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Surviving Haiyan: The World's Strongest Megastorm

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SURVIVING HAIYAN

Garret Salvacion

 

THE DAY BEFORE HAIYAN

 

We had known that a Super Typhoon was going to hit us, and so we prepared for the worst.  My parents secured the roof of our house, cut down the huge branches of the nearby trees, and prepared a bag full of clothes, flashlights, and canned goods.  Because my parents work for the San Joaquin parish church and are close friends of the parish priest, Fr. Kelvin Apurillo, the latter invited us to stay in the church's rectory since it was more durable than our house. However, we had to decline the invitation as we had to assist my aunt in taking care of my 85-year old grandmother who both lived in our ancestral house which was located just across our home. My Mother had instructed me that very night to stay at my Grandma's place for the night and they would just follow the next day.

 

THE DAY OF HAIYAN

 

I woke up at 5:30AM that day--I don't usually wake up at this time of the day--but I did. My aunt was already preparing breakfast and my parents had just arrived to stay with us. So far, the wind was already gaining power but still bearable and the visibility was still okay. At 6AM, we had breakfast; my parents and my aunt were having a conversation about the Senate Hearing of the Pork Barrel Scam and Napoles which was held the day before. After some coffee and sandwich, we went to the living room and observed through the window how the storm was progressing. It was getting more powerful, the winds were getting stronger and the visibility was getting dimmer. A few minutes later, the strength of the wind had already blown away our roof, rainwater was already leaking from the sides of the house. The living room was no longer safe; the ceiling might collapse any minute so my aunt suggested that we should stay in the bedchamber at the back since it was the most durable part of the house. Yes, it was. The room had protected us from the wind and the rain but it wasn't enough to protect us from what was about to come.

 

At 7AM, my Father received a text message from his brother that Yolanda(Haiyan) wasn't just a Super Typhoon, but a Cyclone, with a speed of 350km/hr., the most powerful storm ever recorded, he desperately warned us to leave but it was too late. That very moment, we heard an explosion- like sound from afar. At first, we thought that the concrete fence of our neighbor had collapsed due to the storm. The power of the storm's wind was already at its peak and the visibility outside was almost zero so we were guessing what we had heard was, and we guessed wrong.

 

A few minutes later, my father was trying to close the window that was blown open by the wind when he saw that a strong gush of water was already rising outside, it wasn't even a minute later that dark colored water started leaking from the closed doors. It was only then that we realized that it was already the feared storm surge of Yolanda. It only took seconds for the water to fill the room and the next thing that happened was like a blur.

 

I entered into some sort of a blank state, I was not panicking, and I was not feeling fear, not even the fear of death during that time. The only thing that was running in my mind was, "Am I going to live through this? And if not, have I lived the best of my life and end it today?" I watched as my father and aunt swam and brought my mother and my grandma across the room, into a more spacious area of the house. I couldn't help them because I could not swim, so I just stayed in one corner of the room, holding on to something to keep me from sinking, doing my best not to get in their way. When both my grandma and mother had been brought to the next room, it was only then that my father took me. The water was rapidly rising and we were trapped in the confinement of our house.  My father and aunt searched for anything concrete they could pile up so that the three of us who could not swim could step on something. Luckily, inside that room where we transferred was the room where there was an opening that lead to the ceiling. While the water had still left us a head length of space before it could have completely drowned us, I climbed to that opening while my grandma and mother were holding on to my clothes. The roof was long gone so the opening lead directly to the open sky now conquered by the monstrous storm. For the 2 tries that I did to lift myself out I was almost hit by flying debris at both chances, so I had to duck inside again. But still, I had to keep trying to get out in case the water kept rising. And while everything was happening, my Father kept singing "Our Father" and "The Hymn of Apoy Joaquin" to cheer us up, to keep our faith and hopes up. And like an answered prayer, the water started to subside. My Father told me then to stop what I was doing. He said that the worst part had ended and all we had to do now was to conserve our strength and wait. The strength of the storm was still at its excruciating phase but the water inside the room was continuously subsiding.  The most dangerous place for us a few minutes ago now transformed into the safest place for us to stay until the storm ended.

