Typhoon Ruby: The Side Stories

If Super Typhoon Haiyan/Yolanda was by far, the strongest-ever typhoon to be recorded in modern time, Typhoon Hagupit/Ruby could probably be the sloooooooooowest typhoon to ever hit Philippine shores.

If one did not die from a storm surge or from flying/falling debris caused by Ruby, he/she would've probably died from anticipation as to when exactly this monster was leaving.

Nevertheless, Ruby's extended stay gave way to many side stories worth passing through a whole gamut of emotions for. Some are funny, some are irritating, some are saddening...Like I said, the whole lot.

Let's look back at the past days and see the whole impact of Typhoon Ruby's recent unwanted visit to the Philippines.


LIKE A WOMAN WITH PMS

Satellite photo of Typhoon Hagupit as it was moving toward 

the Philippines (Photo from NASA/JAXA/SSAI, Hal Pierce)

From the beginning when Ruby was still being identified by her international code name, Hagupit, this weather disturbance was already unpredictable. So many weather forecasting agencies were honed in to its formation, speed, and track, but none of them could really pin down Hagupit's next move.

When she was already just outside the Philippine Area of Responsibility (PAR), weather forecasters were still at odds as to whether Hagupit was going to make landfall in the Philippines, or skirt the Eastern Seaboard and curve toward Japan.

More nosebleed-inducing was how forecasters would peg Hagupit as a Category 5 cyclone, only to downgrade it to a Category 4 storm, then back to Category 5, then...well, I guess you get the idea. So imagine if you are among the shell-shocked Leytenos still traumatized by last year's bout with Yolanda, you'd be scared shitless -- pardon the French -- with the thought that you'd be going through the very same thing again. Hashtag deja vu much.

It was bad enough that Ruby was being compared to Yolanda; it was even worse that even the best weather forecasters with their shiny shimmering equipment could not agree on the exact time of this typhoon's landfall because of its oft-changing speed. Then when she was already within the PAR, PAGASA would note how Ruby would make a slight curve upwards, remain steady, strengthen, weaken, go faster, go slower...

Yes, very much like a woman with pre-menstrual mood swings.


SO SLOW

Eleven excruciating hours. That was how long residents from Leyte, Southern Leyte, Eastern and Northern Samar, and Biliran endured the howling winds and rain of Ruby.

In fairness to Typhoon Ruby, she was not as deadly as Super Typhoon Yolanda. Most Pinoys learned their lesson after last year's experience with Yolanda, which is why casualties were kept at a minimum this time around. Other than that, Ruby and Yolanda had very different "personalities." Yolanda struck fast and struck hard. In less than two days, Yolanda was out of our hair. Ruby...well, she just took her sweet time travelling along the Philippines' bosom, starting out strong but ending with barely a whisper.

Friends and former students of mine from Tacloban and Tanauan, Leyte were in constant touch with me via Facebook through the whole snail-paced movement of Ruby. It was around Saturday mid-afternoon (December 6) when the first wave of rain began to pound the area. Until evening, the wind and rain tore through the area relentlessly. Larissa, a former student of mine, related how frightened they were by the unceasing sound of roofs flapping noisily through the whole din, threatening to peel off at any given time.

The crashing, flapping, and howling in Tacloban was supposed to abate by 3 AM the next day, but Ruby had other plans. It was already 5 AM when she finally ceased. By then, almost no one there had a fitful sleep for a good 11-hour period.

Eye bags were a dime a dozen that day.


WHAT'S IN A NAME?

Some people took note of the iffy nomenclature of this most recent typhoon that wreaked havoc in most of Central Philippines. When it was still outside Philippine territory, its international name was very Filipino-sounding -- Hagupit, meaning to violently toss around or hit in Tagalog. Then when it entered PAR, it acquired a very American name -- Ruby.

What gives, you may ask?

Turns out, the term, Hagupit was among the names the Philippines submitted to this UN agency who, together with this international meteorological agency, has the privilege of endowing names on weather disturbances. The said Pinoy name was applied, together with other local names like "Maliksi," "Danas," "Lupit," and "Talas."

You may read further on this by clicking on this link.

The name Ruby, however, was concocted early on by our very own weather agency, DOST-PAGASA (Department of Science and Technology-Philippine Atmospheric, Geophysical, and Astronomical Services Administration). A bit of trivia regarding our local typhoon names: among the names of typhoons for 2014, one was eventually scratched off the list because of a person with the same name who has earned Internet fame/notoriety due to his sex videos with young ladies.

I won't share a link -- just Google the name, Kanor.


