The Mandela Effect/ El efecto Mandela (ENG/ ESP) 🕵🏻‍♀️👽
Published on HivePostify by @nancybriti1 · Mon Aug 31 2026
The Mandela Effect
Here in Cumaná, the city where I live, it's incredibly hot, and to make matters worse, due to the electricity rationing throughout Venezuela, we can't use air conditioners or fans to cope with the heat, since the power can be cut off for more than three, and even up to five hours.
For this reason, my sister and I decided to go out yesterday to look for a rechargeable fan that we could use at home during those times, especially at night, when there's no electricity and the heat is at its peak. We found several brands and sizes, but none were less than $70, since in Venezuela—I don't know if it's the same in other countries—when there's high demand for a product, the price goes up.
While we were having coffee after searching high and low, my sister and I remembered a rechargeable fan we had at home, one that my parents had bought on Margarita Island, the quintessential place in Venezuela where you could find and buy just about anything. That black fan, with green details, had a built-in lamp and was in our parents' bedroom. My sister and I vividly remembered the times we would all go to our parents' room when the power went out.
Back home, after telling our mother about the lengths we went to find a cheaper rechargeable fan, we reminded her of that fan we'd once had. My mother, looking puzzled, said she had never bought a fan like that. "Maybe you don't remember," my sister said, and we pressed her for details. "How could you not remember? It was in your room!" I said, doubting my mother's memory. "We never had a fan like that. You're crazy," she insisted, doubting us.
Without hesitation, we sent an audio message to my other sisters, and no matter how many details we gave them, none of them remembered that fan that had been a treasure in our childhood. If it had only been me who remembered that object, I would have attributed those "memories" to dreams, movies, my own imagination; but it wasn't just me who remembered that fan that provided light and air on nights without electricity, one of my sisters did too. What explanation is there for this? The Mandela Effect, past lives? At what point does the treasure chest of our memories become unreliable? Years have passed, and after great waves of forgetfulness, one walks around bewildered, carrying memories that make us doubt ourselves. I sell memories as fakes.
All images are from my personal gallery, and the text was translated using Google. Thanks for reading, commenting, and supporting, my friend. Until next time.
Versión en español
El Efecto Madela
Aquà en Cumaná, la ciudad donde vivo, hace un calor insoportable, y para colmo, debido al racionamiento eléctrico en toda Venezuela, no podemos usar aires acondicionados ni ventiladores para combatirlo, ya que la luz puede cortarse por más de tres, e incluso hasta cinco horas.
Por eso, mi hermana y yo decidimos salir ayer a buscar un ventilador recargable que pudiĂ©ramos usar en casa durante esos momentos, sobre todo por la noche, cuando no hay electricidad y el calor es más intenso. Encontramos varias marcas y tamaños, pero ninguno costaba menos de 70 dĂłlares, ya que en Venezuela —no sĂ© si pasa lo mismo en otros paĂses— cuando hay mucha demanda de un producto, el precio sube.
Mientras tomábamos cafĂ© despuĂ©s de buscar por todas partes, mi hermana y yo recordamos un ventilador recargable que tenĂamos en casa, uno que mis padres habĂan comprado en la Isla Margarita, el tĂpico lugar de Venezuela donde se puede encontrar y comprar prácticamente de todo. Ese ventilador negro, con detalles verdes, tenĂa una lámpara incorporada y estaba en la habitaciĂłn de mis padres. Mi hermana y yo recordábamos vĂvidamente las veces que Ăbamos a su habitaciĂłn cuando se iba la luz.
De vuelta en casa, despuĂ©s de contarle a nuestra madre lo mucho que habĂamos buscado un ventilador recargable más barato, le recordamos aquel ventilador que habĂamos tenido. Mi madre, con cara de extrañeza, dijo que nunca habĂa comprado un ventilador asĂ. "Quizás no te acuerdas", dijo mi hermana, y le insistimos para que nos diera más detalles. "ÂżCĂłmo es posible que no te acuerdes? ¡Estaba en tu habitaciĂłn!", dije, dudando de la memoria de mi madre. "Nunca tuvimos un ventilador asĂ. ¡Están locas!", insistiĂł mamá, dudando de nosotras.
Sin dudarlo, enviamos un mensaje de audio a mis otras hermanas, y por más detalles que les dimos, ninguna recordaba aquel ventilador que habĂa sido un tesoro en nuestra infancia. Si solo yo lo hubiera recordado, habrĂa atribuido esos «recuerdos» a sueños, pelĂculas o a mi propia imaginaciĂłn; pero no solo yo recordaba aquel ventilador que nos daba luz y aire en las noches sin electricidad, una de mis hermanas tambiĂ©n lo recordaba. ÂżQuĂ© explicaciĂłn hay para esto? ÂżEl efecto Mandela, vidas pasadas? ÂżEn quĂ© momento el baĂşl de nuestros recuerdos se vuelve poco fiable? Han pasado los años, y tras grandes oleadas de olvido, uno anda por ahĂ desconcertado, cargando con recuerdos que nos hacen dudar hasta de nosotros mismos. Por mi parte, vendo recuerdos con falsificaciones.
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