 

When the water had finally subsided and we could finally stand on the floor, we realized that there were three people that were hanging against the window of the room where we previously stay before the water filled in. It turned out that those 3 people were my cousin, her daughter, and the wife of our town's barber. According to their stories, at the time of the storm surge they were washed away by the water. The three of them were with their respective families but were separated by the strength of waves. And then a more horrifying news: my cousin informed us that her two youngest children had drowned. At 12NN, the water was gone, the wind was weakening, and the world around us was starting to get more visible. It was terrifying; the sight that welcomed us was no longer the sight of the town that we used to know. The beautiful town of San Joaquin was now like a scene in a doomsday movie. But despite that, at some point we were thankful for a lot of things. When the storm was nearing its end, some of our relative and friends started gathering, they were washed away during the storm surge but they made it. It was the barber that emerged first, and his wife was so thankful that he'd made it. Her two sisters had made it as well, and a few minutes later, the barber's brother and my mother's cousin had arrived as well. Things were somehow starting to feel lighter now that we were finding out that they were alive and fine. However, we also knew that the real challenge after surviving this storm was just about to come and it would be the harder part.

 

At 2PM, the storm had officially ended. The first thing that my father did was to check on the status of my younger brother, a seminarian, who was staying in the seminary. For the rest of us who stayed, we tried to replenish our strength, we ate some of the food that we had managed to salvage inside the house while trying to figure out what were we going to do next. When my father returned, he delivered to us the great news that my younger brother was fine.  My father also assured my brother that we were fine as well. He had also suggested that we needed to go to a safer place, so we decided to transfer to Fr. Kelvin's place in the church's rectory. I reached the church first where I found out that bodies of the victims of the storm were being brought. Fr. Kelvin was glad to see me and was gladder at the fact that all of us had made it. When he asked where my family was, I told him that they were on their way. But suddenly someone shouted "Water! Water!" This caused people to panic, thinking that a flood was on its way. They all rushed climbing to higher grounds like the roof or the 2nd floors of two-storey houses to secure themselves. I went to the second floor of the Rectory along with the crowds, but I was worried sick about my family. After a few minutes of waiting of that arriving flood, it turned out to be a false alarm. When my father arrived at the rectory, he informed me that the rest of our family had taken shelter inside the unfinished mansion of a wealthy family in our town and mother wanted me to be with them. I followed them, and we spent our first night after the storm in that place.

 

THE AFTERMATH DAY 1

The next day, we finally made it to the rectory where Fr. Kelvin had welcomed us with open arms. We also finally met my paternal grandmother and my father's little sister who had also taken shelter in the rectory.  We spent the first day after the typhoon cleaning the rectory, making it a more comfortable place to stay. I kept on returning to our ruined home, despite my Mother disapproval, as I was trying to retrieve clothes, candles, slippers, and food, anything that would help us survive. That day, we waited for the help that the government and the President of the Philippines had promised us that would arrive immediately after the storm had ended, but it never happened. Only then did we fully realize the severity of our situation. Electricity, transportation, and all sorts of communication had been cut off. Leyte was completely isolated from the rest of the Philippines. Literally, we were on our own.

 

THE AFTERMATH DAY 2

 

My younger brother arrived from the seminary, he said that my father's assurance alone were not enough to give him peace of mind about our safety, so he decided to come home. Now, whatever might happen to us in this quest for survival, we were together and that was more than enough.

 

However, that day, too, retrieved bodies of those who died during Yolanda were rapidly piling up in front of the Church that our Parish Priest and Barangay Captain had decided to open a mass grave for them. They needed volunteers to list down the names of the departed who would be buried inside the mass grave as well as those who were still in the missing status. They said that they needed someone with medical background, so I volunteered myself. In front of the church, just a few steps away from the pile of dead bodies, I made my post. People started to gather around me, informing me of names of their loved ones who they wanted to be buried in the mass grave.  At that moment, I couldn't believe that I was doing it. It was horrifying listing down the names of people who had been part of my life, knowing that sooner we were going to bury them in a huge hole without even a proper burial. I said to myself that no human being should deserve this but we had no options.  The bodies were decaying and it was dangerous to the health of the remaining survivors living near the church including me and my family.

