Sad stories from the wasteland

I just got back from our relief operations in Iligan. When our plane landed at Ninoy Aquino International Airport, it felt as if I had awaken from a bad dream. Things were exactly as I remembered it to be — same Metro Manila traffic, and the Christmas season came rushing back.

While I was in Iligan, the concept of time seemed to disappear, the days were longer. We were not trying to beat a deadline, and we’ve done other relief operations in the past, but Sendong’s fury was something else. It destroyed homes, lives and broke our heart and souls.

I asked God, “Why?”

The immediate needs of the affected families were food, water and clothing, which we, all of us, delivered to the best of our ability.

But the truth is? It felt as if we were working, paddling just trying to keep afloat, but were not really moving or going anywhere. I hear people say, “We should move on,” but really someone had the answer on how to do it. Where do we get the strength?

Back in my apartment in Makati, the elevator opened and out came a woman with a baby. I felt like crying. Flashback.

We were at the evacuation center at Echavez Elementary School.  It was a small compound amidst trees on top of the hilly portion by the Mandulog River. The air was breezy, as the trees provided shade in the area. And on the branches hung red lanterns. It was Christmas.

Early morning that day, we had lugaw and parlor games for the children. The mood was light, and the people, the victims of Sendong were all smiling back at us.

That afternoon, we delivered relief goods in the area. Everyone seemed delighted to meet someone from television, but when our gazes locked, they became teary-eyed.

Then they started sharing their stories.

That the rain started pouring at 10 p.m. on a Friday, non-stop until 3 a.m. of Saturday.

That some of them managed to help others along the riverbank to vacate.

That they left everything had to rush to higher ground.

There were several babies in the evacuation site — all cute and innocent. They would have no memory of the tragedy that had befallen their families.

That’s me during the distribution of relief goods.

A woman showed me her three-week old son quietly sleeping. I held the child and cuddled him and told the mother, “ I’m sure this baby was asleep when the world around him was in turmoil.” She agreed and demonstrated to me how she carried the baby when the water was already chest deep. She lifted the baby with one hand above her head, and holding the poor thing by the tummy.

While I was talking to the woman and her baby, another woman was sobbing.

Later, I learned the other lady lost her six-month baby in the flood. It felt like I had just stabbed her heart.

They blame it on the troso from the mountains. “If it were just the flood, we would have all survived,” said a man.  A number of the evacuees had secured their children and babies when the waters came. They left their houses when the water was only knee high, then it quickly rose to their waist and chest.

One survivor motioned to me how high the water went in Mandulog River, the height of a water tank, no less than 20 feet. He and his wife and son went with the current, until a troso hit him hard that he accidentally let go of his son.

The houses in Central Hinaplanon are that of an average family, a typical bahay na bato, with a concrete base and second floor made from wood. But the troso that rammed into the houses were so big, that a number of houses collapsed and killed the people inside. “The casualties stayed inside their homes because of the rising flood waters,” shared another survivor. They did not dare leave the house lest they be hit by the troso.

Another survivor explained how he bore a hole into the ceiling, climbed onto the roof, onto the electric post and transferred to the roof of a nearby warehouse.

Minutes later, their home was crushed by the stampede of troso. As they sought refuge on someone’s roof, their neighbors were screaming for help and asking them to throw them a rope, but there was nothing anyone could do.

The  woman who survived the tragedy says that she heard her dead Tita screaming for help in her sleep. “We’re just here,” she was told in her dreams.  She asked her Tita for a sign on where to look. Amidst the debris, she saw a photograph of her Tita, and yellow butterflies circling an area. The woman survivor started digging and found the remains of the woman in her dreams.

When I settled in from Iligan, I went to my favorite restaurant, but really not in the mood to eat anything.

There was a small fly at the edge of the table.

In the small Brgy. Digkilaan, we went over to deliver relief goods. Not many relief goods have reached the area just yet, except for the LGU and a few adjacent barangays.

We took the chopper of the Armed Forces by the way to deliver relief goods. And with the sight of us, the people started running towards the helicopter.

I was told that the barangay had already buried their own dead. They were just so far from everywhere.

The barangay captain’s face revealed so much pain, and gratefulness with the little relief that we brought to his constituents. It was never enough. Never enough. And yet he never demanded more, nor did he complain of the lack of aid in their area.

Others were getting more attention, and I’d like to believe it is only because of proximity.

There was a wake at the covered court. A white oversized makeshift coffin from plywood was at the center.  It was the body of a woman that was retrieved in another island. Her 75-year-old husband lay at the pews, hardly able to move. The couple were awash by the floodwaters. “I don’t know how I ended up submerged in mud.” They were asleep during Sendong’s wrath.

Their children, two soldiers that were both assigned in Manila at the time of the tragedy, were trying to fight the tears. This was the first time I’ve ever seen men in uniform so vulnerable. Witnessing this broke my heart.

The brother never had the chance to view the remains of their mother because she was wrapped up in plastic before they placed her in the coffin. “We had to seal her remains because of the smell.” I could not smell a thing, but saw flies, plenty of flies hovering over the coffin.

Back in Manila, my bosses were concerned that all reporters had to undergo stress debriefing.

I agree. But I refused as of press time. I wanted this to linger — to remember. I want to write it down first here for people to care.

People care and I have witnessed this over and over again.

During Ondoy,  when we called for help for a sick patient, you cared.

Sendong is something else. It demands commitment, long-term commitment in each of us if we want to help the victims. The devastation was described as if a tsunami hit Mindanao.

Perhaps Sendong is just a bad dream for most of us who are not directly affected.

When we no longer see or hear about the tragedy in the news, then we proceed with our daily lives, and yes, forget about this, we wake up with our cares and worries. We move on.

Today, I’ve had a “pamper” day, if you’ll call it that. Yesterday, I was reluctant to shower immediately when I arrived, or to go to sleep soon, because waking up would mean, that it would be already another day for me, a new one. Not yet.

I could feel my life resuming in its regular pace.

Sendong, like Ondoy, has affected us so much. It will be part of the past sooner than we think. And yes, we should move on, too.

Enjoy the Christmas rush.  Laugh hard. Celebrate Christmas. Get on with our lives. But please, let us always remember to care.

I remember what Fr. Rudy Fernandez, SJ once said, “I believe in faith — it steadies, makes fast. I believe in hope — it helps, it works. I believe in love — it gives, forgives, it saves, gives life. So I believe in Christmas!”

Have a meaningful Christmas from my husband  Orange and I  to your family.

(For comments, e-mail me at [email protected] or follow me on

Twitter: @bernadette_ABS.)