PAGASA -- ZERO TO HERO

A PAGASA weather forecaster analyzing Typhoon Ruby's

track. (Photo from GMA News)

I have to admit, I was among PAGASA's bashers when tracking of Ruby started. Other international weather forecasting agencies were up-to-date with satellite photos and maps showing the development of Hagupit and her movement toward the Philippines. Most of them would give updates almost every hour. On the other hand, PAGASA was frustratingly slow in sending out weather bulletins. Even more frustrating was the fact that they really seemed clueless at first as to the typhoon's path.

To make matters worse, PAGASA's website which was among netizens' main link to information on Ruby was already crashing due to the sheer volume of network traffic.

The poor guys were turning into laughing stocks to the point where DOST Chief Mario Montejo had to face the press and emphasize that their data on Ruby was more reliable than that of other weather agencies. He stressed that the proximity of their weather instruments to the typhoon made for better readings, thus making for more reliable data.

As Hagupit moved closer and closer to the Philippines and was renamed Ruby as soon as it entered PAR, people realized that Sec. Montejo and the rest of PAGASA's weather forecasters were right.

It no longer mattered that bulletins on Ruby had a six-hour interval. PAGASA was spot on with its forecasts.

Even CNN was already looking at PAGASA's forecasts as one of its main sources of information regarding Ruby's track.

PAGASA bashers like me ended up with the perennial egg on our faces, but I don't mind. I'm just happy that they proved me wrong.

The men and women of PAGASA who barely slept or ate during those dark days (You could actually see it on their faces during every press briefing, the poor laddies.) are among the big heroes of Ruby's onslaught.


CASUALTIES KEPT AT A MINIMUM

For such an erratic storm like Ruby, it would be impossible to hope that there would be zero casualties after it leaves.

True enough, in Ruby's wake, the death toll was, as of press time, pegged at around 20. There are government agencies who are still debating on the actual tally since some of the deaths may not have been directly caused by the typhoon.

In the Yolanda-stricken areas, there were zero, I repeat, ZERO casualties.

Having a zero, in this case, is a really good thing.

So I guess the formula for zero casualties is this:

                                     trauma from a previous catastrophic typhoon
                                     mass evacuation from coastal areas
                                     early warnings
                                     a more cooperative and more informed populace
                                  + LGU initiative____________________________
                                     ZERO CASUALTIES

International agencies are now lauding us for our disaster preparedness in the light of Typhoon Ruby. Just imagine how difficult it was for the Philippine government to move around a million individuals to higher and safer ground -- the highest-ever recorded number of people evacuated -- but they managed to do so.

This is one really strong manifestation of the Philippines learning its lessons from Super Typhoon Yolanda.


TELCOS WEATHERING THE STORM

Last year with Yolanda, among the most severe effects of the typhoon's lashing was the total shutdown of all broadcasting and communications facilities. For around 15 harrowing hours since the last news report from Tacloban City, there was a news blackout. No one outside the affected areas knew what the heck happened to their friends and loved ones. Then when news started trickling in, there was no good news -- only one bad news  after another.

Telecommunications was also on the blink, and much as we outsiders wanted to get in touch with our relatives and friends to know if they survived the storm, we could not -- and vice versa on the part of those who weathered the storm. Yolanda hit on a Friday, but I only managed to hear from my family Sunday morning. Believe me when I say that not knowing whether your family is dead or alive with no means to communicate with them is probably among the worst things one could ever feel.

This time around with Ruby, things were a little different. The telcos were readier to face the storm. I don't know exactly how they did it but a manifestation of their disaster preparedness was the fact that even while friends in Leyte were being pummeled by the storm, they were still sending blow-by-blow updates on Facebook and Twitter. (Larissa Dy, this is YOU, hehehe.)

And for this, the local telcos (Globe Smart, and Sun) deserve a pat on the back.


A STUDY IN CONTRASTS

Bunkhouses made for Yolanda survivors by the Philippine

government now destroyed by Typhoon Ruby. (Photo from 

PhilNews.ph)

Going back to the Yolanda-devastated areas that were once again visited by Typhoon Ruby, one scene made for a very stark study in contrasts -- the temporary shelters built for survivors whose homes were destroyed by Yolanda.

Housing units built by private/corporate entities and non-government organizations managed to withstand Ruby's wrath, with very minimal damage.

As for the supposedly international-standard bunkhouses built by the Philippine government for the Yolanda survivors, these came crashing down -- or more appropriately, were blown away -- when Ruby came a-huffing and a-puffing.

So much for this almost-a-million-pesos-worth project.

Despite the epic fail, the Philippine government still tried to defend their trashy bunkhouses, saying that these are just temporary housing units meant to withstand winds of up to 150 kph. Typhoon Ruby incidentally blew more than that so...

Still an epic fail.


IN A STATE OF SUSPENSION

Just another Erap meme.

Still learning from the lessons provided by ST Haiyan/Yolanda, another factor that led to lesser casualties (and drier people) was the timely suspension of classes and offices.