While I was making that list, the men from the families of the victims started digging the mass grave but their manpower was insufficient. Hunger and trauma were still clinging on them like leeches.  The sun had set down but they barely dug a foot. Fr. Kelvin proposed to call it a day and resume it tomorrow.

 

Assistance from the Government: Zero

THE AFTERMATH DAY 3

Our barangay captain went to Palo to ask for assistance for the digging of the mass grave. The mayor approved to lend us the backhoe but the problem was diesel.  Gasoline was unavailable due to the typhoon, so we needed to ransack all the destroyed cars in our town to retrieve diesel for the backhoe. At about 11AM, the backhoe arrived and dug three 7 feet hole for the mass grave. At 2PM, they left for Palo after the digging of the grave was completed, with a promise to return to fill the holes up. Fr. Kelvin and my brother blessed the graves and the departed ones for the mass burial. I was there, double checking if the ones listed were buried in the grave. But most of all, I was there witnessing how the survivors laid their loved ones in their final resting places. At almost 5PM, all the bodies were placed in the mass grave but the backhoe had not returned yet so the graves were left open.

 

Later that night after the Mass Burial, I could not sleep; the images of that day's events were haunting me. My parents couldn't sleep as well, due to the typhoon, and also because they were worried that rainwater was pouring into and filling the mass grave. Whenever we peeked through the window, we could see the lights of motorcycles stopping in front of the mass grave and hear splashes of water from the grave. It was then that we realized that some people from other towns were coming to San Joaquin after they had heard the news that we had a mass grave in order to remove the dead bodies from their towns. They just threw the unidentified corpses into San Joaquin’s mass grave.

 

Assistance from the Government: Zero

THE AFTERMATH DAY 4

 

The backhoe returned but only managed to fill one out of the three graves due to the shortage of diesel. And on that day too, reports of crimes like rape, robbery, and murder from Tacloban and other towns near San Joaquin were adding fear in the hearts of my families and my fellow San Joaquinhon. Many of them had already ventured into leaving Leyte for Manila and Cebu through Bus Trips and the free flight from the C-130 in Tacloban. Though it was risky, they said that it was better than staying here and die from crimes and hunger. My aunt also wanted to leave because the health of my grandmother was deteriorating; my father also wanted his mother and his sister to leave for either Cebu or Manila because both of them were injured during the typhoon which required hospital assistance. So even though it was unbearable to leave Leyte, we needed to prioritize the health of our loved ones, they needed help which was obviously unavailable in our current situation.

 

Assistance from the Government: Zero

 

THE AFTERMATH DAY 5

 

At 5AM, my Father went to Tacloban to buy plane tickets for Manila but there were thousands of people there trying to get out of Leyte that it was next to impossible for us to have a flight that day, so we resorted to taking the bus. We waited for hours alongside the road for any bus that was going to Manila. Many of them no longer accepted passengers since it was beyond their seating capacity. One bus agreed to let us ride but we needed to stand throughout the trip. We were doubtful because my 85 year old Grandmother was with us but she still urged us to take this ride because one might not arrive in another long wait. Thankfully, during the trip a goodhearted man gave his seat to my grandmother saving her from stress of standing throughout this long trip out of Leyte.

 

But the problem was not yet over; the roads in Tacloban were chaotic. Vehicles that were trying to leave Leyte clogged in the roads, people looting for gasoline, food, and any other necessities were rampant everywhere. And while we were on our way to San Juanico Bridge, we heard gunshots. It was the military that had engaged in an encounter against some NPA that were trying to steal supplies in Tacloban.

 

It was already 10PM when the bus reached the pier at Samar and it took us 2 hours of waiting before we could ride the ferry. At 12MN, we left Samar for Sorsogon, and at 1:45AM, our bus trip for Manila resumed.

 

THE AFTERMATH DAY 6

 

9AM, exactly 24 hours since we left Leyte, the tire of the bus exploded, stranding us in Camarines. We all decided to take another bus that was destined to Manila. Fortunately, one from Naga made a stop for us for another ride. 10PM, we reached Manila. After 38 hours of travel, we finally reached our destination.

:bulletred:This is my story and the story of my fellow Leyteño, on how we survived Haiyan(Yolanda), the World's Strongest Megastorm.
© 2014 - 2024 Marzarret
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