Night of November the 8th

Taking Neil Gaiman’s advice that says, “and when things get tough, this is what you should do, make good art”. This is a poem I wrote the day after Yolanda struck.

Soft whispers,

soft whispers,

to loud shouts

of the wind.

 

Tiny tears,

tiny tears,

to huge gushes

of rainwater.

 

Silence! I am

trying to sleep

but sleep,

I cannot.

 

Frightened

that death’s waves

might knock

on the door again.

We Survived Yolanda (Haiyan)

Today is day eleven. A week and four days ago was the beginning of a second life for my family and me. We left Tacloban City with whatever we could save from the ravage of Yolanda, leaving behind our houses, but not our dreams. We shall return, we are rebuilding our hopes while holding on to the promise that God will provide and He is good all the time.

As is customary, when news of the typhoon came, Mama brought us to San Jose to save us from the floods of V and G Subdivision. Nono Jed, Frandon and I were to stay at the house of Mama’s brother (Papa Intoy) and his family in Sunnyville (Manlurip, San Jose). We were always safe from the floods when we were in San Jose but then November 8 was no ordinary typhoon nor flood. We should have known, that was why we were watching 2012 on TV the night before Typhoon Yolanda (international name Haiyan) hit land.

Early morning of November 8, I received calls from Mama (who was with my cousins Joel and Dondon in our house in V and G) and Mikki (my boyfriend) that the storm was on its heavy downpour. Because of those calls, I woke up. Indeed, the winds were strong, trees bowed. Little by little, the roofs were being carried away. All of a sudden, ceilings were dripping with rainwater only to find out that almost all of the roof of Papa Intoy’s house were ripped off. The second floor was not a safe place to stay in. So we thought.

Everything that happens in our life happens for a reason. The reason why Papa Intoy and Kuya Dingdong made all of us stay in the first floor CR was because we would be safe from flying shrapnel. But God’s reason was that it would be easier for us to go upstairs when the storm surge hits.

The lot where uncle’s house sits is a kilometer or less from the sea. Who would have thought that the safe haven where we found refuge during all the typhoons and floods in V and G was a more dangerous place to stay at that fateful Friday of November. Uncle went out of the CR to check outside when he called, “Nabulwak na it tubig!” (The water is rising!) Then Kuya Dingdong went out to confirm, we only had a minute or so to save ourselves.

So on ropes that have been tied on posts and trusses the night before as our guide, we were all able to go upstairs. Adrenaline rush was doing its thing in each of us. How the old wooden staircase was able to withstand the weight of 14 people (3 small kids) was a wonder. The first wave came, water rose to around three feet, then another and another. The entire first floor was enveloped with ravaging murky seawater. The last thing I saw being carried by the flood was the greeting card my students gave me as farewell gift for my resignation.

We were saved from the water surge. What next? Shelter ourselves from rainwater and flying shrapnel. Glass windows were bursting. We held on to the ropes, afraid that the strong winds might carry us away. In my mind, I thought, “What if the floodwaters rose again, where would we stay?” I prayed as hard as I could that God keep all of us safe.

This has been the safe place we go to when news of typhoons come. Our house in V and G Subdivision easily gets flooded, and our uncle’s house in San Jose is safe from floodwater. Only that, on Nov. 8, it was not safe from super typhoon Yolanda’s storm surge.

After the storm comes calm. When calm came, we tried to save what we could save, but we were hungry. We haven’t eaten breakfast yet and it was almost lunchtime. There were coconuts that have been carried by the storm surge. We shared what little coconut meat and water we could get. We also ate biscuits. Then we saved noodles and canned meat that were floating on the now knee-deep water inside the house.

When we went up to the balcony, we were shocked by what we saw. The neighborhood was devastated and worse, the houses near the sea were wiped out. Power was out and communication lines were out. We do not know how we could contact our family and friends. If water level was that high in San Jose, it would have been higher in V and G. Of course, I was wrong. That moment, coastal barangays were in much deeper trouble.

Seconds turned to minutes. Minutes turned to hours. So it is true, the agony of waiting is hard to fathom. We were waiting for sensible food to eat, clean water to drink and even a comfortable place to sleep that night. We made it through, eating noodles and porridge that were cooked in the very CR where we stayed because the kitchen was not usable. We drank water from sealed containers. And we slept where we could.

That night, our eyes were closed but we did not sleep well. The softest rustle woke us up in alarm. And a tiny elevation in floodwater inside the room might have caused panic. We did not want to die drowning in our sleep. When we awoke (?) the day after, my nephew asked me if all that happened the day before was just a dream. “No,” I told him, “that was pretty real to me.” We almost died but we did not. God still has plans for our lives. Today is day eleven and we are happy that we are still alive.