When Ruby was threatening to make itself felt in Metro Manila, many city officials were calling all major broadcasting networks as early as the afternoon before to announce the cancellation of classes in all levels in their respective areas.

All except for Manila Mayor Joseph "Erap" Estrada.

You see, many schools and universities are concentrated in the City of Manila. In fact, there are two University Belts there -- one in the Espana-Legarda-Recto area, and another in the periphery of the famed walls of Intramuros.

My daughter is among those students studying in a university located in the Recto area -- the Far Eastern University (FEU). So just imagine how anxious she was when all the other Metro Manila mayors were suspending classes while Erap was very quiet.

It was early evening already when classes in all levels in Manila were suspended. By that time, my daughter was already cussing in Waray.

I know I should've reprimanded her for the trash talk, but I guess if I was in her place, I'd be using colorful language, too. Haha.


LIGHTS ON

In fairness to the Philippine government, not all of the president's men are as (insert colorful adjective here) as the rest. I gotta hand it to Department of Energy Secretary Jericho "Icot" Petilla who promised to bring back electricity to the Leyte areas within a week after Ruby's landfall. The man did not renege on his promise.

As of this moment, people in the Tacloban-Palo-Tanauan areas are now with light, and can expect a brighter Christmas ahead.


THE WONDER DUO

I had to place this story for last as this is probably the mother of all Ruby side stories -- the epic fails of the Mar Roxas-Korina Sanchez tandem.

Korina Sanchez is a prominent anchor person usually doing the evening news at the ABS-CBN News and Public Affairs.

Mar Roxas, meanwhile, is head honcho of the Department of Interior and Local Government (DILG).

Incidentally, these two are married to each other.

I don't know what it is with strong typhoons that apparently brings out the worst in these two.

They cannot be more meant for each other, I swear.

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Korina Sanchez (L) and Anderson Cooper (R) (Photo from

Interaksyon.com)

Last year, Korina made a big ruckus during the news coverage of ST Yolanda's destruction. She never stepped foot in Tacloban City during the critical days after the typhoon struck, but CNN news anchor Anderson Cooper was on the ground seeing events unfolding with his own two eyes and making an in-depth analysis of said events.

Among Cooper's observations was the lack of national government presence in Ground Zero which was immediately bashed by Korina in her radio show. Korina noted how Cooper was a mere foreigner who should not make sweeping generalizations.

Cooper eventually found out about Korina's public berating and made his own statement to debunk whatever she said -- also before the news camera. Rest assured, that shut Korina up for sometime.

----------

Fast forward to the Ruby coverage, and Korina's golden tongue was at it again.

That time, Ruby was still outside PAR and forecasters were still confused as to where she was headed. She and fellow anchors Noli de Castro and Ted Failon were wrapping up their news for the day when they decided to discuss Typhoon Ruby's path. In a misguided show of nationalism, Korina wished that Ruby would hit Japan instead of the Philippines. De Castro tried to cover up his female co-anchor's lack of tact by saying that perhaps it would be better if half of Ruby would be felt in the Philippines, half in Japan. But Korina was adamant: "Japan na lang, kasi mas kaya nila (Just Japan because they could handle the storm better)."

And once again, Korina ate flak for breakfast.

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Mar Roxas, meanwhile, is just one failed publicity stunt after another. When before he gained political leverage with his campaign strategy of being a Filipino Everyman through his "Mr. Palengke" schtick, this time, mature voters have seen through the spin and are now utterly tired and disgusted by his "masa (masses)" portrayal.

His spin doctors just don't seem to get it. Mar Roxas is no "masa." He's the grandson of a former president, for crying out loud. He never was, never will be. He has never driven a pedicab in his entire life. He never directed traffic. He never hammered nails.

And he never drove through slick and muddy terrain on a motorbike.

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Last year, Roxas suffered from foot-in-mouth disease during his visit to Yolanda-stricken areas. It was bad enough that just before the typhoon hit, he and the rest of their government team came in unprepared. Thus, when Yolanda made landfall in Tacloban, their entire party was huddled like trapped rats in the stairwell of the Leyte Park Hotel with no means of communication. Then as soon as the skies cleared, they were eventually picked up and left the ruined city in a huff.

Roxas did return to Tacloban immediately, only to be at loggerheads with the city's mayor, Alfred Romualdez. It was in one of their meetings on disaster and relief operations where Roxas uttered the famous lines, "You are a Romualdez, and the president is an Aquino," and (while shoving a waiver surrendering Tacloban City to the national government in Romualdez's face which the latter refused to sign), "If we cannot legalize (the turnover of authority to the national government), you'll be in charge. We'll help you, pero bahala na kayo sa buhay niyo (but we leave you in charge of your own lives)."

