Super Typhoon Yolanda
By Arman C. Muleem
December 1, 2013
An Account of the Travails of a Three-Man WFA PAPI Team who braved the devastated land of Tacloban and Giporlos and Guiuan in Eastern Samar
The three agreed to travel together to Eastern Samar. Evelyn and Dale waited for Arman in Tacloban. He had to buy some items in Manila, including their food. There was nothing to buy in Tacloban. Arman is Executive Vice President of a loose, consultative group we have organized, CoWFA or Confederation of Worldwide Filipinos and their Associations.
This is our website: www.worldwidefilipinoalliance.com. This is the heart-rending and very humane account of their travails in Eastern Samar and Tacloban, where they were joined by a Valkerie, Ana, from Germany.]
Tacloban
From the air looking out of the window of the PAL Express that was 30-minutes behind schedule, Tacloban Airport (or what used to be) looked more like a picture of a bombed out structure from an old war movie. As we walked from the plane towards the arrival area, the sense of gloom was unmistakable. A couple of US Air Force C-130s had just unloaded tons of USAID-marked crates, while another cargo plane from Australia was waiting for its turn to unload its cargo.
At the baggage claim area, airport and military personnel deserved commendation for maintaining order in an otherwise primitive situation when everything had to be done without machine and technological support
Dale Asis (Executive Director of the Chicago-based Bayanihan Foundation), Evelyn Lo-Castillo (Medical Action Group) and Ana Hastreiter (a senior medical student from Munich, Germany) were already waiting in a red van in the parking area. Less than a kilometer from the airport, our nostrils were greeted by a kind of stench that defies description. Somehow, we gathered enough will-power not to puke. A few body-bags have yet to be picked-up beside the mounds of debris but we think the offensive odour came from the unrecovered (human and animal) bodies underneath the piles of concrete, steel, wood and garbage that the DPWH working round-the-clock have not yet cleared up.
It seemed that the whole city, looking like a bigger version of Payatas dump site and scene of fierce armoured battle, had become immune to the permeating stench that the people just ignored it. Not far from the San Juanico bridge, a camel fart would smell heavenly!
The bridge, an engineering marvel, was hardly damaged a welcome relief from the unimaginable destruction that was Tacloban. We took some photos. For the first time, Ana showed her playful mood as she gamely posed for pictures.
Immediately after crossing San Juanico, we were back to reality: Coconut palms, all kind of trees, and electric posts were uprooted; houses and buildings without roofs and walls, many were toppled to the ground while others were simply blown away Devastation with a big D.
Tabang and Help Us were scrawled on cardboards and cartons nailed on posts. A resilient people, some enterprising Samarnons put up Gasoline for Sale signs in make-shift huts lined with liquid-filled Coke Litro. Ana was aghast when she learned that people were selling fuel in Coke bottles!
The sight of almost-wiped-out coastal communities numbs the senses; in beach resorts, cars and vans were piled one on top of the other. Our companion pointed to the caves where more than a thousand people took shelter, sharing the cavernous haven with snakes and reptiles who were hospitable enough to welcome all comers. The people survived the tempest; their homes did not. More depressing scenes, too many to mention, kept our eyes and mouths wide open...minds wondering, asking How could a people so peaceful, God-fearing and industrious be subjected to a trial/test of such proportion? What have they done that Mother Nature found it necessary to punish them?
Giporlos-Eastern Samar
It was dusk when we reached Giporlos, Eastern Samar. The volunteer doctors of the Medical Action Group (MAG) were joined by Ana and Evelyns nephews and nieces in unloading and sorting the medicines to be used in the medical mission the following day. By 10 p.m. when the electric generator ran out of fuel, we called it a day. Except for Dale who slept soundly (literally), the rest of the group remained listless. Images of the massive destruction kept me awake but for an hour or two.
A beautiful rainbow greeted us in the morning. Sound sleeper Dale was ecstatic at the sight and took pictures. He also was the first to visit the washed-out port where fishermen unloaded their catch to be sold in the nearby fish market which was also washed-out by Yolanda. Taking a short walk, it didnt take long for me to feel the fear that the Giporlons felt when the feisty lady wrought her fury: The court and grandstand in front of the Municipal Hall (windows broken), was a shamble of steel and concrete; a giant tree fell on the fire stations building, an ambulance parked beside it was damaged beyond repair; and the cross atop the Catholic church bended like it was ready to fall, with a few worshippers hearing early morning mass inside an almost roofless structure.
