MANILA, Philippines - September 26, 2009 began with the usual September sky: leaden and dreary. Nothing odd, nothing out of the ordinary. I was scheduled to lecture and judge the elementary-level editorial cartoonists for Manila’s campus journalism competitions that day. But there was something at the back of my mind that I couldn’t put my finger on and made me seriously consider not showing up.
However, the thought of young faces disappointed by my non-appearance prompted me to go anyway.
As I drove my way to the venue, a school somewhere in Tondo, the car radio blared warnings of flash floods and landslides to be spawned by an incoming tropical storm called Ondoy. Ondoy, what a benign- sounding name. As for the flash floods and landslides, what’s new? They are standard fare for this country during the monsoon months. Besides, the worst cases happen only in the countryside. Definitely not in Mega Manila. Later events would prove how terribly wrong I was.
It began to rain as I arrived at my destination. Again, nothing alarming. Just the usual steady drizzle. As I conducted my sessions and the day wore on, the drizzle had turned to driving, heavy downpour. Still, I did not give it much thought as I focused my attention to the artworks submitted by the students. After judging the winners, I excused myself and went to where my car was parked to grab a smoke. There was a commotion at the gate of the school when I got there and people were coming in. I found out they were residents living near a creek beside the school. The normally placid creek had turned into a raging river, crumbling its embankments and threatening the safety of the creek-dwellers.
Surprised, I took a look outside and was completely taken aback by the sight that greeted me. The street leading to the school was completely flooded. The barangay chairman of the area had requested the authorities to make the school an emergency evacuation center.
The students/contestants were herded into the classrooms to make way for the evacuees who were starting to fill up the school gymnasium. The barangay chairman was coordinating his moves with a policeman whose uniform was completely drenched with rainwater. This dedicated cop started making calls on his cellphone and a few minutes later, a small group of firemen arrived to assist in the evacuation. As they discussed what actions to take, I got inside my car and turned on the AM radio.
The news broadcasts were abuzz with reports of flooding all over the metropolis. Some were broadcasting calls of listeners who were on the roofs of their cars and worse, on the roofs of their own homes.
I quickly called my wife to ask about their situation and her reply really bothered me. We have lived in that part of Pasay City for over 20 years and we never ever experienced flooding on our street, much more in our own yard. And now, she hysterically told me, floodwater was entering our home.
I told her to remain calm and make sure to turn off the main power supply before the flood waters reach the lower-situated electric outlets. I asked how my youngest was doing and when she said he was okay, I queried about my daughter who attended school in Makati. When told that she was stranded in their school, I really began to worry.
As I pondered my next move, the school gates opened and a platoon of Army soldiers began pouring in. They wore camouflage-print T-shirts, drill shorts and floppy hats. They were soaking wet, muddied and looked very exhausted.
As they slumped to rest on the floor of the gymnasium, the evacuees gave them a short, disinterested glance. The very same evacuees they had just helped and had risked their lives and limbs for.
The soldiers were very young and I felt sorry how unappreciated their efforts seemed to be. An officer appeared and began barking orders to the soldiers who immediately lined-up in formation. The officer was making sure each of his men was accounted for.
Assured, he let them rest on the floor again. I almost cried as I looked at their tired, young faces and was reminded of my own sons. I was pretty certain they will soon end up in the jungles of Basilan, fighting and dying for countrymen who couldn’t care less.
A local barangay official arrived and began distributing hot food to the evacuees who were soon whooping it up. Some women even danced on the stage, the kids shrieked happily and the men laughed at some unknown joke.
The soldiers watched them for a while then settled down to partake their own sustenance: bread and water. They had hardly chewed their food when somebody shouted “Fire!” In spite of the torrential rains, a house had caught a fire a block away from the school. The officer shouted orders to his men and the soldiers hurried to assist in this latest emergency.
I got inside my car and turned on the radio again. All the news was about the flood that submerged the whole metropolis. I dialled my daughter’s cellphone number again and again but my calls just could not get through. The rains by now had been reduced to a drizzle. I called my wife again who said that the floodwater had stopped rising and that my daughter with some of her classmates had checked in at a hotel near their school.
Somewhat relieved, I continued monitoring news on my radio. At around 10 p.m., somebody told me that the floodwaters had receded considerably. I immediately started the car and plowed through the flooded streets, I was eager to be with my family. And that I did, 11 hours later, the following day. And I finally knew what that nagging thing at the back of my mind was. September 26 is my stranded daughter’s birthday.