To say that it left a bad taste in one's mouth is an understatement.

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This year with Ruby, Roxas was once again being his usual "epal" self. (Sorry, I don't know how to translate the word, "epal." I guess to be "epal" is to be too attention-seeking for his/her own good.)

Since Ruby made landfall a bit higher this time, hitting Eastern and Northern Samar in the process, Roxas made it a point to go there instead of Tacloban. Every now and then, his discussions with disaster personnel and local government executives from the area were aired on TV, and he did a good job just repeating what weather forecasters and the LGU reps said. Media got tired of his mimicry and eventually turned off their cameras -- until they stumbled upon this gem:

Photo from GetRealPhilippines.com

Social media was immediately in an uproar upon seeing this photo of Roxas only wearing a baseball cap and not a helmet while riding a motorbike.

You see, there is a law in the Philippines mandating the strict use of helmets when driving a motorcycle. Many motorcycle riders have been apprehended already just because they were not using a helmet.

Then Roxas is caught red-handed in this.

Of course, national government and his partymates were once again quick to defend Roxas, saying that circumstances in Samar merited the use of motorbikes, which is why Roxas was seen driving one. As for his non-helmet status, all Malacanang could say was to quit noticing Roxas' faux pas and to just concentrate on the supposed work he has done there.

What work? For the sake of a photo op?


WRAP UP

The Samarenos who may read this may disagree with me, but despite its erratic behavior, Typhoon Ruby still paled in comparison to ST Yolanda.

In fairness though, it did try to reach Yolanda's status, but failed.

Failure came not only in the sense that nature caused Ruby to weaken as soon as it hit land -- it also came in the form of Filipinos knowing better how to handle a typhoon of this magnitude.

Filipinos came in prepared to brace for Ruby's wrath. Everyone, including national government and other vital institutions, has apparently learned from mistakes committed during Yolanda's time. That is, except for the occasional epals and trapos (traditional politicians) who still have this misguided notion that typhoons are the best times for accumulating votes. (Yes, these creatures are still out there and are thriving like parasites.)

(Photo from InsuranceJournal.com)

With super typhoons becoming the new norm and the Philippines, particularly its Eastern Seaboard,
being the usual welcoming committee for these howlers, it is comforting to know that we are embracing this reality and taking the necessary steps to adjust to the change in our climate.

However, we shouldn't stop with simple adjustment. We are now very much aware of the spectre of global warming and climate change. Being one of those countries being severely affected by these new weather patterns, we also need to play an active part in the worldwide move to mitigate climate change.

There is no point denying it -- global warming is what is creating these super typhoons that will continue to slam into the Philippines, unless we do our own share.

It doesn't have to be flashy or dramatic. It doesn't even require donations.

We just have to be more respectful of our own environment. After all, this is the only planet we could live in. We destroy our planet with our negligence and abuse, we destroy ourselves.

Sir David Attenborough couldn't have said it any better: "There is no question that climate change is happening; the arguable point is what part humans are playing in it."

(#)

Countdown to Yolanda: Getting Out

(Continuation from Countdown to Yolanda: The Mission)

Housing Mountainside was not as forlorn-looking as its sister subdivision, making me realize that much of the destruction in the area was caused more by the storm surge than by the winds and rain of Yolanda. Yes, there were the typical houses with roofs askew or no roofs at all, but that was probably the worst of it already. 

Frances' home was among the more sturdy houses in the area. At most, the roof probably needed a bit of hammering back to its wooden foundation, but otherwise the house was intact.

Three generations of Perez women finally reunited after
Yolanda. (From personal photo archive, taken by Iggy
Gonzales)

I did not even have to holler when we got to the gate. In the front yard was my daughter, Ingrid, hunched over a basin full of dirty laundry. I called Ingrid's attention. She slowly turned, looking confused as if she was not expecting anyone to know her there. I had to call her twice to make her know that it was really me. Only then did she run toward the gate in recognition.

Tears streamed down our cheeks as we hugged each other. It felt so good to hold my daughter again, knowing how I almost lost her to Yolanda.

Soon enough, my mom heard the ruckus outside and approached us for a very wet (from the tears) group hug.

When the surge of emotions ebbed, everyone settled inside Frances' home to make plans on how to get my family to the airport. The first challenge was how to bring my 82-year old mom to the airport with no transportation in sight. Iggy and I were ready to carry her all the way to the airport but she refused, saying that she could just walk with us. We wouldn't allow it, considering how far we were from the airport (a little more than 10 kilometers, according to Google Maps). Besides, she would only slow down the entire group if she walked.

We also had to think of a way to bring Ingrid's wet and dirty laundry with us on our trip back to Manila.

