That Friday

November 8, Friday.  I was in Cebu City the day that Typhoon Yolanda came.  I was in my sister’s house baby sitting my 7-year old niece.  I had brought my mother from her hill-top house to stay and weather the storm with us.

The morning started out with a light drizzle.  The sky was grey and did not have a hint of what was to come. By mid-morning, the rain was coming down in sheets and the wind was blowing hard—enough to bend the bamboo lining my sister’s fence almost halfway to the ground. Every now and then my mother would get up from the book she was reading and pace the floor.   My niece and I kept ourselves busy creating a diorama of a family inside a house out of a shoe box. At one point as the wind howled outside, she exclaimed, “I’m too young to die.” 

I assured her that no such harm will come to her and shifted her attention back to our project.   By lunchtime, the wind had died down and an eerie calm settled around. We had come through with hardly any damage to the house.  But what about the rest?

With electricity and phone line cut off and my celphone battery running on low,  I started texting my siblings and my daughter that we were alright.  With no contact with the outside world, we settled in for the night. I was confident that everything would be put to right the next day. 

We woke up to see a weak sun trying to break through grey clouds.   

Leaves littered the outside and there still was no electricity.  With still no news about the extent of the damage caused by the typhoon, we happily left the house for the airport to pick-up my sister. My niece was happy and relieved that her mother was finally coming home.  My mother was happy with the thought of returning back to her house.  Everything seemed right in our little world.

How very wrong we were.  Upon reaching my mother’s house, her house helpers asked permission to leave.  They live in the northern part of Cebu which was also in the path of the typhoon.  They had received text messages that the roofs of their homes were blown off.  Without hesitation, my mother let them go.  As fate would have it, I had postponed my departure and would be around to keep my mother company.

With electricity restored by late afternoon, we started to receive heart-wrenching news on teevee about the terrible damage caused to life and property.  What made matters even worse was the fact that my mother could not reach any of her brothers or sisters in Leyte.  All communication lines were down.I tried to console my mother by telling her "No news, is good news". 

By Sunday, my mother was able to get sketchy news from some relatives and friends who had managed to return back to Cebu from Ormoc, Leyte. So far, our relatives were alright but extensive damage had been caused to their homes and farms. 

What used to be miles and miles of coconut trees, now just poles sticking up in the air (pic courtesy of RC)

I have since returned back to my own home in Manila.  Everything is exactly as how I left it.  But I feel that I am not the same person.   I am now bothered by the thought that although I have given assistance,  it is not enough. And even if I continue to do so, it will never be enough.