Caracas Chronicles

When players begin playing Venezolario, a free game available on the App Store and Google Play, they find the setup of any traditional mobile word game: a hint, blank boxes where the letters are supposed to go, and a keyboard. Players can use coins to buy extra hints and can’t move forward unless they have successfully guessed the word. However, in Venezolario, the background shows an animation of Canaima National Park, points are “arepitas” and the answers are terms you won’t find anywhere else, like bululú, parapetear, and emperifollado.

That’s Venezolario, a game that took over Venezuelan social media by storm over the summer, by highlighting the country’s linguistic diversity.

The game was developed by Venezuelan programmer Ronald Kanzler in collaboration with his sister, social media influencer and tourism promoter Katty Kanzler. After Ronald moved abroad, inspired by conversations with Katty about nostalgia and the desire to promote Venezuelan expressions, he decided to create the game. Cultural promotion, however, was not a new endeavor for the siblings.

“I studied arts at the Universidad Central and I was involved in the cultural world since I was very young, especially in Colonia Tovar, our little town in Aragua,” Ronald told Caracas Chronicles. “I worked on efforts to preserve the town’s German dialect, and I learned to play folk instruments like the cuatro and the accordion.”

Katty, meanwhile, became known for TikToks about the uniqueness of the Colonia Tovar.

“Even though our family has German ancestry, we are the sixth generation in Venezuela, and we feel just as Venezuelan as anyone else,” Ronald added.

Venezolario was a natural progression of those efforts, this time applied to folk expressions and dialects. It drew inspiration from classic word games like APensar and CodyCross, and the first version released to players was not very different from the initial project. The game’s words came from exhaustive research by Ronald and Katty.

The game inadvertently exposed gaps caused by mass migration, the erosion of our cultural landscape, the decline of mass media, and class-based linguistic discrimination. 

“In the first version of the game, we did not consult experts directly, but we did rely on their work.”

To break the monotony of constantly guessing words, the Kanzlers added another dynamic. As players advanced, they earned postcards featuring Venezuelan cultural icons, such as traditional games like the gurrufío or figures like Armando Reverón. Players could click on the postcards to read more information about the images, or sell them for coins to buy extra hints.

“Venezuela has immense cultural wealth. From its nature and historical characters to its gastronomy. These features give the game more color and depth, making the experience much more complete and enriching,” Ronald explained.

The game quickly went viral after its launch, with over 4 million downloads since its July release. With its newfound popularity came a bit of controversy, particularly over the choice of words and hints. Users from different age groups and regions of the country complained about the obscurity of certain terms or the fact that some were too specific or old-fashioned, like sortario (a very lucky person), brincapozo, or asquerosito (Caracas slang for hot dogs).

Reflecting on this, Kanzler said: “The lesson from this experience was that, although we all are Venezuelans, there are important differences between regions, generations, and even between those who are in the country and those who are abroad.”

Journalist Luis Carlos Díaz described this phenomenon as a “fragmented mirror that shows different images of what it means to be Venezuelan today.”

“It has been really beautiful to see how language and identity unite and excite us,” Kanzler said.

He argued that anger on social media stemmed from the fact that, when players didn’t recognize the words the game labeled as “Venezuelan,” it exposed a deeper existential wound about identity and belonging in a country fractured by migration and absence. He added that the erosion of the cultural landscape, the decline of mass media, the prolonged socioeconomic crisis, and even class-based linguistic discrimination have left Venezuelans without a unified framework to understand what it means to be Venezuelan. The game inadvertently exposed these fractures.

Still, shedding light on those differences opened the door to conversations on how to bridge the gaps in our national identity. When young players abroad didn’t know an answer, they turned to their uncles, aunts or grandparents in Venezuela. And when someone from the east came across a word with strong caraqueño connotations, they asked their friends from Caracas. These intergenerational and cross-national conversations have spurred their own series of social media content and, fundamentally, are essential for cultural preservation.

“It has been really beautiful to see how language and identity unite and excite us,” Kanzler said. “Being Venezuelan is not just about coming from the country. It’s about a land that is culturally and linguistically rich. Venezolario has shown us that the game not only brings families together around our culture, but also sparks greater awareness of that cultural wealth”.Recently, the Venezolario team expanded to include Alejandro Liendo, a content creator who promotes Venezuelan expressions through his account Diccionario Venezolano. They also brought in linguist Elimar Bonilla, from Panahispana, and Luis Guillermo Mendoza, a language and literature teacher, to work on content and linguistic consulting. The team just launched an expansion of the game that includes sayings and refranes, along with a series of mini-games like Papelito (similar to charades) and Palabrita, their own version of Wordle. They also plan to add cultural questions, competitive modes, and further updates to the core game.