----------

Frances' male relatives managed to get some gasoline from a looted gas station nearby to power up their motorcycles. They were just listening at first to our discussion but eventually, they volunteered to help. Thus, with what little gasoline they had left in their motorcycles, they used for transporting my family and their meager belongings to the airport.

Much as Iggy and I also wanted to hitch, there just wasn't enough gasoline anymore for Frances' relatives to make a second round trip. Thus, hugs and expressions of thanks were passed in Frances' household, and by noontime, our small party pushed on toward the airport.


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If Iggy and I were lucky enough to have been able to hitch from the airport to Housing, it wasn't the case on our way back. The main causes of concern were news circulating about prison inmates escaping from the Provincial Jail, as well as communist commandos from the barrios going to the town propers and pillaging for supplies and relief. Anarchy was still very much prevalent as of that time, and there was just no way of confirming these reports. This was the reason why pedicabs and motorcycles stopped going around for passengers, and why people with vehicles just stopped giving free rides to strangers. We tried hailing a military truck. It did stop, but only for its soldiers inside to apologize to us that they cannot let us ride with them, and to confirm that the reports about Communist fighters coming out of the barrios were true. They were afraid that if they took in hitchhikers, these civilians might be caught in an ambush.

We did manage to get a short motorcycle ride from an area along the Diversion Road, back to the Rotonda near the Coca Cola Bottling Plant, thanks to a policeman who, we learned during the ride, lost all his family members to the storm surge. To keep his mind off his grief, he just kept going back and forth from the San Juanico Bridge to the airport via the Diversion Road to help hitchhikers like us. Bless this man whose name I no longer remember.

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It was during that walk from Coca Cola to the airport where Iggy and I saw the worst of Yolanda's damage. Almost nothing was left standing here. And if before, one could not see the beach from the road, now there was nothing to block one's view of the ocean.

An area in San Jose District. When you see it... (From personal

photo archive)

Then there were the decomposing bodies by the roadside,

Corpses were just lying there, covered (albeit unsuccessfully) in blankets, tarps, coconut fronds, or just about anything to conceal them from view. You'd find them after every few meters or so. 

And the stench -- God, the stench. I could only describe it as a combination of sweaty body odor and a dead rat. It clung to my clothes. It was invasive. Covering one's nose just won't cut it anymore so I just breathed through my mouth as we passed the corpses by. More than one year since that experience, I am still haunted by that awful smell of decomposing flesh.

I've never seen that many dead people in my whole life. I am very sure that at one point or another, I have come across these people in the grocery, in the street, in public transport, in church -- I mean, it's hard not to bump into the same people everyday in such a small city like Tacloban. 

And now, they're nameless corpses by the road.

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When the airport was already within view, Iggy and I encountered a couple also walking toward the airport with no luggage, no nothing. Just themselves.

They asked us if there already were free flights to Manila.

I said that the only free flights were via C-130. I then asked them if they had somewhere to go when they manage to get to Manila.

They had none.

I explained to them that they may just be jumping from the flame into the fire if they had nowhere to go upon reaching Manila. Life may be hard as of that moment in Tacloban, but soon enough, relief will be coming in soon. 

Then we went on our way.

When I looked back at the couple, they were no longer in sight.

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I thought our problems were going to be over as soon as we got to the airport. We'll present our earlier-purchased plane tickets, get our boarding passes, and ride in our late afternoon flight to Cebu in no time at all.

I was wrong.

The ground attendants of PAL Express announced that Tacloban had no way to confirm the manifestos of passengers for previously-reserved flights since communications between their Manila and Cebu offices were down, and thus they decided to cancel all of these flights.

That included our flight.

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Hell hath no fury than a woman whose flight to Cebu has been unceremoniously cancelled. I was raving mad. WE BOUGHT THOSE TICKETS WITH THE ASSURANCE FROM THE CEBU AND MANILA OFFICES THAT WHATEVER HAPPENS, MY FAMILY AND I WILL FLY OUT AT THE SOONEST POSSIBLE TIME! And so I ranted and raved to the tired and stressed-out ground personnel, even threatened to file a complaint against them with the local aviation board if they insisted on keeping us in Tacloban for another three days despite our having paid for plane reservations already.

After several hours of discussions among themselves as to what to do with me, they struck a compromise: they will allow us to fly, but only on the next day since planes leaving for that day were already filled to the hilt.

Oh well, at least it was better than getting stuck in Tacloban for three more days.

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I started my business in the PAL area around 2 PM and braved the crush of an anxious crowd begging for tickets out of Tacloban, During that time, I saw huge and exotic-looking aircraft arriving one by one, bringing with them caucasian military forces and tons of relief goods. Also managed to catch a glimpse of CNN's Anderson Cooper milling around the tarmac and observing us. By the time I finally got hold of the valuable boarding passes for our entire party, it was already around 6 PM and the poor ground staff was reading names using a flashlight.