Joining the gang for breakfast in the house of Evelyns sister-in-law, the days activities were planned: The medical mission would be conducted in front of the parish priests residence beside the church; clerical support to be provided by young volunteers; Ana to take and note the blood pressure and temperature; and the doctors treating the patients and dispensing the medicines.
The volunteers worked non-stop with nary a break for biscuits and mineral water. After treating the last of some 300 patients, the group packed-up. Hungry and tired but happy for being able to help and serve, the group decided to have lunch. The time: 4 oclock p.m.
Stretching the legs and shutting the eyes for much needed rest, the volunteers were up on their feet by 6 p.m. for the next mission: Guiuan, a progressive but badly-damaged town more than a hundred kilometres to the east. Evelyn, Dale and Ana went with the team while I stayed behind for lack of space in the van. The plan was for the three to accompany the doctors, unload the medical stuff and come back to Giporlos. The doctors would then proceed to an island barangay in the morning. We (Evelyns young relatives and me) waited until almost midnight for the trio to come back. They did early the following morning. The military authorities did not allow them to travel during the night. Too dangerous, they were told.
The meeting with Mark Biong, the youthful mayor of Giporlos lasted for only a few minutes. After introducing the barangay chairmen, he left to continue overseeing the unloading of relief goods donated by the people of Bulacan. It was not easy to determine where the goods came from. Unlike the Ejercitos and the Binays, there was no tarp to announce the source, just a simple label: From Bulacan.
Seated at the head of the table, Evelyn introduced us one by one starting with Dale, Ana and myself. She then presided over the meeting in their native Waray dialect interspersed with English for the benefit of us non-Warays. She then gave me the floor to explain my proposal on behalf of WFA-PAPI. Using the boat-for-livelihood as example, I explained to them how we intend to help their respective barangays, putting emphasis on the fact that we cannot help them all at the same time, and that the assistance will not be a dole out but a soft loan with a small interest. The idea was to imbue in them a sense of responsibility.
Those from coastal barangays were receptive to the idea; while those from hilly barangays whose main source of income was coconut farming have reservations. The need is for massive replanting of fast growing coconuts. But even the fastest growing coconut varieties will take years to bear fruit. For the region, we can probably recommend the MayPan dwarf, a hybrid of Malayan Dwarf and Panama Tall varieties which could start producing coconuts after 3 years. The problem is where to get them and how to make the people productive while waiting for the trees to bear fruits.
We can recommend inter-cropping coconut trees with pineapple in between, but it will take around 20 months before pineapple can be harvested. Another option is to plant fast-maturing variety of peanuts harvestable after only 4 months. In both instances, the farmers need farm implements and seeds/saplings. A farmer whom I have talked to said he was going to plant sweet potato (camote) which can be harvested after only 2 3 months. Fine, so he can have something to feed his family after 3 months. But would a low cost and low-priced camote sustain a family of 7?
Farmers and fishermen were not the only ones adversely affected by Yolanda. Craftsmen and artisans whose main source of income depended on the availability of electric power were also severely affected they could not work. Marcos A. Gunda, a welder and sole breadwinner of his family, was able to save his welding machine. Before the storm, he has a flourishing business and employed 6 helpers. Nowadays, they live on dole outs. He could not afford the 60k - 80k cost of an electric generator. If only he had one, he would never run out of projects and would need more than 6 helpers to cope with the demand for his welding services.
The following day (Tuesday) Ana the blue-green eyed German beauty had to leave. Under overcast skies, we drove back to Tacloban airport for her flight to Manila where she would have to catch her Emirates flight to Dubai on the way to Munich. The stomach-churning stench was still very much in the air.
Taking advantage of the availability of cell signal, I texted Peng to request flight bookings for Tacloban- Cebu-Iligan and CDO-Manila (for Evelyn and Dale), and Tacloban-Manila for me. We all wanted to leave on Thursday (Nov 28). Tough luck, cost of available seat to Manila was almost double the regular price. PAL was making a killing. I requested Peng to cancel it. I would take the bus even if it takes forever to reach Manila.
