs of recovery were everywhere.

Not because the disaster was over.

But because life refuses to stand still.

That is perhaps one of the greatest lessons humanitarian work has taught me.

Recovery does not begin when the last collapsed building is removed.

It begins much earlier.

It begins the first morning a family decides to sleep in their own neighbourhood again.

The first teacher opening a classroom.

The first shopkeeper lifting the shutters.

The first child laughing after days of fear.

The first neighbour helping another rebuild a wall.

These moments rarely appear on television.

Yet they are the true beginning of recovery.

During the past weeks I have also witnessed something that has filled me with enormous admiration.

The response did not begin with international organisations.

It began with Venezuelans.

Neighbours rescued neighbours.

Families welcomed those who had lost their homes.

Volunteers appeared everywhere.

One of them was my friend Giovanni, who immediately volunteered to serve on an ambulance, helping transport injured people during the emergency. He is only one example among thousands. Across the country, ordinary people simply asked themselves one question:

“What can I do to help?”

Perhaps that is the greatest strength of Venezuela.

Not the absence of hardship.

But the extraordinary ability of its people to stand together when hardship arrives.

International solidarity has been equally inspiring. Rescue teams travelled from across Latin America and Europe to work alongside Venezuelan emergency services and humanitarian organisations. Just a few days ago, I read the remarkable news that a Spanish Urban Search and Rescue Team had rescued a child alive from beneath the rubble more than seventy-two hours after the earthquake. In moments like these, hope becomes something tangible again.

As a humanitarian, I naturally think about funding, coordination, logistics and operational challenges.

But standing in La Guaira, looking at buildings I remembered from previous visits—some damaged beyond recognition, others simply gone—I found myself thinking less about infrastructure and more about people.

The buildings can be rebuilt.

The harder task is rebuilding lives.

Helping children feel safe enough to return to school.

Helping families recover their livelihoods.

Helping communities regain confidence that tomorrow can be better than today.

That work has only just begun.

In only a few weeks, I will conclude my time in Venezuela.

I wish the final chapter of my assignment had not included such a devastating earthquake.

Yet perhaps there is one final lesson this extraordinary country has given me.

Disasters reveal destruction.

But recovery reveals character.

Three weeks after the earthquake, what I remember most is not the collapsed buildings.

It is the determination of the people walking past them every morning, picking up another stone, reopening another shop, returning another child to school, and quietly rebuilding their future.

That is the Venezuela I will carry with me.