Every morning that Venezuelans wake up after the earthquakes, the panorama becomes a little darker and more desolate.

It comes after another night in which prayers for the miraculous recovery of missing relatives went unanswered, in which survivors' restless sleep is interrupted by nightmares of collapsed buildings and moments of utter panic.

For former police officer Jan Carlos Roa García and his family, it was another night sleeping outdoors. His building in Caracas did not collapse, but it is too dangerous to return.

With tears streaming down her face, she says she doesn't even know where to start to rebuild her family's life.

"If I were 30 instead of 50, maybe. But I don't know where to start. And so far, no one from the authorities has contacted us."

As a faithful public servant, Jan Carlos was careful not to overly criticize the government's response, despite the fatigue and anger he feels.

Zaira Castro, who is dedicated to music, did not have the same caution.

“We are all quite frustrated because the government is not showing what it should: serious help,” he says in a square just a block from two collapsed buildings.

"In reality it is we, Venezuelans, who help each other. We live in a society that has learned to help each other. We do not depend on the government: for us it no longer exists."

In the same area, called Chacao, the interim president, Delcy Rodríguez, visited with the mayor and received criticism from residents.

"They are campaigning in the middle of a tragedy! The government does nothing for the people," one woman shouted.

I know these streets well. When I was a BBC correspondent in Venezuela I lived for several years in the neighborhood of Los Palos Grandes, in Chacao, one of the most affected.

My old house was just meters from the now-collapsed Petunia building, where rescuers are working tirelessly to reach trapped residents. A friend recently posted on social media that her mother was among those missing under the rubble.

It was a great relief to see that my old building, the Wallflower, is still standing and that its friendly doorman, Pedro, is still outside chatting on the porch with the older neighbors. One of them sprained his ankle going down the stairs. They all agreed that they did not remember a similar tragedy in Venezuela in their entire lives.

In the most affected areas – especially in the coastal city of La Guaira – desperation is even greater. The landscape, with more than 100 buildings reduced to rubble, is apocalyptic. And as hopes fade, so does outrage.

“There are still people in there, we need machinery,” says affected neighbor Eileen Lada. “Help us, please,” he begs.

The good humor of Venezuelans

Rescue teams – both Venezuelan and international – have worked for another night with admirable resilience and concentration to try to reach trapped relatives.

Videos circulate on social networks in which rescuers are seen successfully removing survivors, with the characteristic good humor and Venezuelan spirit, scenes that move deeply.

Hospitals on the north coast are at capacity. A health system that has been underfunded for decades is now trying to cope with a demand that would be a challenge even for countries with much better infrastructure.

Doctors and nurses are doing everything they can in circumstances that, for many, will be the hardest of their lives.

And the survivors' stories from hospital rooms are shocking.

“It was horrible, many people died and many relatives disappeared,” María Vargas recalled to the AFP agency from her hospital bed. “I completely lost my house, but we are fine, thank God.”

After an earthquake, rescue teams consider the first 72 hours to be crucial. That deadline has already passed.

Now the feeling is that we are experiencing one of the hardest moments in the recent history of Venezuela, a country that in recent years has experienced many more difficulties than would seem fair.