Morning of day 4, while waiting for the van that would take us to Guiuan for more sightseeing we visited Evelyns own house. Roofless and windowless, it would need a major repair before it becomes liveable again. She told Dale and me that from the second floor, the wind lifted a refrigerator and a room air conditioner and carried them about 50 meters away.
A local had a fantastic story: At the height of Yolandas fury, a man was snatched while tightly hugging a fallen mango tree, was lifted several feet high and dropped on a grassy field several meters away. There he stayed flat on his stomach, too afraid to raise his head lest he be flown away again. Asked how he felt while flying he said that he was practically unconscious during the episode.
Another guy alleged that Victory island (population: 100+) simply disappeared, the fate of its inhabitants remain unknown. I have no way of verifying this story.
Guiuan-Eastern Samar
On the road to Guiuan, the scene had become all too familiar: Devastation everywhere, houses and buildings big and small were either partly or completely damaged. More than 95% of coconut trees were either uprooted or cut in half.
Those that remain standing had little chance of bearing nuts again, if ever. In Ernani town where a deep-sea fishing boat was marooned, the stench of decaying bodies was unmistakable. In Guiuan, the damages to the big church and the adjoining school were so severe that holding classes was unimaginable. Despite the damages to residential and business establishments, the town was slowly recovering.
Not everything though was gloom and doom. At the Guiuan airport, a C-130 cargo plane had just landed. After unloading its cargo, the military authorities supervised the embarkation of people who were waiting for the planes arrival. I inquired about the procedure. Easy: Just log your name in the logbook then wait for the plane, thats all. After the plane left, another C-130 landed. It opened a new option for me. Instead of taking the bus to Manila, I would try to get into a C-130 the following day! When I told Dale and Evelyn about it, they seemed more worried. What if there was no plane? They dont have a regular schedule. I will take my chances, I insisted.
Back in Giporlos, we resumed the distribution of relief bags in a barangay outside the town proper. The smile on the faces of the typhoons victims was truly heart-warming. Soon after, we went back to the house where I immediately gathered my stuff. A relative of Evelyn contracted a motorcycle driver who would bring me to Guiuan.
The morning air was cold and the heavy cloud was threatening to open up as we traversed the pot-holed road back to Guiuan. Midway, the driver had to stop to relieve himself.
Reaching the airport past 7 a.m., the queue was already long. Still I managed to sign the logbook. About half an hour later, the much-awaited C-130 arrived. After unloading, an officer announced that the plane would be flying to Cebu! Half the people waiting eagerly lined up to get in. (I was almost tempted to join the line and get to Cebu unannounced. How Lotus would react when she opens the door and see me standing there, I wondered). As if following the previous days script, a second cargo plane arrived after the Cebu-bound plane departed. One hour later, we were up in the air bound for Manila.
Upon arrival at Villamor Air Base, we were shuttled by Air Force buses to the grandstand where volunteers gave us survivors a warm welcome! (Me, a survivor!? I decided to get along).
After lunch of rice, chicken adobo and sauted string beans, a pretty lady marshal/volunteer eased her way towards me. Sitting beside me, she began asking questions about the situation in Tacloban, completely unaware that the plane that flew us in came from Guiuan, Eastern Samar. To cut her short, I told her why I went to Tacloban and Samar that I had a mission and that I was not a survivor. She was amazed, gave me her contact number and asked for mine. I made her promise that she would not tell anyone about me and my mission. She promised on the condition that I would one day invite her for lunch or dinner.
About the author:
[*Arman C. Muleem is a pioneer organizer of our advocacy group, the Worldwide Filipino Alliance-Pangdaigdigang Alyansa ng Pilipino, Inc. -- WFA-PAPI -- a Philippine SEC-registered NGO. We have been together since 2007. We are all over the world, in 9 time zones including Africa, Japan, Mainland Southeast Asia, Arabia, Europe, America, Australia, and of course the Heartland.
If we are believers, the Omnipotent created Arman to be a Do Gooder par excellence. He is an icon and a folk hero among the denizens of the Tent City in Jeddah, for one. He had just arrived a few days ago in the Heartland, almost at the same time as our other WFA-PAPI Do Gooder from Chicago, Illinois, Dale Asis. With another of our Do Gooder based in the Homeland, Evelyn Lo Castillo who is from the devastated town of Giporlos, in Eastern Samar.