Iggy kept going back and forth between me and my family, ever the eager one to help out or relay information. (Bless this teenager!) By the time I returned to where my family situated themselves in the airport, they already knew that we were going to be spending the rest of the evening on that little space outside what used to be the departure area. They managed to sit on what looked like an overturned steel file cabinet which eventually turned into a multi-purpose lean-to/bed that night. Since food was scarce, water even scarcer, and we were in almost-total darkness, I told my family to rest early and call it a night.

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Yes, that's my family and Iggy on GMA's evening news. This

photo was taken by a high school batchmate who was tuned in

that night and was posted on our high school Facebook page.

The only trouble about that location my family chose for spending the night at the airport was that two TV cameras of GMA News were aimed at it.

We were already settled for the long night ahead when we were overwhelmed by a flood of lights.The cameras started rolling, capturing us in varying degrees of disheveled states. Oh well, no other choice but to pretend that the camera isn't on us.

Suffice to say that our unkempt selves made it on the nightly news broadcasts of GMA News TV as of November 13, and on the morning news of November 14, 2013. Haha.

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It was a very long night, and only Iggy who managed to fall asleep. The rest of us ended up looking up to the heavens and appreciating the cloudless Tacloban skies, illuminated by the blanket of stars that dotted it. 

That was our very last glimpse of a starry, starry night, our last glimpse of Tacloban City in darkness.

It will probably be a long time before we ever return to see that heavenly spectacle again.

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Our morning flight was supposed to be scheduled for 10 AM. However, when the PAL ground staff announced the boarding of its first aircraft for the day (scheduled at 7 AM), I told my family to fall in line. Iggy and my family looked at me like I was crazy but I just hissed at them to keep quiet and fall in line.

Several minutes later, we were in the cabin of the PAL Fokker plane.

When one of the stewardesses took to the microphone, she welcomed us all to their Tacloban-Cebu flight. Upon saying, "Thank you and enjoy your flight," the plane started to roll toward the runway.

And everyone in the cabin broke into applause.

I looked at the window for the last time to see what became of Tacloban. I just kept staring until we were already several feet in the air.

With that, I shed my last tears for the city that fostered my family while I was toiling in Manila. I also prayed that with Divine Providence, the city would rise again.

Then my body finally shut down from the fatigue.

(To be continued)

Countdown to Yolanda: The Mission

(Continuation from Countdown to Yolanda: Knowing)

One tote bag -- that was all I brought with me to this rescue mission to get my family out of the ruins of Tacloban City.

I remember having only one change of clothes. Didn't even bother to bring clothes for an overnight stay.

Even my footwear was not flashy. Whatever slippers I had on in my Sta. Mesa, Manila residence was the same pair I used all throughout this endeavor. 

I had to make sure that I would blend with the background -- as if I was a typhoon survivor myself.

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Gonz, his son, Iggy, and I met in the airport early the next day (November 12). Gonz was obviously not feeling well, and asked for my apology that he couldn't come along. Instead, Iggy was to come with me in his place. 

And the kid was armed to the teeth with this massive knapsack and accompanying water canteen.

Okaaaayyy...I now have a teenager with this giant of a bag coming with me on this trip. I could only imagine what will go through the minds of potential thieves when they see Iggy's bag -- "Jackpot!"

I asked Iggy if he was already briefed by his dad on what he was to see when we got to Tacloban. The kid vigorously nodded with enthusiasm. "This is going to be one big adventure!" he declared.

Adventure, huh, I thought to myself. Let's see how enthusiastic you will still be when you start seeing dead people. And when thieves run away with your knapsack.

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It was disconcerting that commercial flights to Tacloban were opened only that day but were already filled with passengers. There were also no flights going straight to Tacloban; the best route was via Cebu, and the schedules were difficult to fix given our limited time. Thus, we settled for two Business Class tickets to Cebu (Yup, those were the only ones available that time; thank God for money trickling in from concerned high school batchmates). Then we had to stay overnight in Cebu before riding the plane to Tacloban. We also got tickets for our return trip (still via Cebu), complete with tickets for my mom and daughter. The return trip also entailed for us to stay overnight in Cebu so my family can rest first after the harrowing events of days before.

A little later that day, Iggy and I were already on the plane to Cebu.

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Iggy and I stocked up on supplies for the Tacloban trip in SM Cebu, and since it was Iggy's first time to get to Cebu as a grownup, I gave in to his request for us to have a short tour of the city. We got ourselves billeted into a nice inn near the airport, then early the next day we were on the plane to Tacloban City -- or what was left of it.

