Diana Jael dreamed of becoming a psychologist, and her friends say she had every quality for it: she was empathetic, sweet, and kind. To pursue her dream, she left her hometown of Tamiahua and moved to Poza Rica to study at the Faculty of Health Sciences at the Universidad Veracruzana.
Her parents found her a safe, comfortable boarding house just four blocks from her school. They never imagined she would drown inside that turquoise-green house, the prettiest one on José Martí Street — trapped inside with the door locked.
The two-story home now bears the marks of the tragedy that unfolded there on Friday, October 10. Water stains still cover the walls of the room where Diana was studying. Fingerprints made of dried mud can be seen on the gray curtains in the kitchen — no one knows if they were Diana’s as she tried to escape, or from neighbors who later rescued her body amid the flooding.
But one detail in particular fills anyone walking down this fetid, mud-covered street with anger and helplessness: the door lock to the rooms had to be broken. According to neighbors, the door was locked from the outside — and that prevented Diana from escaping before she drowned.
Students search for classmates after the flood
It’s now Monday, October 13 — just 72 hours since the devastating flood that has already claimed 29 lives and left 18 people missing across Veracruz. In the Morelos neighborhood, students from the Universidad Veracruzana have organized a roll call to check on classmates who lived in this area, widely known as a student housing zone.
“We're here looking for our fellow UV students from Poza Rica,” say about 15 young people wearing gloves and rubber boots. They express anger not only at the lack of government aid to clear debris that might contain clues about missing students, but also at their university authorities, who they accuse of canceling classes too late. By the time the announcement was made, many out-of-town students had no way to reach the bus terminal — which was also destroyed by the overflowing Cazones River.
“I talked to her the night before the flood”
Among the students is one from the engineering faculty who knew Diana Jael Cuervo Santos — “Dian” or “Dianita,” as he called her affectionately. His grief is evident, even behind his face mask. He still can't process that just the night before the tragedy, he spoke to his friend and asked her if she would be going back home.
“I talked to her on Thursday night (October 9). I'm from Tuxpan, and she was from Tamiahua — we’re practically neighbors. I asked her if she had left, and she said no. I hadn't left either, because they canceled classes at the last minute.”
“I barely managed to get out of Poza Rica myself,” he says. “Then the news came that she was missing. That hits you hard — you think, ‘I just talked to her.’ And the worst part is when they tell you she’s been found dead.”
The young man scrapes mud off José Martí Street, turning his back to Diana's former boarding house. He describes her as empathetic, kind, and always looking out for others. “She was a really good friend,” he says, his voice breaking. “There are so many students here just trying to build a better future — and look at what happened because of the negligence of the authorities and the university. So many lives could have been saved.”
She died alongside her boyfriend, also a student
Diana Jael’s boyfriend, Carlos Eduardo Baltazar Ramírez, also died in the Poza Rica flood. He was a Mechatronics Engineering student at the Instituto Tecnológico Superior de Poza Rica and was also from Tamiahua. He was in the fifth semester of his degree.
Friends of Diana and local residents share a story about him: they say he knew how to swim and left his own boarding house to try to rescue her — but the conditions were too dangerous, and he couldn’t reach her. The official report confirms that both died in the same neighborhood.
Neighbors carried Diana’s body through the flooded streets until they reached an Oxxo store on Lázaro Cárdenas Boulevard, where her father identified her. Witnesses say his screams still echo in the memory of everyone who saw him.
Inside the boarding house, walls painted pink and beige still hold the faint traces of a life interrupted: a wooden wardrobe, a small mattress, a desk, a fan to cool off from Poza Rica’s oppressive heat… and a single cow-print sandal, either Diana’s or washed in by the current.
Two candles and an empty seat
At the entrance to the Faculty of Health Sciences, which Diana walked through so many times, two candles now stand to honor her memory. Her classmates placed them there so that when classes resume, her presence is still felt — even in the empty chair she’ll never return to.