YOLANDA: TRAVAILS From Tacloban (Leyte) to Guiuan, (Eastern Samar)
By Arman C. Muleem
December 1, 2013
An Account of the Travails of a Three-Man WFA PAPI Team who braved the devastated land of Tacloban and Giporlos and Guiuan in Eastern Samar
The three agreed to travel together to Eastern Samar. Evelyn and Dale waited for Arman in Tacloban. He had to buy some items in Manila, including their food. There was nothing to buy in Tacloban. Arman is Executive Vice President of a loose, consultative group we have organized, CoWFA or Confederation of Worldwide Filipinos and their Associations.
This is our website: www.worldwidefilipinoalliance.com. This is the heart-rending and very humane account of their travails in Eastern Samar and Tacloban, where they were joined by a Valkerie, Ana, from Germany.]
Tacloban
From the air looking out of the window of the PAL Express that was 30-minutes behind schedule, Tacloban Airport (or what used to be) looked more like a picture of a bombed out structure from an old war movie. As we walked from the plane towards the arrival area, the sense of gloom was unmistakable. A couple of US Air Force C-130s had just unloaded tons of USAID-marked crates, while another cargo plane from Australia was waiting for its turn to unload its cargo.
At the baggage claim area, airport and military personnel deserved commendation for maintaining order in an otherwise primitive situation when everything had to be done without machine and technological support
Dale Asis (Executive Director of the Chicago-based Bayanihan Foundation), Evelyn Lo-Castillo (Medical Action Group) and Ana Hastreiter (a senior medical student from Munich, Germany) were already waiting in a red van in the parking area. Less than a kilometer from the airport, our nostrils were greeted by a kind of stench that defies description. Somehow, we gathered enough will-power not to puke. A few body-bags have yet to be picked-up beside the mounds of debris but we think the offensive odour came from the unrecovered (human and animal) bodies underneath the piles of concrete, steel, wood and garbage that the DPWH working round-the-clock have not yet cleared up.
It seemed that the whole city, looking like a bigger version of Payatas dump site and scene of fierce armoured battle, had become immune to the permeating stench that the people just ignored it. Not far from the San Juanico bridge, a camel fart would smell heavenly!
The bridge, an engineering marvel, was hardly damaged a welcome relief from the unimaginable destruction that was Tacloban. We took some photos. For the first time, Ana showed her playful mood as she gamely posed for pictures.
Immediately after crossing San Juanico, we were back to reality: Coconut palms, all kind of trees, and electric posts were uprooted; houses and buildings without roofs and walls, many were toppled to the ground while others were simply blown away Devastation with a big D.
Tabang and Help Us were scrawled on cardboards and cartons nailed on posts. A resilient people, some enterprising Samarnons put up Gasoline for Sale signs in make-shift huts lined with liquid-filled Coke Litro. Ana was aghast when she learned that people were selling fuel in Coke bottles!
The sight of almost-wiped-out coastal communities numbs the senses; in beach resorts, cars and vans were piled one on top of the other. Our companion pointed to the caves where more than a thousand people took shelter, sharing the cavernous haven with snakes and reptiles who were hospitable enough to welcome all comers. The people survived the tempest; their homes did not. More depressing scenes, too many to mention, kept our eyes and mouths wide open...minds wondering, asking How could a people so peaceful, God-fearing and industrious be subjected to a trial/test of such proportion? What have they done that Mother Nature found it necessary to punish them?
Giporlos-Eastern Samar
It was dusk when we reached Giporlos, Eastern Samar. The volunteer doctors of the Medical Action Group (MAG) were joined by Ana and Evelyns nephews and nieces in unloading and sorting the medicines to be used in the medical mission the following day. By 10 p.m. when the electric generator ran out of fuel, we called it a day. Except for Dale who slept soundly (literally), the rest of the group remained listless. Images of the massive destruction kept me awake but for an hour or two.