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In what was left of the Daniel Z. Romualdez Airport (From 

personal photo archive)

The plane hasn't alighted yet but from the air, I could clearly see the damage brought about by ST Yolanda's fury on the Tacloban coastline. When airplane wheels made contact with the ground, the damage was even more telling. Fronds on coconut trees were frozen pointing toward one direction. Vegetation was flattened as if a giant sat on it.

Then the Daniel Z. Romualdez Airport came into sight.

I left this airport a week ago looking quite portly. I returned after more than a week and the building was transformed into a gnarled mess of sheets, metal, and concrete slabs.

And the waterworks began.

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It was bad enough that the airport looked like some unseen hand pounded on it relentlessly. 

The people milling around it looked just as devastated. They had that blank, dark look in their eyes, and they did not seem as if they actually were going in one direction at all.

If there was a sight to describe the word, "chaos," then that scene at the airport was it.

The only ones at the airport with an apparent purpose in their gestures were the foreign media stationed there. I approached one of them hunched over some communication equipment in the hope that he could point me toward the station of the local Reuters crew who, according to their Philippine bureau chief who was a friend of mine, had a vehicle. When he stood up to reply, I saw the embroidered patch on his vest. It said, BBC. The hulking man answered in beautiful-sounding British English that he wasn't sure where the local crew went as most of the media with vehicles were busy scouring the countryside for news. Heck, I was no longer listening to his answer -- I was too awestruck listening to his British accent.

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Signs of the times on the long road to Housing. (From 

personal photo archive)

Seeing that looking for the Reuters team was futile, Iggy and I decided to just start our trek to the Housing area on foot. However, by some stroke of luck, our trip to Housing was made easier after we managed to hitch a ride on a Tamaraw vehicle owned by a Baptist church in the Fatima Village area. The driver wanted to drive us straight to Housing, but he had an extended family of survivors from hard-hit San Jose to transport elsewhere. Thus, we got down in the Rotonda area near the Coca Cola Bottling Plant in Sagkahan which was roughly half of the whole journey to our destination.

A woman with two kids were with us on that ride, and they were also going the same way we were going. I thought to myself that if we kept this woman and her kids with us long enough, there may just be a chance that the driver of a passing vehicle/motorcycle/pedicab may take pity on all of us and give us a ride. After around a kilometer or two of walking and hailing vehicles, we got successful and managed to get a ride on a motorcycle-cab all the way to Housing -- for the steep price of P500. We went down and let the woman and her kids go on for the rest of the motorcab ride, and I braced myself for the worst.

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The tall house with orange and white paint in the background

was where my family took refuge at the height of the storm. 

Note the lack of eaves under its roof. That was where everyone

in that house climbed to avoid the rising floodwater. (From 

personal photo archive)

Before going to where my family evacuated in nearby Housing Mountainside, I told Iggy to come with me first to see what was left of our rented bungalow in Housing Seaside.

It just tore my heart to see familiar surroundings ripped apart just like that.

I walked through our street, tears running down my cheeks unabated, as I saw houses torn from their foundations, cars piled on top of the other, fallen trees obstructing the road, and other scenes of destruction. The stench of death was not as bad here as when our Tamaraw vehicle passed by the San Jose area earlier, so I was hoping that there were not as many deaths that occurred in the neighborhood.

When I got to the vicinity of our house, I immediately saw our neighbors who shared their house with my family during the time Yolanda struck. I ran to them, hugged them, and gave them a teary greeting and expression of thanks for saving my family from the storm surge. As usual, they were forever the gracious neighbors who told me not to thank them but to thank the One Up There instead.

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Mano Ely, one of our wonderful neighbors, offered to bring Iggy and me around the subdivision before accompanying us to where my family was situated in the other subdivision. He related to us how the waters reached up to the second floor of their house, and how they were forced to destroy the ceiling so that they could avoid the fast-rising floodwater. He also named other neighbors whose lives were snuffed out by Yolanda. Residents of the white house on the other corner of our very own block were trapped inside and eventually drowned when the waters engulfed their home. The wife of another neighbor was just too weak to climb to the roof and eventually submitted herself to the raging waters. Another family in our neighborhood who, like my family, consisted of three generations of females (grandmother, mom, and a two-year old daughter), also succumbed to the flood. All of them lived in bungalows just like our residence. If my family did not heed my instruction to evacuate to Mano Ely's relatives' place with a second floor, Lord knows what kind of fate could have befallen them.

What remained of the bungalow my family lived in for many 

years. (From personal photo archive)

Of course, I had to see what was left of our place, hoping against hope that I may just be able to salvage some belongings before Iggy and I continued to my family's location.

The gate, notwithstanding how flimsy, was still standing, although bent.

But the house...I could hardly believe that my family used to live there.

There was just so much debris in the yard.

The electric post situated in front of the house was now on top of it.

A coconut tree decided to join the fray and also landed right smack on the house.

