EDante, Memoirs of the relief efforts on 20 November 2013 Defying hunger A middle-aged woman from Tanauan town in Leyte told her story: At about 7:00 am on that fateful day of 8 November 2013, a sudden surge of sea water overwhelmed our house and pushed us up to the ceiling. My sister and I swam out of the house to escape, tied ourselves with a rope to the house, and waited for several hours until the water subsided. When the weather calmed down at about noon, we were shocked to see complete chaos and devastation, buildings flattened, huge amount of debris, and dead bodies scattered everywhere. It was a miracle we survived. We did not eat and drink for two days. The typhoon destroyed everything. We just waited for help. Our minds were too frightened to feel the need to eat. After two days, the first sign of help came – relatives and friends arrived town by motorcycle. We tasted food for the first time. A few days after, more relief goods from aid agencies and government came but were not enough to feed thousands of hungry people in our town. She related to us that the day prior to the typhoon there was a public announcement urging people to prepare and evacuate. It wasn’t compelling enough so most people ignored the appeal. Besides, these people were used to strong typhoons in the past. In another town, we heard that the mayor herself made an emotional plea for urgent evacuation and warned people of impending disaster. Many people were obliged to evacuate and thus were saved. Dark cloud descended A business man from Tanauan town related his story. His house was located next to a large coconut oil processing plant located close to the seashore. He said he was closely monitoring the development of the typhoon from the news and made preparations for it. He cut down all the trees near his house. He became an object of ridicule from neighbors. At around 6:00 am that day, incredibly strong and gusty wind descended his town. Visibility was almost zero. Lightning strikes were seen behind the dark clouds covering the entire town. Then an unrelenting wall of sea water hit his town and almost drowned him. Somehow, he managed to escape and stayed alive until the water subsided. The official government estimate of close to 5,000 deaths was unbelievably conservative, he said. In Tanauan town alone, he believed over 1,000 people died. “Storm surge” A group of six working men, taking a break from removing a large amount of debris surrounding the Catholic Church in Tanauan town, were overheard talking about “storm surge”. One man said, “now I understood what a storm surge is”. Few days prior to the disaster, the government warned people of a storm surge but the people did not know what exactly that term meant. Had they been told that it was like a tsunami or perhaps a tidal wave, they would have escaped to the mountains without hesitation. Weeing, weeing, weeing! The day after the relief operation, three close friends drove all the way from Mindanao to join me. We got up early on Thursday, 21 November, and began a tour around the devastated areas in Leyte starting from Baybay in the eastern side of the island and proceeding to the western towns of Dulag, Tanauan, Palo and Tacloban City. As darkness began, and with no electricity in the entire island with at least half a million people, we located a common friend who lived in Albuera town. With his three young children, all boys, beside him, he told his story in a half-lit candle light. He was never been so scared, he said. The storm gushed out with incredible noise and hissing, “weeing, weeing, weeing”. It seemed that the wind burst out from the ground, destroying everything it touched. The first instance lasted for one hour and then there was a brief pause. They all went out of the house much relieved as they thought the storm was over. But it returned with vengeance and continued until around 10:00 am. He was stunned to see his town completely destroyed. He said he would not wait to escape the island when the next storm comes. With no money and limited food, they were barely surviving. Before leaving, we gave him all our remaining provisions for that day (canned food, bottles of water and some cash). 100 big trucks As my boat was arriving at Ormoc port, I was stunned with what I saw. What used to be a progressive city, with backdrops of a lush green tropical mountain at the back and beautiful beaches, had turned into a war zone. Buildings destroyed and debris covered the streets. The mountain appeared denuded and brown. Coconut trees seen in the horizon turned into protruding dead sticks. That scene caused a strange feeling in me. So I asked my brother-in-law who picked me up at the port how he felt during that day. He said it was an incredible and frightening noise. It was like 100 big trucks chasing next to your house or like a 747 jet plane landing on top of your roof. Heavy downpour Over 100 thousand families became homeless. We saw families setting up temporary dwellings made of coconut leaves, rubber sheets or salvaged GI sheets, with no or very little walls to protect them. During our stay in Leyte, unrelenting downpour was a daily occurrence, especially in the evenings. It was so depressing to think that so many people, including children and elderly, had to stay up all night soaked in the rain. Raining girl The last barangay (village) we visited was inaccessible to our truck as one fallen tree blocked the narrow and only road to the village. We asked the villagers to come to the truck. One of them was a little spirited girl. When she got her pack of relief good, it started to rain. She smiled, carried the pack on her back, started to walk towards the village and then sang cheerfully, “It’s raining men, alleluia, it’s raining men”. I said to myself, “that’s the Filipino spirit, inspiringly resilient and adaptable, and with a great sense of humour”. |
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