A beautiful rainbow greeted us in the morning. Sound sleeper Dale was ecstatic at the sight and took pictures. He also was the first to visit the washed-out port where fishermen unloaded their catch to be sold in the nearby fish market which was also washed-out by Yolanda. Taking a short walk, it didnt take long for me to feel the fear that the Giporlons felt when the feisty lady wrought her fury: The court and grandstand in front of the Municipal Hall (windows broken), was a shamble of steel and concrete; a giant tree fell on the fire stations building, an ambulance parked beside it was damaged beyond repair; and the cross atop the Catholic church bended like it was ready to fall, with a few worshippers hearing early morning mass inside an almost roofless structure.
Joining the gang for breakfast in the house of Evelyns sister-in-law, the days activities were planned: The medical mission would be conducted in front of the parish priests residence beside the church; clerical support to be provided by young volunteers; Ana to take and note the blood pressure and temperature; and the doctors treating the patients and dispensing the medicines.
The volunteers worked non-stop with nary a break for biscuits and mineral water. After treating the last of some 300 patients, the group packed-up. Hungry and tired but happy for being able to help and serve, the group decided to have lunch. The time: 4 oclock p.m.
Stretching the legs and shutting the eyes for much needed rest, the volunteers were up on their feet by 6 p.m. for the next mission: Guiuan, a progressive but badly-damaged town more than a hundred kilometres to the east. Evelyn, Dale and Ana went with the team while I stayed behind for lack of space in the van. The plan was for the three to accompany the doctors, unload the medical stuff and come back to Giporlos. The doctors would then proceed to an island barangay in the morning. We (Evelyns young relatives and me) waited until almost midnight for the trio to come back. They did early the following morning. The military authorities did not allow them to travel during the night. Too dangerous, they were told.
The meeting with Mark Biong, the youthful mayor of Giporlos lasted for only a few minutes. After introducing the barangay chairmen, he left to continue overseeing the unloading of relief goods donated by the people of Bulacan. It was not easy to determine where the goods came from. Unlike the Ejercitos and the Binays, there was no tarp to announce the source, just a simple label: From Bulacan.
Seated at the head of the table, Evelyn introduced us one by one starting with Dale, Ana and myself. She then presided over the meeting in their native Waray dialect interspersed with English for the benefit of us non-Warays. She then gave me the floor to explain my proposal on behalf of WFA-PAPI. Using the boat-for-livelihood as example, I explained to them how we intend to help their respective barangays, putting emphasis on the fact that we cannot help them all at the same time, and that the assistance will not be a dole out but a soft loan with a small interest. The idea was to imbue in them a sense of responsibility.
Those from coastal barangays were receptive to the idea; while those from hilly barangays whose main source of income was coconut farming have reservations. The need is for massive replanting of fast growing coconuts. But even the fastest growing coconut varieties will take years to bear fruit. For the region, we can probably recommend the MayPan dwarf, a hybrid of Malayan Dwarf and Panama Tall varieties which could start producing coconuts after 3 years. The problem is where to get them and how to make the people productive while waiting for the trees to bear fruits.
We can recommend inter-cropping coconut trees with pineapple in between, but it will take around 20 months before pineapple can be harvested. Another option is to plant fast-maturing variety of peanuts harvestable after only 4 months. In both instances, the farmers need farm implements and seeds/saplings. A farmer whom I have talked to said he was going to plant sweet potato (camote) which can be harvested after only 2 3 months. Fine, so he can have something to feed his family after 3 months. But would a low cost and low-priced camote sustain a family of 7?
Farmers and fishermen were not the only ones adversely affected by Yolanda. Craftsmen and artisans whose main source of income depended on the availability of electric power were also severely affected they could not work. Marcos A. Gunda, a welder and sole breadwinner of his family, was able to save his welding machine. Before the storm, he has a flourishing business and employed 6 helpers. Nowadays, they live on dole outs. He could not afford the 60k - 80k cost of an electric generator. If only he had one, he would never run out of projects and would need more than 6 helpers to cope with the demand for his welding services.
The following day (Tuesday) Ana the blue-green eyed German beauty had to leave. Under overcast skies, we drove back to Tacloban airport for her flight to Manila where she would have to catch her Emirates flight to Dubai on the way to Munich. The stomach-churning stench was still very much in the air.
