Trying to live normal lives

It’s been two weeks since Typhoon Pablo struck eastern Mindanao. 

By day, the Cateel town plaza is abuzz with people. Residents spend most of their time at the park or outside their houses. Aside from the residents, humanitarian workers, soldiers and non-government organizations are a common sight in the area.

Near the fountain, there are children playing as part of a debriefing exercise organized by some groups to help them cope with the trauma of Pablo. Tricycles are coming in and out of the little town of Cateel bringing residents from different areas closer to the center of relief operations. Cargo trucks loaded with relief goods frequent Cateel’s streets.

Compared to the images of distraught and despair we saw on TV last week, the residents of Cateel can afford us strangers a smile. In some areas, some residents set up sari-sari stores with ukay-ukay clothes and slippers for sale.  

Ate Ester, who is one of the “luckier” ones in Cateel because the ground floor of her two-storey home is still habitable, tries to keep whatever is left of her space in tip-top shape. Her residence has become the halfway house of sorts to some residents, if only to use their standing toilet. They were able to salvage some mattresses from other people’s damaged homes, and she managed to find a Christmas tree for the living-room-cum-sleeping area. “So that people who enter may still get a feel of Christmas,” Ate Ester shares. 

As night falls, activity becomes more limited at the plaza. Our live point’s powerful lights and our crew cabs are the only source of light in the area. As we shut down our set-up, people start retreating to their homes. 

We spend the night in Cateel inside the Navarra Hotel. That is how we jokingly call our crew cab service. The nearest hotel is in Mati, but if you want the basic amenities, you have to stay in Tagum City, which is four hours away. There is water from the deep well in some households, but we make do with our wet wipes. After cleaning up, I still have not figured out how our team of seven will find sleep in our mobile hotel. 

After days of being homeless, the residents of Cateel have got it figured. By day, they stay outside their houses, and by nighttime, they go back to their rundown houses, despite the obvious danger the houses pose on their safety. Their houses are dilapidated as if an Intensity 8 earthquake shook the entire area. The very few houses that remain standing either have no roof, no windows, or are on the verge of collapsing. 

It rains again on the night of our visit to Cateel. I am very careful not to get drenched, when I notice that somehow they have adapted to the situation like refugees. It’s raining even inside the houses, so they put up tarpaulins over their heads. They do not care whether the walls and beams of their houses are going sideways already. Do they think about their safety?

After days of shock, people are trying to survive. There are no tents in the area yet, no temporary shelter, so once again, they put their lives at risk. 

One man is not concerned about his house but with the education of his two college children. When asked “will we still be able to study?,” the father cannot give a reply.

A resident asks a barangay kagawad as to when help will arrive and the kagawad replies, “I don’t know. Hayaan mo na, pare-pareho lang naman tayong nawalan.”

For barely two weeks, I’ve seen how the survivors are trying their best to live normal lives and adapt to their situation. Surviving the wrath of Pablo is already becoming a thing of the past, and what they’re now looking forward to is moving on and living.