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.
----------
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.
----------
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.
----------
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.
----------
 |
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.
----------
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.
----------
 |
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.
----------
 |
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)
|
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.
----------
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)
|
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)
No comments:
Post a Comment