It was a clear and sunny day when I received a text message from Peace Corps instructing me to evacuate my barangay of Tangalan and consolidate with four other volunteers in the neighboring town of Kalibo. I had heard news of something called a "super typhoon" that was on its way to the Philippines and was given information from Peace Corps about its projected strength and arrival date, but took none of it too seriously. I leisurely finished my lunch, threw a few random items into a backpack, sent a couple of joking texts to friends back in the states about the nerve of Yolanda to interrupt my weekend plans, and strolled my way to catch the next jeepney to Kalibo. I didn't even bother to pack my passport, but luckily my site mate convinced me to go back and get it...just in case. We met up with three other volunteers in Kalibo and stayed at a hotel. We spent that first day walking around the town and making jokes about how anticlimactic we thought the storm would be. We were told that the typhoon would hit us around three in the afternoon that next day, but it was actually a few hours early. We went out to a bar the night before and made friends with tourists visiting from Germany; we again made jokes about how weak we anticipated Yolanda to be. I feel so stupid looking back on the jovial attitude I had.
Yolanda arrived around one in the afternoon on November 8. We were fascinated by the circular rotation of the clouds and decided to stand on the balcony to watch it come in for the first half hour. I had never been in any such situation before and was amazed by Mother Nature in all her glory. We didn't stay outside for too long, though, because soon the winds became so strong that tin roofs were being torn off of their homes and into the sky. Debris began to fly into the room but we kept the windows open so that they wouldn't bust. We watched as things gradually got worse. We watched as the bus terminal that was next to our hotel crumbled. We watched as power lines fell and became tangled with one another. We watched as the streets began to flood. We watched as nipa huts fell apart and to the ground. We watched as Kalibo became a whole new place right before our eyes. At first we stood at the windows, taking pictures and videos in awe, but quickly became scared and sad at the destruction occurring in our midst. I felt powerless, weak, and very small.
It's amazing what the forces of nature can claim in such a small window of time. We experienced the storm in its fullest capacity for only an hour or so. Then, it was gone. The winds continued to blow and the rain remained, but nothing compared to when it was directly over us. Our rooms were flooded because the winds blew the rain in through the open windows. We lost power and cell phone reception. Everyone was in shock. The most unnerving aspect to me was that Filipinos were scared, which meant that it had to have been bad.
When cell reception finally did return, we were instructed by Peace Corps to travel to Roxas City, a town about three hours from Kalibo, to meet up with four other volunteers who were consolidated there. This order came after we informed them that we were being asked to leave our hotel because of safety concerns. The most inspiring thing about Filipinos is how resilient they are; not twenty-four hours had passed since the storm and they were already in reconstruction mode. This characteristic made it possible for us to take a multicab to Roxas. The ride there was quite emotional. People stood outside what was once their homes, but had now been leveled, torn apart, or had collapsed trees on top of them. All vegetation that had covered the mountains was gone. It looked as though a bomb had gone off. The trip should have taken three hours, but ended up taking about five because of bad road conditions. Roxas City was not any better than Kalibo. Upon arrival, we were forced to try out several different methods to get to our destination because of the fallen and tangled power lines that
occupied the streets. When we finally did reach the other volunteers, we immediately began to
exchange stories of what we had just witnessed. No one had imagined that things would have been as bad as they were.
Roxas City was also without power and water. We went to a supermarket and stocked up on gallon water jugs, which was a challenge since everyone else was doing the same thing. One day, a fellow volunteer, Meg, and I decided to walk around the town and observe the damage more closely. We approached a house that looked as though half of it had been stomped on by a giant. I wanted to get a better look and went up closer so that I could see inside. A young girl then walked up to Meg and stood next to her. Meg asked her how old she was and she replied that she was eight. She was quiet for a moment and then pointed at the house and said that it was her home. Meg and I exchanged glances and tried not to cry; it didn't seem like we had any right to. I had no words so I instead made my way into the demolished house and grabbed a Garfield stuffed animal that I had noticed through the broken window. I asked the girl if she wanted it and she said yes. I felt so helpless. What can you say to a child who has just lost her home, the town she lives in, and possibly family members? I don't think you really can. I think that all you can do is give hope, which in this case was in the form of a Garfield stuffed animal.
We stayed in Roxas City for three days until we were told by Peace Corps to fly to Manila. We had no money left at this point because all ATM machines were down. Peace Corps tried to wire us money through Western Union, but that didn't work because all their available money had become exhausted. Thank goodness that a volunteer's mother had sent her money a few days prior to the storm in anticipation of something like that happening. We were able to purchase bus fares with that money to get to Ilioilio, a town four hours away with the only functioning airport. Ilioilio had miraculously not been touched by the storm. It's strange, but there were small pockets throughout the Visayas that were not affected by Yolanda. It was even stranger to make the drive from a town that
was unrecognizable, to a town that was in pristine condition. As we drove, the scenery changed from
that of uprooted trees and smushed homes, to beautiful rice fields and operating sari saris.
Our group was the second to arrive in Manila, preceded by those who had been airlifted out of Tacloban. One emotion that I noticed to be consistent among all volunteers was confusion. How did this happen? Why did this happen? Are our host families, co-workers, friends, and students alive? What are we going to do now? Where do I go from here? Did this actually just happen?
Peace Corps gave all of those in batch 272 the same choices, which were to declare either administrative hold or interrupted service. Administrative hold meant going back to the states for at least 45 days until either our original site became viable for us again, or a new site was picked in the instance that our prior site would not be ready in time. Interrupted service meant either ending service all together, or ending service in the Philippines and choosing another country. Everyone, however, had to choose administrative hold in the meantime and could choose interrupted service once back at home.
It was a hard choice to make, but I chose to return to my work in the Philippines. Anyone who knows me knows the love I have for Uganda and how tempting it was to choose that as my country of service. But, I believe everything happens for a reason and that I am meant to be here. At this moment, I'm not quite sure why I am here, but I do believe that it will transpire in time. Until then, I will continue being the best volunteer I can be, stand underneath some water falls, make waves in the ocean, and drink lots of buko juice (not from a street vendor, siempre).
I will never be able to erase the startling images I saw of Yolanda's destruction, but maybe that's a
good thing. I can guarantee that I will never take my home or loved ones for granted ever again. I will say "I love you" and "I'm sorry." And, I will tell others of the resiliency and water resistant spirit of the Filipinos; I should know, I saw firsthand. The reconstruction process will take years and people will eventually forget what happened to the Philippines on November 8, 2013, but I will not. This country and its people, like so many other countries and people, have claimed a piece of my heart. That is another reason why I returned.