Much as I wanted to attempt going in, Mano Ely advised me against it because the weight on top was very unstable and could cave in at any moment. Plus, there was also the  risk of snakes finding refuge inside the house.

I could only stand there and say goodbye to a lifetime's worth of possessions and memories gone to waste after only three to five hours' battering by Yolanda.

After saying a little prayer for those among our neighbors who fell victim to the scourge of Yolanda, Iggy, Mano Ely, and I set on for the short trip to the next subdivision to reunite with my family.

(To be continued)

Countdown to Yolanda: Knowing

(Continuation from Countdown to Yolanda: Not Knowing)

It was a Friday when Yolanda hit the province of Leyte. As early as Thursday, I haven't been sleeping right.

By Sunday morning, I was still glued to my tablet, hoping for any news surrounding my family's whereabouts. Suddenly, my mobile phone rang.

"Hello? Hello?" said an anxious voice on the other line.

"Yes, hello?" I answered.

"Hi Ma'am Dinky ini (Is this Ma'am Dinky)?"

"Yes," I said. Since this caller used the waray term "ini" and referred to me as "Ma'am," I deduced that this was one of my former UP Tacloban students. My heart started beating fast. This time, I replied to her in Waray: "Hin-o ini (Who's this)?"

I haven't even finished my sentence when the young voice on the other end whooped in elation.

"Ma'am," she said excitedly. "Ma'am, ayaw na kabaraka ha imo pamilya! Hi Frances ini, aadto yana tim pamilya ha amon balay. Safe hira! (Ma'am, you no longer need to worry about your family. This is Frances, your family is now at our home. They're safe!)"

With the words, "Safe hira," my knees gave in and, in the quiet of my room, I cried like a banshee on amphetamines.

Then I had the soundest sleep I ever had in ages.

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According to my former student, Frances, she only managed to get in touch with me after two days when she found out earlier that day that a satellite telecommunications station was set up about a kilometer away from their area in Housing Mountainside (sister subdivision of Housing Seaside). The poor kid braved the long and treacherous walk to the station, sometimes going over scattered debris and scattered corpses just to make important calls and to recharge her dead mobile phone.

By late afternoon of the same day, Frances made another trip to the satellite station, this time with my daughter, Ingrid.

As soon as I heard my daughter on the line, I just broke down again. I was so anxious to find out from her how they survived the storm, how she and her grandma ended up at Frances' place, what their current situation was, etc.

To all this, Ingrid answered in a listless tone: "Mama, the house is no more. We weren't able to save anything. We're with Ate Frances, but they are also planning on leaving for Samar. Lola (Grandma) has no more medicines. When will you get us?"

Holy crap, I said to myself. My daughter has just turned into a zombie from the trauma of surviving Yolanda.

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After the jubilation of finally hearing from my daughter and finding out that she and her Lola were fine, I immediately worked on finding a way to get them out of Tacloban.

I had several challenges to consider for this endeavor:

- My mother is already 82 years old and is too weak to travel by foot -- and travelling by foot is the only means to go to the airport since most transportation in Tacloban City was destroyed by the storm surge. Add to that, the debris that is rendering several roads unpassable.

- Funds were running low already, especially since I just came from a vacation to the area a week before Yolanda.

- Even if I did have the funds, the city was still mired in anarchy. Reports of rampant looting and thievery were all over the news. Even those arriving from the airport to bring needed relief goods to their respective families were said to not have been spared from thieves among the desperate survivors. I was afraid that I might only end up a victim myself if I made that trek to Tacloban for my family.

I tried looking for someone who could get my family on my behalf, someone already on the ground who can assist my family in getting to the airport so they could hop into one of the C-130 planes shuttling people and goods to Manila for free.

There was none.

And I still was short on funds.

Then, a miracle came in the form of my high school batch's alumni president.

A doable but risky rescue mission was finally hatched.

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Gonz (short for Ronald GONZales), has always been a doer. In fact, if not for him and his effective leadership, our recent alumni homecoming wouldn't be a rousing success.

His can-do capability once again came to the fore when I was desperate to get my family to Manila.

He got in touch with me with the sole intention of coming to my aid on behalf of the batch. We tried options that did not involve us having to go to Tacloban for my family. 

When we exhausted all venues, he came up with a last resort -- he and his son will go to Tacloban to search for my family and get them to Manila.

I was dumbstruck. Here were total strangers to the vast expanse of Tacloban which was now made even worse by the devastation and the anarchy, who were suggesting that they go there themselves to fetch my family.

Dammit, if they were not afraid to fight their way to Tacloban for my own family, then I had no reason not to join them.

As soon as the plan was hatched, we wasted no time in making the necessary preparations.

Yes, we were flying to Tacloban City the next day.

Just like that.

(To be continued)

Photo credit: Google Images