IT?S been over two months since tropical storm Ondoy sank many parts of Metro Manila with its rampaging floodwaters. I?m sure the TV footage and newspaper photos of the typhoon?s aftermath remain vivid in the minds of many residents, particularly those who lost homes, vehicles, appliances, documents and other stuff in the floods. But more than just material loss, it?s the psychological impact that continues to hound Ondoy?s victims.
How else explain the fact that at the slightest trickle of rain, many of them get nervous and edgy? How do you explain their sudden interest in the latest weather bulletins, especially when a low pressure area has been sighted? Why do they now carry umbrellas in their bags and, in my case, a flashlight and a whistle as well? Yes, a whistle. Should an iPod type of AM/FM radio be available, I?m sure that too would be a regular item in the daily kit of an Ondoy casualty.
Like other folk affected by the typhoon, my family is still reeling from the impact of Ondoy. There?s just no forgetting that day and, hopefully, our once in a lifetime experience. No one among us and our neighbors expected the flood to rise that high and that fast, so we were totally unprepared for the scope of destruction that it unleashed.
I had come home from my night shift at work that fateful day of Sept. 26, 2009 and was looking forward to a long restful sleep. The skies were gray and gloomy and it was drizzling when I stepped out of Rufino Tower along Ayala Avenue around 8 a.m. I took a ride to the Inquirer building on Chino Roces Avenue where I had parked my car. A text message from my wife reminded me to drive carefully as it had been raining almost the whole night.
Driving through mostly flooded roads, I managed to get home in Cainta at a little past 9 a.m. By then, the drizzle had turned into a heavy downpour. The street fronting our house had started flooding, but I was confident the water would not rise any further. I was also too sleepy to think much about it. The bed beckoned and I yielded.
I got up past 11 a.m., and saw that the flood had reached knee-high on the streets. But the rains would stop soon and the flood would ebb, I told myself, banking on our 20 years? experience of living in the same place. Why should it be any different this time? I assured myself.
But the rains didn?t let up and the flood started rising really fast. That?s when fear gripped me, especially when I saw muddy water seeping beneath our gate. I felt angry and tried to stop the inflow by pushing back the water with my bare hands. Then helplessness engulfed me (how can you fight nature?s wrath?), so I decided to move out of our bungalow. Carrying what we considered our most important stuff, my wife and I, together with our son and adopted sister waded through chest-high muddy waters to get to our neighbor?s two-story house nearby. Our village by then had been transformed into a rampaging river spiked with mud, trash and flotsam. The thought of the flood rising further scared me. Should it reach the second floor of the house where we were, I guess that would be the end of it?unless a chopper or a speed boat came to rescue us.
After what seemed like an endless night, during which I managed to snatch some hours of sleep due to fatigue and stress, I awoke at the crack of dawn. Braving the cold, murky and waist-deep flood, I checked our house. It was a nightmare.
What met my eyes were scenes that I remember from video footage and wire photos of the 2004 tsunami that struck parts of Indonesia, Thailand and Sri Lanka. Well, on a smaller scale. But the effects were the same: broken glass and window panes, toppled refrigerators and television sets, a soaked desktop computer, a sopping wet sala set, beds and cushions, study tables and cabinets. Outside, in the garage, a mud-soaked car, chairs, tables, and earthen jars told the same story. Everything was a mess.
But there was good news too. I had left our pet dog, Bono, on top of a table when we fled to the neighbor?s house. He was no longer there that morning, and I didn?t expect to see him again--except maybe as a bloated body floating on the water. But his survival instinct did him well. There he was, looking so calm atop a mud-soaked stove burner in the kitchen. Boy, was I glad to see him!
The scene overwhelmed me. How am I going to clean this up? There were just too many things that needed attention?furniture, household appliances, and gosh, photos! I suddenly realized how much of our past had sunk into the muddy water.
My wife didn?t fare as well and refused to leave our neighbor?s house the entire Sunday. No amount of coaxing could convince her to take a peek into our house. Do what needs to be done, she asked me.
It would take almost two weeks before my wife could sleep better. Feeling very depressed, she hardly ate and slept and couldn?t cook and work. Only when I told her how much I?d missed her cooking did she relent and bravely accepted our Ondoy experience. I was depressed too, but overseeing the huge clean up in our house helped a bit.
Two months after Ondoy, we continue to find traces of water damage and flood stains all over the house. So far, we?ve had the furniture repaired. Most of the cabinets, doors, shelves, racks, tables, chairs and sala set were made of hardwood and were worth saving. Our car too proved resilient enough despite being almost buried in mud, and I?ve since driven it to work.
So how do you solve a problem like Ondoy? Unfortunately, there?s no way one can stop nature from unleashing its fury. But there are always lessons to be learned from such an experience, so that when the next disaster strikes, we?d be ready to face it, armed with the coping skills and the right response needed to survive.