Taking advantage of the availability of cell signal, I texted Peng to request flight bookings for Tacloban- Cebu-Iligan and CDO-Manila (for Evelyn and Dale), and Tacloban-Manila for me. We all wanted to leave on Thursday (Nov 28). Tough luck, cost of available seat to Manila was almost double the regular price. PAL was making a killing. I requested Peng to cancel it. I would take the bus even if it takes forever to reach Manila.
Morning of day 4, while waiting for the van that would take us to Guiuan for more sightseeing we visited Evelyns own house. Roofless and windowless, it would need a major repair before it becomes liveable again. She told Dale and me that from the second floor, the wind lifted a refrigerator and a room air conditioner and carried them about 50 meters away.
A local had a fantastic story: At the height of Yolandas fury, a man was snatched while tightly hugging a fallen mango tree, was lifted several feet high and dropped on a grassy field several meters away. There he stayed flat on his stomach, too afraid to raise his head lest he be flown away again. Asked how he felt while flying he said that he was practically unconscious during the episode.
Another guy alleged that Victory island (population: 100+) simply disappeared, the fate of its inhabitants remain unknown. I have no way of verifying this story.
Guiuan-Eastern Samar
On the road to Guiuan, the scene had become all too familiar: Devastation everywhere, houses and buildings big and small were either partly or completely damaged. More than 95% of coconut trees were either uprooted or cut in half.
Those that remain standing had little chance of bearing nuts again, if ever. In Ernani town where a deep-sea fishing boat was marooned, the stench of decaying bodies was unmistakable. In Guiuan, the damages to the big church and the adjoining school were so severe that holding classes was unimaginable. Despite the damages to residential and business establishments, the town was slowly recovering.
Not everything though was gloom and doom. At the Guiuan airport, a C-130 cargo plane had just landed. After unloading its cargo, the military authorities supervised the embarkation of people who were waiting for the planes arrival. I inquired about the procedure. Easy: Just log your name in the logbook then wait for the plane, thats all. After the plane left, another C-130 landed. It opened a new option for me. Instead of taking the bus to Manila, I would try to get into a C-130 the following day! When I told Dale and Evelyn about it, they seemed more worried. What if there was no plane? They dont have a regular schedule. I will take my chances, I insisted.
Back in Giporlos, we resumed the distribution of relief bags in a barangay outside the town proper. The smile on the faces of the typhoons victims was truly heart-warming. Soon after, we went back to the house where I immediately gathered my stuff. A relative of Evelyn contracted a motorcycle driver who would bring me to Guiuan.
The morning air was cold and the heavy cloud was threatening to open up as we traversed the pot-holed road back to Guiuan. Midway, the driver had to stop to relieve himself.
Reaching the airport past 7 a.m., the queue was already long. Still I managed to sign the logbook. About half an hour later, the much-awaited C-130 arrived. After unloading, an officer announced that the plane would be flying to Cebu! Half the people waiting eagerly lined up to get in. (I was almost tempted to join the line and get to Cebu unannounced. How Lotus would react when she opens the door and see me standing there, I wondered). As if following the previous days script, a second cargo plane arrived after the Cebu-bound plane departed. One hour later, we were up in the air bound for Manila.
Upon arrival at Villamor Air Base, we were shuttled by Air Force buses to the grandstand where volunteers gave us survivors a warm welcome! (Me, a survivor!? I decided to get along).
After lunch of rice, chicken adobo and sauted string beans, a pretty lady marshal/volunteer eased her way towards me. Sitting beside me, she began asking questions about the situation in Tacloban, completely unaware that the plane that flew us in came from Guiuan, Eastern Samar. To cut her short, I told her why I went to Tacloban and Samar that I had a mission and that I was not a survivor. She was amazed, gave me her contact number and asked for mine. I made her promise that she would not tell anyone about me and my mission. She promised on the condition that I would one day invite her for lunch or dinner.
About the author:
If we are believers, the Omnipotent created Arman to be a Do Gooder par excellence. He is an icon and a folk hero among the denizens of the Tent City in Jeddah, for one. He had just arrived a few days ago in the Heartland, almost at the same time as our other WFA-PAPI Do Gooder from Chicago, Illinois, Dale Asis. With another of our Do Gooder based in the Homeland, Evelyn Lo Castillo who is from the devastated town of Giporlos, in Eastern Samar.